rhys dunsmore. 35. taurus. older brother to dylan & conor dunsmore. beekeeper and full-time ranch hand at the larimer county rodeo & fairgrounds.
penned by lennon
for bradfordspringshq
Dusty made himself at home in a chair, still a shirt down but a poncho gained which was a win all round. He had to squint one eye to see properly, noticing the red haired friend that he owed a heartfelt apology to. Even though Rhysâ bees tried to kill him. âHey-o.â he slurred and waved Rhys closer, because he didnât have the sobriety to move from the seat. âWhys-thebees?â he added, thinking he made perfect sense. âSome home guard? Whys not a dog?â Dusty flipped the poncho like he was a wizard in a movie, sinking into the chair because he couldnât keep himself up. âHm? WhatâŠdo.â A burp. âDo you have to say for yourself?â
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         oh, goddamn it. rhys has been having a good night so far, alright? heâs been dancing and drinking, mingling with new friends and old ones he hasnât seen in ages. so youâll have to forgive him if he heaves an exasperated breath at the sight of dusty sprawled in a chair not too far away, looking drunk as a skunk and just as grubby. and, look, dustyâs a lifelong friend. all the andersons are. theyâre like brothers to rhys, and they always have been. but dusty â damn if dusty ainât just a thorn in his side sometimes all the same, plucking at his nerves just as well as if heâd been blood. and just because heâs told himself heâs harboring no hard feelings toward the other for the incident with his beehive doesnât mean heâs out looking for any more of the andersonâs drunken shenanigans tonight. â how you doinâ, dusty? â rhys sighs as he nears the man, brows lifting as he takes in the sight of him. clearly heâs been getting his worth at the open bar, as much is evidenced by his slurred words. ( the postureâs the first clue, and honestly, rhys isnât sure how dusty is managing to stay in the chair. )
         â whyâs the bees? â rhys repeats, blinking. â well, not for home security, thatâs for damn sure. and itâs a good thing, too, âcause you single-handedly gave me all the proof i need that shit wouldnât work. â rhys shrugs, shakes his head, but any attempt he plans to make at continuing is interrupted by a burp and, christ, you could light a fire with his breath right now. rhys wrinkles his nose, takes a swig of his own drink to try forget it. â i donât know, man, theyâre just â theyâre just my bees, ainât no why about it, âcept that they make me happy. keep my garden nice too, i donât fuckinâ know. and anyway, i really feel like i ainât the one should really be defendinâ myself here. â rhys leans a palm against the chair nearest him as he eyes dusty, tries to choose his next words carefully. because, yeah, he was a dumbass whoâd wrecked rhysâ shit and lost him a whole colony, but it wasnât like heâd meant to. there wasnât anything malicious about it. â look, i ainât actually mad about it, alright? shit happens. usually more often when youâre involved, but thatâs â whatever. instant karma got you better than i could anyhow. â and that much was entirely true â if you asked rhys, those stings were definitely deserved.
âSo youâre going to have to explain the bees.â Alex came up to Rhys, giving him a small one armed hug. She was beyond happy that Cora had finally found someone that she could completely gush about. Sheâd heard almost everything her older cousin had to tell her about their relationship, but she wanted to hear things from Rhys as well. Heâd completely swept everyone off their feet at Christmas and the fact that Emma loved him, Alex did as well.Â
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         brows lift in amused curiosity at the statement that accompanies alex upon her approach toward rhys and he canât help but laugh as he reciprocates the younger stanleyâs one-armed embrace. heâd gotten to know coraâs cousin a bit better at christmas â he canât recall too much of the evening, heâd been such a bundle of nerves at the idea of being introduced to some of her closer friends and family, but heâd made sure to speak to everyone, alex included. he knew that she and cora were close, friends on top of family, and that meant he was just as invested in getting to know her. â what dâyou mean, explain the bees? â he chuckles as he takes a step back and tilts his head. itâs an honest question â she could be asking any number of things. was she asking him to explain his own bees, the hives in his backyard? or had she seen the charm on the delicate chain hanging around coraâs neck? his cuff-links, maybe? â iâm not gonna lie, iâve had a couple aâ drinks, so i might need yâto be a little more specific. â
* Â Â â Â closed event starter / Â at their table , 10:40pm . Â / @rhyslesâââ
              the whole nightâs been going wonderfully, coraâs mind now finally at ease with the year coming to an end. after all, decemberâs always been the busiest month of the year not just for the bakery, but her social life as well. itâs nice to be able to finally relax ( being kid-free also serves as a good thing ) and enjoy the night with those closest to her, which now also includes her boyfriend ( still getting used to the word ) who just happens to be ( in her humble opinion ) the most dashing male there. well, she maybe biased but still, the second her ocean hues landed on him earlier in the evening when he picked her up from her home, she couldnât of kept her eyes off him. but can anyone really blame her? the womanâs head over heels in love. returning from the bathroom where she fixed her makeup, cora joins him at the table, a smile instantly spreading across her beautiful features as she takes a seat before him. â hope you havenât gotten yourself into much trouble while iâve been away, â she teases, leaning forward almost instinctively at this point to press a soft kiss on his lips.  âââ
â i know you prefer line dancinâ and shakinâ your cute little cabooty to rascal flatts, but would you like to dance with me now? â she asks the following moment, motioning over to the dance floor while referring to the slow songs that have been currently playing. itâs been a while since she slow danced with anyone in a romantic way, and hell, she wants to take advantage of the opportunity like this.Â
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         as rhys swirls the last dregs of whiskey around the bottom of his glass with an absent hand and lets his gaze drift the room in wait of coraâs return, he canât help but take a second to reflect on the year. tonight would be the night to think about those sorts of things, he figures, but itâs just â well, damn if it isnât hard to fathom how drastically the course of his lifeâs seemed to shift, even over just the last few months, to lead him to this very moment. at a massive new yearâs eve party ( last year heâd been planted on his couch with a bottle of jack and a pair of sweats to watch the ball drop on cable tv ) with a drop-dead gorgeous woman on his arm who, in spite of being painfully out of his league, was happy to be there with him. his girlfriend. ( rhys canât recall the last time heâd been able to say those words, the last time heâd wanted to before now. ) and rhys would argue there wasnât a soul in bradford more beautiful, inside and out, than cora stanley. heâs reminded of just how lucky he is to be entering the new year with her as he spots her approaching the table; steely blues admire the elegant, fluid form of her silhouette in a black gown that nearly had his jaw on the same floor the fabric grazed the first time he saw her in it. and even now, fuck, heâs got to admit â heâs staring. all the way up until the moment she finds the seat opposite him, and even then, heâs got his eyes locked fondly on hers until the moment they close when she leans in for a kiss.
