20 Cigarettes pt. V (DBF!Joel Miller x reader) FINAL PART
part I, part II, part III, part IV
series tags/warning: +18, mdni. Joel is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s. age gap. f!reader. unprotected piv. creampie. SMUTT. angst. slow burn. drinking, swearing, phone sex (if I've missed anything let me know and I'll amend), physical violence (not against reader), no outbreak, non canon, mention of TLOU characters but nothing is in line with the show/game aside from the fact Joel is the dilf to end all dilfs
w/c: 10.4k
a/n: we are at an end of reader andJoel's journey in 20 Cigarettes!!! I may potentially write some one-shots down the line but for now, this is where their love story leaves us. Enjoy!
****
You watch Jesse’s back retreat down the stairs, a little wobbly on his feet but determined. Fueled by something other than just booze. Like he’s been waiting for this, waiting to catch you out on something that drags you down to his level, smears you with the same brush that branded him when his own cheating blew up.
You’re not even sure when it happened, how the sweet, easygoing guy you knew in college hardened into someone unrecognisable. Someone who twists the knife just to watch you flinch. Someone who seems to think it’s fun.
A wave of nausea washes over you, and it’s got nothing to do with the champagne buzzing through your system.
“Jesse!” you call after him, starting down the stairs—
A hand closes around your wrist. Firm. Warm.
“Darlin’, wait.” Joel’s voice is quiet, urgent, right at your back.
You whirl on him. “Joel, he’s gonna—”
“What?” His gaze locks on yours. “Tell everyone?” There’s a flicker of pain in his expression before it flattens into something softer. Resigned. “Is that such a bad thing?”
For a second you just stare, sure you’ve misheard him. You must be drunker than you thought, because there’s no way he just suggested that.
He scrubs a hand down his face, sighing. “I just mean… if this thing between us is real—and I think it is, I know it is—then it’s gonna come out eventually. I didn’t want it like this, not tonight, but—”
“Joel, this isn’t—” Your voice catches, frustration pushing up against the edges of your chest. You don’t have time for this, to hash out the reality of your relationship with him right now, not with Jesse two seconds away from detonating in the middle of Dina’s wedding. You yank your arm free and barrel down the steps, the sound of the party swelling the closer you get. Music, chatter, the familiar thrum of too many people in one space.
By the time you reach the living room, Jesse’s already drawing a crowd in the backyard. He’s moving through it with purpose, calling your father’s name, scanning for him like it’s his life’s purpose.
“Hey!” Dina yells once she catches sight of him. “I thought I told you to get the hell out of here, Jesse.” With the tulle of her dress scooped over one arm, Dina quickly finds you when she gets no response from the intruder, her dark eyes briefly catching on Joel over your shoulder.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“He just caught me and Joel,” you bite out, voice strained.
Her eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
Oh, shit, indeed.
“Yeah. And now he’s gonna tell my dad.”
Leaving your best friend by the patio door, you shoulder past a couple of people, Joel shadowing every step of your own, close enough behind you that you can feel the heat of him at your back.
Jesse’s still making a scene—now in the middle of the dancefloor—his pleas for everyone to come closer soundtracked to curious murmurs from the rest of the guests. You make your way to the front of the crow, foolishly hoping your body alone can block the worst of it from spilling further as you say, “Jesse, stop. This isn’t appropriate.”
The irony spreads bitterness over your tongue.
An incredulous laugh barks out of him, loud enough to draw the last of the eyes that managed to remain distracted up until this moment. Jesse turns in a half-circle, gesturing to nobody in particular, a twisted look on his face as if to say, are you guys hearing this?
His eyes pin you when you earn his attention back. “You want to get on your moral high horse, huh? Wanna talk about what’s appropriate?” “Jesse—”
“What would your daddy say if—”
Blood thuds in your ears. “Jesse, please don’t—”
“No. No, really.” His eyes flick over your shoulder to Joel. “What would your daddy say if he knew his little girl was such a slut, whoring herself out to his best friend?”