          â oh, all sorts, â he hums back, warmth lingering somewhere behind the mischievous twitch of his lips as he pulls away. â couple aâ bar fights. a dance battle, if youâd believe it. and somebody told me thereâs a mechanical bull in one aâ these rooms âround here somewhere, so thereâs even more trouble to be had. â brows waggle playfully as he breaks into a laugh, but it grows a bit sheepish at her next words, and heâs fortunate the whiskeyâs already brought a flush to his cheeks to help disguise the way heâs blushing. fuck. heâs glad for the question that tails the remark, because it gives him something to focus on thatâs not the words cute little cabooty. she thinks itâs cute? â that is... â he begins abruptly, only to pause long enough to toss back the last of his drink, â ...the best idea i have heard all night. â leaving his glass on the table, rhys rises to his feet and extends a hand for cora to take, and presses a kiss to the back of hers when she does, guiding her up out of her seat and toward the dance floor. â i donât care how weâre dancinâ, iâm just glad to be dancinâ with you. â
Bowieâs looking back as she walks, laughing with the new friend sheâs made and completely unaware of the man sheâs crossing paths with â until sheâs physically running into him. Naturally, she gasps, whipping her attention around to face him and the drink thatâs now on the ground âOh, baby, Iâm so sorry. None of it got on you, did it? I got a Tide pen in my bag if you need it,â She says as she takes a step back, her hand resting on his arm as she looks him over. âI know itâs an open bar and Iâm technically not paying, but let me get you another drink. Itâs the least I can do. I insist,â Bowie offers with a genuinely apologetic smile.
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         look, heâs not out here trying to get sloppy or anything â he knows his limits, okay? and unlike a handful of his friends from the southside, he does usually try to abide by them, at very least and especially in public â but yeah, okay, rhys has had a couple of drinks. fuck it, itâs new yearâs eve, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, heâs looking toward the start of the new year and its prospects, so heâs feeling pretty good. good enough, it would appear, that heâs not paying a lick of attention to where heâs going until his path collides with a strangerâs and suddenly thereâs a damp patch soaking through the cotton of his shirt and his whiskeyâs in a puddle on the floor between them. the moment his brain catches up to what happened, rhys is swift to dismiss the kind womanâs apology with a casual wave of his hand before it lands atop hers on his own arm, almost as if to reassure her with the gesture.
         â you, â he begins, and thereâs a warm grin spreading onto his lips, â are an absolute sweetheart, and donât let anyone ever tell you otherwise. but! i promise you it ainât worth all your trouble. â and really, it wasnât. heâd abandoned his suit jacket back at the table, and below it he wore a simple black t-shirt. ( albeit one of his nicer ones. ) â it wonât stain. and even if it did, iâd still end up wearinâ it. â he canât help but laugh at her offer to make up for the incident, even if he still isnât entirely sure heâs not just as guilty a party, and rhys nods. â iâd gladly take another drink though. it ainât about the money anyhow â âs the thought that counts, right? â
âIâm just saying it so you donât have to and can go on being your sugar sweet olâ self.â Sofia laughed and waved off his playful retort. It was weird how old looked so much different as each year passed. At Tristinâs age she would have said thirty nine is ancient and now that she was there it felt like she still didnât know what she was doing or how so many years had passed. âWell thank you, Iâll take the compliment as long as you admit you look just as good.â She grinned his way. Her looks never mattered much to her, it wasnât a priority in her line of work both past and present. But, a compliment was nice to hear every now and again so she wasnât going to completely wave it off.
Sofia hummed a sound of approval, happy he didnât turn her down and moved to put the bake she had prepared earlier into the oven. âI miss you too, hon.â She made a sentimental âawwâ after. âYou know,â she started and turned away from the oven to face him. âI know how it is. Do you know how many people I need to catch up with in this damn city?â Too many was the answer. âThere is not enough time in the day. I got the ranch and Tristin and the family, plus whatever random thing comes up in between. Before you know it a whole year has passed and you donât seem to remember the last time you went out or seen any of your closest friends.âÂ
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         when sofia swings the compliment back around onto him, rhys canât help but chuckle, shaking his head at her words. â yeah, alright, â he concedes with a wave of his hand and a smile thatâs almost bashful â heâs never been the best at receiving a compliment, but he does appreciate her kindness. even after all these years, there was something about sofia that still felt like a second home to rhys. she felt like family, and her words were sincere. besides, even rhys had to concede he looked decent enough for thirty-five ( and stressed ) to pull a woman so far out of his league the thought of it made him dizzy. leaving his boots in the mud room, socked feet shuffle back into her kitchen and he returns to the crate heâs left on her counter, straightening jars for little reason other than something to do with his hands as he concentrates on her words.
         and she speaks a truth thatâs far too relatable, one that has rhys shaking his head for all that he can commiserate with the sentiment. thereâs not enough time in the day. and there never really is, is there? his gaze remains on hers as she speaks of the ranch and her family, and he can recall an era of his life where this very same ranch was where much of the time in his day went, where her family were frequent fixtures in the young ranch handâs life. â well, â he says, resting an arm against the edge of the crate as he flashes her a grin, â âleast weâll have plenty of time for catchinâ up over dinner tonight before we go another year. so whatâs on the menu, sof? â
         he shouldâve said. yeah, maybe. probably. if heâd said something sooner, maybe rhys wouldnât have backed himself into the corner heâs in now, with only a few weeks to go until heâs supposed to take this damn test and losing more and more sleep every night over the fact that heâs still not even close to feeling prepared for it. ( how many nights has he had to talk himself down from a panic attack this week alone? fuck. five things you can see, four things you can feel⊠he feels tired, okay? and maybe a little frustrated, too. ) but maybe he didnât want to say. maybe â shit, maybe he wanted to believe that he could do this own, too, that he could just fucking figure it out, the way heâd just figured out how to raise an infant or help his dad keep a roof over their head and cps off his ass at the same time. compared to that, this shouldâve been easy. it was high school math, social studies. he expected it to be easy. easier, at least. but he was wrong, and maybe this whole time heâs just been too embarrassed to admit it.
         but rhys isnât about to own up to any of this. oh, fuck, no. one confessionâs enough for the night, he thinks, so all he musters in return is a half-shrug and a simple, â yeah⊠yeah, i know. â rhys glances down at the book in his lap, flips it open and absently turns a few pages. â well, thereâs a test cominâ up near the end of january. thatâs, uh â thatâs the big one, â he explains, â but i signed up for this class on the internet through the, uh, the community college? and itâs supposed help you get prepared or whatever â i donât fuckinâ know, the lady who helped me when i went in suggested it â but the thing is, itâs just makinâ me realize i have no idea what the hell iâm doing, or â or where to even begin. â rhys goans as he looks back up toward his brother. â i never did my homework, i was always too busy tryinâ to get you to do yours. â he means it entirely teasing, no guilt or perceived remorse intended. because it doesnât bother him that he had to wait this long to do it, that there were just other things he had to take care of first. truly. what bothers him is that after all this time, he still doesnât get it.
         elliotâs hesitations distract him from this, though, give him pause. steely gaze narrows on his brother, melancholy masked behind a sharper curiosity. â you wonât. â itâs not presented to him as opinion, but fact. did he really think that heâd trip him up? that he even could? the dunsmore brothers shared a close bond, thrust into the harsh reality of the world from a young age and left with no other option than to carry each other, arm in arm, through the thick of it all. and when it all became too much, when elliot would trip up and stumble himself, rhysâ stride never faltered and his hold on his brother never wavered. because no matter what happened, theyâd get through it. together. only itâs not elliot stumbling now but rhys, and heâs dumbfounded that his brother could see anything in his potential downfall other than rhysâ own two feet. â makes you feel any better, i donât got a clue where to start either. fuckinâ⊠flash cards, maybe? i dunno, â rhys admits, and then more casually, as if to lighten the weight of the words, â and anyhow, from where iâm sittinâ, i donât see anything wrong with where youâre at right now. â
         as if to drive that point even further home, rhys nods as his brother continues to press him, offering him every out to change his mind and rescind his request. but rhys canât. â you gonna make me beg you? â he chuckles at that, holds the textbook out to elliot in an offer. so he can at least see where theyâre starting. â yeah, iâm sure. and i promise you it ainât a decision i made on a whim. â
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Elliot listens intently to Rhys â to his admission. The guilt isnât easy to swallow but this isnât about him. This is about his brother needing help and coming to him. Itâs rare that Elliot can provide support to Rhys, his older brother always being the shoulder he leaned on growing up. During his lowest lows, Rhys was there, keeping his head above water. And at the peak of his highest highs, Rhyse was there, anchoring him. Throughout all of his life, Elliot has leaned on his brother and this once, it feels terrifying to have Rhys lean on him. He doesnât want to fuck this up. âShit. Okay. So you got a few weeks right? We can work with that,â he says, agreeing to help without saying as much. âSchool is stupid butâŠI only got through it because of you.â His natural intellect could only go so far when heâd been determined to fail.
He picks up two of the books and furrows a brow at the number of topics they cover. âWhatâre you struggling most with now?â Elliot flips through a few pages and glances over at Rhys, sincerity in his expression. âLetâs start there. And then we can figure out theâŠuhâŠbest way to help you learn it. Iâm not a great teacher,â he warns before setting the books down, rubbing palms on his thighs, almost like heâs nervous. Elliot shrugs. âBut Iâll do my best. Weâll make sure you pass, Rhys.â Itâs a promise, one heâs determined to keep to himself but, more important, to his brother.
for dylan, rhys seized the opportunity back in october when heâd spent a few nights over at her place to kidnap her favorite stuffed frog plush, taking it with him so he could send it away to have it very carefully and lovingly cleaned and refurbished. heâs returned to his rightful home in a gift bag, nestled between homemade beeswax candles in mason jars ( a side endeavor heâs been working on, sheâs the first to receive them ) and an assortment of candies and snacks like he used to stuff her stocking with when she was growing up. under all of it is another small, wrapped gift â a photo clearly taken on an old, disposable camera many years ago of the three dunsmore siblings out in the backyard of their old house in the middle of a blizzard as children, dylan up to her knees in snow. rhys made the frame the photo is in out of scrap wood he found in the same backyard where it was taken.
â ELLIOT DUNSMORE. ( @elliotxdunsmoreâ )
for elliot, rhys spent several months at the beginning of the year collecting wood from finnâs junkyard to repurpose into a bookshelf he built by hand out in the back yard and kept locked away in the shed to hide from his brother for the few more months it took him to build it, working on it for an hour or two here and there when he could. it isnât wrapped because rhys isnât sure he wants to fight that battle, but the shelves already have a few books on them, old ones rhys found of elliotâs when he was digging through their childhood things at their popsâ house.
â CORA STANLEY. ( @corastanleyâ )
for cora, actual days are spent trying to decide on the right gift. christ, he hasnât had a girlfriend in how long? heâs rusty, and he doesnât want to make too grand a gesture ( and heâs not sure how well his wallet could manage one ) but he doesnât want to disappoint her either, because she deserves something sheâll love. he eventually settles on a necklace, something small and simple that she might be able to wear every day if she wanted to â a fourteen karat gold chain adorned with a tiny bee charm. itâs kept in a small box on his person christmas day until the right moment under the mistletoe arrives that evening and he can gift it to her along with a kiss.
â EMMA STANLEY.
for emma, a small stuffed bear with a baby blue cowboy hat to match the one heâd gifted her at the rodeo, and it holds an envelope containing a hand-written coupon good for either one afternoon spent playing games with rhys and her mom at snake eyes or one movie night at the drive in as soon as the weatherâs warm enough. in light of the gift she gave him for christmas, it doesnât feel like enough â heâs only a little bit embarrassed to admit that the drawing of the three of them standing on the lawn outside of cora and emmaâs house, all holding hands, was enough to make him tear up in the moment when she gave it to him and actually break down and cry hours later in his truck, pulled into the driveway, after heâs left christmas dinner at the stanley house.
â ANGEL OâCONNOR. ( @angeloconnorâ )
for angel, a hand-bound leather journal embossed with an ornate celestial design and featuring an onyx stone set in the cover to match the lighter case he got her for her birthday and a set of pens to go with it. the journal is empty, save for a note written on the first page by rhys reminding her that heâs always there to listen whenever she wants someone to talk to, but now sheâs got a couple hundred blank pages for when she doesnât. ( or when she just gets tired of talking to an old man. ) the bottom of the page is filled with shoddy doodles of snowflakes and what were supposed to look like snow angels but turned out more looking like crime scene outlines, and of course, love your brother from another mother, rhys.
â FINN OâCONNOR. ( @finn-oconnorâ )
for finn, a bottle of redbreast twelve year and a set of four new whiskey glasses. theyâre nothing fancy and didnât set him back too much for the whole lot, but rhys did take one of them in to a very kind older woman who occasionally runs a stall at the rodeo in the winter who personalizes gifts â typically leather or metal, so it was a long shot that sheâd even be able â and found that she could etch a monogram into the glass for him, so itâs engraved with his initials and a shamrock, and heâll always know which oneâs his when any of the rest of the south side hooligans come to bother him.
â DANNY ANDERSON. ( @danny--andersonâ )
for danny, a crewneck that still remains wrapped in his living room, a gift heâd gotten danny before their fight. he hasnât seen him since, and fuck if he doesnât miss his best friend, and heâs honestly tempted to just show up on his doorstep with the poorly wrapped, vulgar sweatshirt as a way to start to try and mend things with him.
â DJ ANDERSON. ( @dougie-andersonâ )
for dougie, a copper japanese tamagoyaki omelette pan. itâs small and strange looking to rhys, who hasnât the slightest clue about cooking, but he knows he did see a youtube video of a guy rolling an omelette with a very similar pan and talking it up, and it seems cool, so he goes with it anyway, pairing the gift with a six pack of a citrusy IPA and a note that heâs gotta break the pan out next time they do brunch or something... is brunch too fancy for the southside? rhys doesnât know. itâs just an excuse to drink at his favorite meal of the day.
â DUSTY ANDERSON. ( @dusty-anderson )
for dusty, rhys didnât actually have a gift planned and was probably going to offer him a six-pack of beer. until the drunk bastard stumbled into his yard and smashed his beehive one night not long before christmas, that is. in return, rhys decides to get him a small breathalyzer on a keychain so he can carry it around with him and make sure to stay the fuck out of rhysâ yard when he blows a little too high.
â SOFIA SILVA. ( @sofia-silvaâ )
for sofia, a handmade wooden boot rack for her mud room that he built over the summer and has spent the past several months trying to convince himself not to give her early because heâs actually really awful for that. itâs hand-delivered to her house with a bottle of wine and a hug a few days before christmas, and a promise to come visit her even more in the new year.
â STRIKER CANNON. ( @strikercannonâ )
for striker, a carton of marlboro reds and a twenty-four pack of beer that he picked up on sale at the liquor store. it ainât much, but rhys knows itâll at least be enough to hold him over long enough to have a couple of good nights. or maybe one really good night, knowing striker.
â well , how can i resist some free smokes ?? youâre on , dunsmore . â his finger clicked against his knuckle as he pointed back at his friend . his favourite hobby , other than drinking to excess and driving at top speed with eric clapton blasting from the speakers of his pickup , was fucking with animals that he had no chance against . there was a very real chance that the mindless dare would end in a hospital visit or much , much worse . glancing over one shoulder as the stetson-wearing boy wrestled with the bull , he called : â didâya know these things can run at thirty-five miles per hour ?? thatâs like beinâ hit by a car full-speed . â and he truly thought he stood a chance . as instructed , mr. mean burst his way through the cracked open fence , and without wasting any time striker leapt back onto the gate , using it as a leg-up to launch himself at the hind quarters of the animal , throwing thighs either side of jet fur to keep him as stable as humanly possible . one hand reached to clasp at a shimmering ivory horn , refracting the winter sunlight as grunts and bellows huffed from the enraged creature . without a red glowing timer it was difficult to pinpoint exactly how long striker was on the back of the bull . it bucked and kicked to throw the male off , yet his grip remained unrelenting and threatened only by wild , pitchy laughter , the unmistakable mark of the eldest cannon .Â
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         rhys wonders sometimes if itâs shit like this thatâs gonna land him in hell one day. he knows damn well that he shouldnât have even said anything, that this is dangerous. but he knows he doesnât stand a chance at trying to change strikerâs mind now because heâs already giving the kid the go-ahead to release the bull and hopping up onto the gate like the dumbass that he is. ( this is gonna end in a hospital visit, rhys knows it. he deserves it. this is karma for even encouraging the eldest cannon to begin with, and the price heâs going to pay is a night spent in the emergency room with striker. it wouldnât be the first time. ) the factoid called with far too much vigor for the circumstances does not go unnoticed by the dunsmore, and he shakes his head as he takes a nervous pull from his cigarette, trying to decide if the whole ordeal is even worth watching. â youâre outta your damn mind, you know that? â rhys shouts as striker mounts the bull, disbelief evident in his tone as the older male actually manages to hang on in spite of the chaotic spontaneity of it all. heâs not counting, but heâs sure that strikerâs gotta be close to eight seconds. â get offâa him before you get your ass thrown off! â but rhys is laughing, each chuckle tumbling forth in a cloudy puff of smoke and condensation. shit, heâs starting to think maybe theyâll both need a drink after this.
         â hey! merry christmas, asshole! â rhys shouts as his walk back from his popsâ house lands him in a path adjacent to the eldest anderson sibling, the very same whoâd decided to black out and wreak absolute havoc on his backyard only a few days prior. the second he spots dusty on the sidewalk, rhys is digging in his pockets, looking for the gift heâd been carrying around on his person in the hopes of happening upon this exact moment. fingers curl around a small plastic device latched to a key ring and tug it from his coat, and he hollers a quick â catch! â in dustyâs direction before lobbing the keychain right at him. he half-expects it to land in the murky snow-slush that litters the sidewalks, and heâd be a liar if he said it didnât take everything in him not to aim for the taller manâs head. he wouldnât. heâs mature enough. ( theyâre not boys anymore, anyway. ) â hope you didnât mind i didnât wrap it. itâs a breathalyzer, so next time you decide to get trashed, you can give it a puff and remember to keep your drunk ass outta my yard. â
Angel always imagines the bond she has with Rhys is the one sheâs supposed to have with Finn. Her brother who shares the same poison that is OâConnor blood is a man sheâd set the world on fire for, but they never stood a chance. Normalcy is far gone and absent from the foundation their relationship is built upon. Her brother who took beating after beating after beating at the hands of their father while her and her half sisters would try to drown it out one room over. Her brother who went to prison for trying to kill their father. Her brother who, for all intents and purposes, became a single dad to a wayward teenage girl when so much of his youth had been stolen from him. Her brother who keeps so much of it to himself, just like her. She knows the Dunsmoreâs situation growing up wasnât perfect, far from it, but when she looks at Rhys, she sees who Finn couldâve been if heâd been given a fighting chance. Maybe thatâs why sheâs always been more receptive to Jackâs oldest son. He was softer, level headed, patient. It took some time, but before she knew it, the weight of his words mattered to her, his thoughts, his opinions. And so sheâs waiting, bracing herself for his justified disappointment, knowing hearing it come from Rhys specifically will hurt.Â
âYeah, okay,â Angel cracks into a smile, laughing and easing up a bit. Itâs a mind trick heâs playing on her by starting off with a little joke, but it works. It soothes her some as she slides the menu closer to her. âYou do make a pretty mean easy mac. Straight out of the pot gives it more flavor. If you went to Neue or some shit, and they brought your mac and cheese out in a pot for dinner, there would be articles and shit written about it,â She teases, pulling her legs up to her chest in the booth. Might as well make herself comfortable. âWhatâre you getting?â Angel asks, bringing her focus down to the menu pages sticking together as if she doesnât have all of what Little Goat has to offer virtually memorized by now.
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         her smile is reassuring, her laughter even more so as she seems to relax a little at his coaxing. rhys doesnât want her to be upset. heâs not here to yell at her, to shame her or accuse her of anything. he just wants to have a conversation, to figure out where her headâs at. whatâs going on. and honestly, more than anything, if he can help. angel may not be blood to rhys or any of the dunsmores, but sheâs just as good as. a little sister he hadnât asked for, but one he was glad to take on all the same, and now thereâs no question whether heâd look after her like she was one of his own. because she is. her praise of his instant macaroni is enough to have rhys chuckling too, and he canât help but shake his head at the defense she proposes for his frequent decision to serve it straight out of the pot when itâs just angel that heâs feeding. â thank you. but i tell you what, if i go somewhere like neue and order their mac and cheese for, what? probably somethinâ close to twenty bucks, iâd bet, thatâs some fancy shit. if i order that, and they bring it to the table in the pot they cooked it in? â rhys lets out a low whistle. â fuckinâ speechless. â
        her question has him grinning as he leans back in the booth, reaching for the cup of coffee heâd ordered while he was waiting for her to get there. â pancakes, duh, â rhys replies easily, and repeats as much when their server arrives ( minus the dramatic addendum at the end ) before turns his gaze to angel when itâs her turn to order. he waits until itâs just the two of them at the table again to speak up. â so, â he says slowly, careful, as he returns his mug to the table and crosses his arm atop it in a casual lean. â you wanna tell me how you been or what? clue me in on whatâs been goinâ on in the world of angel lately? â are there things rhys wants to talk about? absolutely. but heâs not going to guide her, at least not at first. in his opinion, itâs just as important to check in on how she feels about where sheâs at before he goes poking around for what he wants to know. and clearly thereâs something going on â thereâs got to be, rhys thinks â but the question is whether she wants to talk about it. ( he wonders, too, if she already knows that he does. ) â ainât really had the chance to sit down with you and really just talk in a minute, so letâs shoot the shit, huh? â
When their mom left, it always felt like it was the two of them keeping the boat afloat. Their dad was consumed with making ends meet, with making sure there was a roof over their head. And Elliot had always felt like he and Rhys were doing the rest. What heâs realized as heâs gotten older is that Rhys had shouldered more than heâd understood at the time, and that when Elliot was kicking water into their life boat, chaos and ruin following him throughout his youth, Rhys was there, bucketing it out. Making sure that the three of them stayed above water.
Elliot feels selfish now thinking about it. How much had his brother given up because he couldnât get his own head straight? Because Rhys was bailing him out of trouble, or getting him out of detention or paying for snacks he stole from the gas station or cleaning up his bloody nose after a stupid fight. How much time had he stolen from his brother that all he wants is his GED? Itâs an ugly feeling, twisting in his gut as Rhys admits that heâs considered it for a few months. âYou shouldâve said, Rhys,â Elliot chides gently, raking a hand through his hair as he lets out a puff of breath. âWhat do ya gotta do for it?â He asks, resting elbows on knees and propping his face on a hand, glancing at Rhys. âLikeâŠjust take a bunch of tests or take classes or what?â
He already knows what his answer will be, but finds he it hard to believe that heâs Rhysâ best option. âIâll do whatever I can I justâŠI wouldnât know where to start,â he sighs, âI donât wantâŠI donât want to trip you up is all.â Elliot shrugs, falling back into the couch once more. âLook where itâs gotten me, though.â No where. âItâs notâŠitâs not a sure fix. I justâŠyeah.â He breathes, a slight chuckle escaping as he casts a sidelong glance at his brother. âYou sure? Like really sure? I donât wanna fuck this up for you.â
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         he shouldâve said. yeah, maybe. probably. if heâd said something sooner, maybe rhys wouldnât have backed himself into the corner heâs in now, with only a few weeks to go until heâs supposed to take this damn test and losing more and more sleep every night over the fact that heâs still not even close to feeling prepared for it. ( how many nights has he had to talk himself down from a panic attack this week alone? fuck. five things you can see, four things you can feel... he feels tired, okay? and maybe a little frustrated, too. ) but maybe he didnât want to say. maybe â shit, maybe he wanted to believe that he could do this own, too, that he could just fucking figure it out, the way heâd just figured out how to raise an infant or help his dad keep a roof over their head and cps off his ass at the same time. compared to that, this shouldâve been easy. it was high school math, social studies. he expected it to be easy. easier, at least. but he was wrong, and maybe this whole time heâs just been too embarrassed to admit it.
         but rhys isnât about to own up to any of this. oh, fuck, no. one confessionâs enough for the night, he thinks, so all he musters in return is a half-shrug and a simple, â yeah... yeah, i know. â rhys glances down at the book in his lap, flips it open and absently turns a few pages. â well, thereâs a test cominâ up near the end of january. thatâs, uh â thatâs the big one, â he explains, â but i signed up for this class on the internet through the, uh, the community college? and itâs supposed help you get prepared or whatever â i donât fuckinâ know, the lady who helped me when i went in suggested it â but the thing is, itâs just makinâ me realize i have no idea what the hell iâm doing, or â or where to even begin. â rhys goans as he looks back up toward his brother. â i never did my homework, i was always too busy tryinâ to get you to do yours. â he means it entirely teasing, no guilt or perceived remorse intended. because it doesnât bother him that he had to wait this long to do it, that there were just other things he had to take care of first. truly. what bothers him is that after all this time, he still doesnât get it.
         elliotâs hesitations distract him from this, though, give him pause. steely gaze narrows on his brother, melancholy masked behind a sharper curiosity. â you wonât. â itâs not presented to him as opinion, but fact. did he really think that heâd trip him up? that he even could? the dunsmore brothers shared a close bond, thrust into the harsh reality of the world from a young age and left with no other option than to carry each other, arm in arm, through the thick of it all. and when it all became too much, when elliot would trip up and stumble himself, rhysâ stride never faltered and his hold on his brother never wavered. because no matter what happened, theyâd get through it. together. only itâs not elliot stumbling now but rhys, and heâs dumbfounded that his brother could see anything in his potential downfall other than rhysâ own two feet. â makes you feel any better, i donât got a clue where to start either. fuckinâ... flash cards, maybe? i dunno, â rhys admits, and then more casually, as if to lighten the weight of the words, â and anyhow, from where iâm sittinâ, i donât see anything wrong with where youâre at right now. â
         as if to drive that point even further home, rhys nods as his brother continues to press him, offering him every out to change his mind and rescind his request. but rhys canât. â you gonna make me beg you? â he chuckles at that, holds the textbook out to elliot in an offer. so he can at least see where theyâre starting. â yeah, iâm sure. and i promise you it ainât a decision i made on a whim. â
âIâm going to have to talk to whomever put the idea in peoples heads that I was bad with tools. Iâd be so good with a chainsaw, would break things up so quickly, and a sledgehammer? Demo day would be over so quickly.â Dylan pauses to think before her face scrunches up into a frown âit was Finn wasnât it? I go to the junkyard and pick up a drill one time!â She huffs, ready to start pouting over this injustice that she is facing but then Rhys calls her a brat and she is determined not to give him more fuel. Except that determination lasts all of two seconds when he starts whining about her inability to stay still.
âItâs not my fault you got a stupid big tree. Itâs heavier than plastic. You know what I was doing before this? I was on my bed, enjoying my day off. No one yelling at me, no one making me hold trees.â Dylan huffs in defence as she struggles to keep it in one place. She is already breaking a sweat, wondering if Rhys was using this as a form of torture for something sheâd previously done to him. All of a sudden she feels Rhys beside her but thereâs no time to look at him when she gets a face full of branch. âRhys!â If her hands werenât full of tree she might reach over to whack him. Sheâs contemplating a blind kick when he drops a bomb sheâd practically forgotten about in her attempt to survive being crushed by a Christmas tree.
Despite asking the question Dylan did not expect Rhys to give her an actual answer. His usual avoidance of such serious questions was not unfamiliar, when things got uncomfortable for her brothers it was much easier for the pair to deflect. Sheâd learned from the very best after all. Finally, the tree is held still as Dylan pauses, letting his words sink in. Carefully she stretches her arms to make room between her and leaf to see her brothers face. âThatâs wonderful, Rhys, truly,â she speaks in a softened voice, no more yelling at him. To hear her brother thought himself in love soaked her in joy - it was quite possibly the first time sheâd ever heard him say it. Cora was different than the few ex-girlfriends her brother had, for starters Rhys had been pulling Cora into his life rather than hiding what his reality was. The dance, the rodeo, thanksgivings; all moments heâd wanted to share with her rather than tell her about. Those were just the ones Dylan had witnessed, she knew heâd been spending a lot more time alone with Cora too. So long Dylan had watched her brother stick at it alone, play his role but never quite have someone to share with. Heck, the role heâd played wasnât even suppose to be his. Heâd given up so much, time and time again, feeling as if he had to be alone to get through it. Maybe he was finally seeing that he didnât have to, he never had to. Cora was lovely, though from a world so different than their own. She came with her own reality though, a child in tow. Dylan feels a protective pull in her belly to make sure Rhys does not get hurt after finally opening up, along with a twang that so much was changing for both of them and maybe they wouldnât always have each other to go on the journey with. âTell me about it. How do you feel about it? Happy? Scared? How does it feel? Like⊠how do you know itâs love?â
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        â 'course itâs heavier than plastic, itâs a goddamn tree. itâs made outta wood, for christâs sake. but it ainât that bad, yâcan manage, â rhys replies easily, unfazed by his sisterâs rather vocal struggle with the tree. sheâd always had a flair for the dramatics, and though heâd be a liar to say heâs not endeared to it, he has gotten used to it. when he needs to, itâs not hard to tune it out. â oh, donât act like you didnât miss me, â he adds as he finally tugs the blade through the last of the netting and frees the ( admittedly decent sized, rhys has to say, it looked a hell of a lot smaller out in the snow than it does in her apartment ) tree. â besides, little bit of movinâ around on your day off ainât gonna kill ya. what, were you gonna spend the whole day hanginâ out in bed? â
        once the branches have settled, rhys kneels back down on the floor, rolling his shoulders back as he prepares to duck his head under the tree so he can try and tighten the base again. icy blues flicker up toward his sister before he can help it when her voice softens, surprised by the abrupt shift in tone. he shouldnât be. not after the heaping pile of truth heâd just dumped on her in only a few simple words. to describe rhys as emotionally available in any capacity was laughable, but heâs sure thereâs not a single soul on this earth that knows more of his secrets than his baby sister. maybe it was because heâd all but fucking raised her, or maybe it was the countless traumas theyâd bonded through, but if thereâs anyone who can get him to open up, itâs dylan. but thereâs something in the way sheâs looking at him through the parted pine needles that has rhys suddenly flustered about his decision to confess, and he uses it as an excuse to focus his attention on the task at hand, diving face-first back into the branches the moment she begins to question him further. he can answer her question â maybe, maybe â if she canât watch him try and spit out the words.
        â how do i feel? i donât â i mean, yes, to all aâ that, â rhys admits as he pushes past sharp, bushy branches to reach the stand at the base of the trunk, struggling to keep the pine needles out of his mouth as he speaks. â i can tell ya iâm fuckinâ terrified, for one. itâs been â fuck, feels like itâs been forever since iâve felt any kinda way about anybody, and here she comes, waltzinâ into my life all of a sudden and makinâ me feel like iâd be out here tryinâ to give her the whole damn world if sheâd let me. â hands blindly find the first steel screw and start tightening it before reaching for the next. â and i donât know whatâs scarier â wonderinâ if she actually will let me, or knowinâ how badly i want her to. and shit, dylan, i really do. â rhys pauses, fingertips stilling briefly on cool metal as he tries to navigate his answer. his feelings. fuck. â she just â sheâs got me grinninâ like a goddamn fool every time sheâs around, like i canât even help it, and i find myself thinkinâ about her more often than iâm not. iâve started callinâ her during my breaks at work just âcause hearinâ her laugh makes my day that little bit brighter, and i actually look forward to my days off now, âcause i know it means iâll get to see her, and maybe even emma too. â heâs almost finished with the stand now, and he makes a point to get around to his own point before heâs done. â christ knows i ainât an expert on love, but i feel like thatâs only got me more convinced that must be what this is, because i never felt nothing like it before. â
         rhys disentangles himself from the branches once heâs fully tightened the stand, pushing himself out from beneath the tree and straightening up on his knees to look up at it ( and at dylan ) before rising to his feet. head falls into a gentle tilt and brows twitch inquisitively, and fuck, okay, he does feel a little bit better now that heâs gotten that off his chest. lighter, even. â why you askinâ me so much about it anyway? you ainât goinâ to threaten her about it, are you? â itâs mostly a joke, but rhys still eyes his baby sister as he waits for an answer.
               just like every other ( traditional ) woman in bradford springs, cora appreciated the small, romantic gestures such like flowers on dates. hell, he couldâve handpicked them from a field and she wouldnât of mind, because itâs him. once the compliment came shortly after, cora could feel her heart skip a beat and cheeks change color but luckily before she couldâve said a word, she was already sitting at the passengerâs seat of his truck, with both doors closed shut. in truth, there was always something about corny pickup lines and compliments in general that cora fancied from a young age.Â
         to be perfectly honest, the only reason cora even brought up neon boots was because she really wanted to go. after all, theyâve been talking about their line dancing skills ever since they met back at the bar in phoenix. well, that and the fact itâs been ages since she had an actual dance parter that wasnât her brother or one of her friends. a moment later, he snorted out a laugh that caused her to smile even wider, the sole fact that she was the one responsible for it spreading warmth around her ( already beating a bit faster ) heart. christ, even his laugh was endearing. her smile grew even wider as he began talking, their eyes connecting for a moment that she hoped would last longer ( but alas, he was driving after all ) as he elaborately explained the details of their date.  â i will never reveal my source, â cora replied, chin raising a bit stubbornly up in the air  ( no question where emma got it from ) before grinning right back at him.  â listen, if it will make you feel better, iâll pretend to be completely surprised and in shock when you take us to the shop later in the eveninâ, â she continued on, before starting to chuckle a little more. Â
     soon enough, they reach the large parking lot cora instantly recognized as the one before the townâs honky tonk, practically beaming in happiness that they were actually going to dance the night away just like she hoped.  â good, because i really wanted to go, â she admitted, and besides, if there was one thing cora stanley liked, it was being told sheâs in the right. call it a stanley stubbornness, considering all the women in her family had it. quickly unbuckling her seatbelt, she turned to face him as as they stopped in front of the neon sign, pearly whites digging into her glossed bottom lip.  â iâm more than ready, â she announced, already feeling far too much excited and happy ( which showed ) before they even stepped inside the dance hall. because once they were in and her jacket was off, cora had no hesitation to slip her hand into his as she motioned towards the dance floor, â i just hope youâre able to keep up, because yâknow thereâs one thing to brag about line dancinâ in a crowded bar and a whole other to actually be here, â she teased.Â
â
         the grin that tugs at the dimples above a scruff-lined jaw is enough to give away the truth heâs trying ( and failing ) to hide: as much as he tries to appear the opposite, he is positively endeared by the entire interaction. her playful defiance is enough to coax another chuckle out of him and he glances away from the road long enough to catch sight of a smirk on her lips and the slight jut of her chin. â you donât gotta say a word, â he assures her with a shake of his head, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, â i already know it was one of âem. just a matter of process of elimination now to figure out who spilled. â a brief pause punctuates his words before heâs laughing again, and when he looks back at her, itâs with a cheeky grin. â matter of fact, that would make me feel better. very thoughtful of you. hey, you donât get nervous âround needles, do you? â
         a wink is enough to let her know the questionâs rhetorical as they pull in, and thereâs enough confidence in the gesture to distract from his relief that she did actually seem happy about him taking her to neon boots, even if it was predictable enough she was able to call his bluff and guess it with ease. â me too, â he admits earnestly. â been thinkinâ about takinâ you here since the first night we danced together at the phoenix. â and, fuck, was that too corny to admit? he doesnât know. itâs the truth, though, as evidenced by the color that dusts cheekbones in the low light of the parked truck. rhys reaches for his door, hops out and starts around the side of the truck. sheâs already out before he can help her down, but he locks up the truck once her doorâs shut and lingers for a second beneath the dance hallâs illuminated sign, admiring just how fucking stunning she is under the flickering neon glow. ( the boys are right, heâs punching above his weight big time here. cora stanley is so far out of his league itâs almost laughable, but here he is. here he fuckinâ is. ) her enthusiasmâs infectious, and all she gets from him is a â good â before heâs leading her toward the door.
         heâd be a liar to say his heart doesnât skip a beat when her hand seems to find his the moment theyâre inside, and his gaze is warm when it meets hers, crinkled at the corners in curiosity at the challenging tone of her words. â oh, you donât gotta worry âbout that, darlinâ, â rhys assures her as his eyes search the dance floor; thereâs a fairly decent crowd tonight, but unlike at the phoenix, neon boots is designed to better accommodate more folks really dancing, and as it stands, theyâve got plenty of room. with her hand in his, rhys is quick to start leading her through the crowd to find a good spot, spinning her âround so theyâre facing each other once they stumble upon a clear spot toward the center of the floor. only then does he let go of her hand, flashing her a bright grin as he finds her ocean blues under pulsing neon lights. â time tâput your money where your mouth isââ if eyes flicker briefly toward her lips, no they donât, and then heâs jumping into line with the folks around him, quickly slipping into the dance theyâve found themselves in the middle of, â we doinâ this or what? â
HAND-ROLLED CIGARETTESÂ / a rhys dunsmore playlist
satan, settle down! keep your trousers on.
you can warm the globe, but leave my wretched soul alone.
i don't know you, and i don't owe you a thing,
but the children lose their minds in such uncertain times.
            a childrenâs crusade on acid // margot and the nuclear so & sos.
do you really like being alone? // manchester orchestra ⥠ lost in my mind // the head and the heart ⥠ baby shoes // bad books ⥠ little lion man // mumford & sons ⥠ i am a cage // right away, great captain ⥠ bad moon rising // creedence clearwater revival ⥠pride // manchester orchestra ⥠ nights in white satin // the moody blues  ⥠nightcall // london grammar ⥠ when i met death // right away, great captain ⥠ house of the rising sun // the animals ⥠when the man comes around // johnny cash  ⥠ rusted wheel // silversun pickups  ⥠mesa, az // bad books  ⥠ a childrenâs crusade on acid // margot and the nuclear so & sos ⥠ man of constant sorrow // home free ⥠ in hell, iâll be in good company // the dead south ⥠ oh no, i tried // right away, great captain  ⥠human // rag nâ bone man
Showing up to the diner mightâve been a bad idea. Showing up a little stoned mightâve been an even worse one, but thereâs nothing she can do about that now. Sheâs here, like she agreed to be. Though the thought even makes her scoff. When has she ever been the type of person to keep her word. Angel has a trail of broken promises a mile long, always replenishing the road without consideration or second thought. Then again, she knows thereâs no point in delaying this one. This conversation is going to happen whether she wants it to or not. Might as well get it over with, even if the anxiety of what might be said starts to consume her whole. âDid we have to meet at the diner?â Angel asks as she slides into the booth across from Rhys. âIâm not gonna like kick and scream or anything.â Itâs meant to be a joke, but the desire to be literally anywhere else keeps it from landing.
â
     when searching for the right words to describe his relationship with angel oâconnor, rhys is prone to coming up short. complicated might be a good one. heâs sure that at least a few of the gray strands that litter his dark copper curls can be attributed to the young woman sitting opposite him, just as many as his younger siblings. ( if not more, although elliot could likely give her a run for her money. ) he leans back against the stiff vinyl cushion of the booth  â itâs his favorite table in the diner, the front corner with the best window view to watch the comings and goings just outside  â  and lets his gaze wander a menu heâs probably got committed to memory at this point, if for no other reason than to give him a moment to prepare for the inevitability of the conversation theyâre about to have. her question has him peering over plastic pages and rhys shrugs as he closes the menu and lets it flop onto the table. thereâs a familiar glassiness to her gaze thatâs not difficult to notice when he really takes a second to look at her, and he does well enough to keep the disappointment from edging onto his expression. it doesnât help, and he doesnât want to start this off on the wrong foot. so he decides heâs not going to. not for now, anyway.
     â i know you ainât gonna go causinâ a scene, â rhys replies coolly, â thatâs not why why i picked here, âcause itâs some sorta public space or whatever. câmon now. â he shakes his head, reaches out to push the menu across the table in her direction. â i just figure if iâm askinâ you to lend me some of your time, âleast i can do is make sure you get a meal out of it. and you know damn well you donât want my cookinâ â donât this seem better than, i donât know, kraft easy mac straight out the pot? â