You flinch at the words, at how vile—how simple—it makes the situation out to be. You don’t want to look, but your gaze betrays you, flicking to where your dad stands to the right. His brows are pinched as the weight of Jesse’s reveal cuts through the haze of alcohol. You shrink into yourself as you watch the confusion flickering behind his eyes turn to realisation, which turns them to black. His mouth parts and—
A weight slams past you, shoving you sideways, and you turn just in time to see Joel’s fist connect with Jesse’s face. The crack of knuckles on bone cuts through the music that’s still playing, followed by the collective gasp of onlookers. Jesse’s head snaps back, a spray of spit and blood catching the light before he stumbles onto the floor. You lunge forward, grabbing at Joel’s arm, planting yourself between him and Jesse as murmurs turn to shouts around you. His muscles are tight, steel under his shirt, breath coming hard through his nose, his eyes locked on Jesse like he’s ready to take another swing the second you let go.
Joel steps toward him anyway, looming, voice low but razor-edged. “You ever talk about her like that again,” he says, freakishly calm, “I’ll put you in the fucking ground.”
Jesse, still down, clutches his jaw, a bitter laugh dying in his throat.
“What the hell is he talking about?” Your dad’s voice cuts through the noise as he says your name, then, “Joel?”
He doesn’t answer, and neither do you. You just stand close to him, almost without thinking. His arm is shot out in front of you, protective, his half brushing against the front of your hip like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.
The weight of it, of everyone watching, knowing, presses down until you can feel it in your teeth. You’re not ashamed of Joel. Definitely not ashamed of how you feel for him. It was never about that. You’re only ashamed it’s spilled out like this, so messy and uncontrolled, wrung out of you in the worst possible version of events.
No, you’re embarrassed you were so careless tonight. Embarrassed that these past couple of weeks of getting away with it, with late night and stolen moments, had tricked you into thinking you’d always get away with it.
Of course it was going to come out. Of course.
A shiver zips through you, and your pulse drums in your palm, thrumming where Joel still holds you back, the steady wall of him both a comfort and a cage holding you to this moment. To your consequences.
“I knew it.” Tess’s voice, sharp and almost triumphant, slices from somewhere in the crowd. “I knew something wasn’t right when I saw you two at the diner and—”
“Enough.” Joel grits the word out, flickering her an icy look that keeps her from saying anything more. But your dad’s not letting it go. His gaze keeps dropping to where your fingers curl lightly at Jol’s side, to the way Joel’s stance shifts just enough to keep you shielded. His jaw works once, twice—then he steps in, face red, eyes blazing.
You stagger backwards, gasp still whole in your mouth where your hands hold it in as he swings. Unlike Jesse, Joel doesn’t move to defend himself. Doesn’t even lean away. He just takes it—your dad’s knuckles slamming into the side of his chin with a sickening thud. His head turns with the impact, lip splitting under the force.
Still, he barely flinches.
“She’s a fucking kid!” your dad roars, whole body vibrating with rage.
Joel wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing slow, shaking his head. “She’s your kid,” he says, voice rough but steady. “But she ain’t a kid. She’s…” He risks a glance at you, and the look there is so soft, so unguarded considering everything going on around you, it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.
It doesn’t soften your dad, though. If anything, it makes him explode harder—ranting about trust, about disrespect, about how Joel was supposed to be the one person he could rely on. His words spit and snarl, tangled with the betrayal of a man who thought he knew the values and ground he stood on.
“You were meant to look out for her,” he fires at Joel. “Not—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his thinning hair, then pointing at him like the gesture might land harder than anything he could say. “Not this. Not sneaking around like some goddamn—”
“We didn’t want—” Joel starts quietly.
“Don’t,” your dad bites. “I trusted you. I let you in my home. I told her you were—hell, I told myself you were a good man.” Joel’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t fire back. “I’m tryin’ to explain—”
“Explain?” You wince at the unruly laugh that cracks from your father. “Explain what? How you’ve been lying to my face for god knows how long? How you’ve been…” His face contorts at whatever image of you and Joel he’s conjured in his mind. “She’s young, Joel. And you’re—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Joel feels the implication of it all the same.
Too old. Should’ve known better. Should’ve walked away before it got this far.
He’s always tried to be a good man. A good father. A good friend. A good partner. But when those things pull him in opposite directions—when being one means failing at the others—what’s left?
Joel doesn’t have an answer. Only has the throb in his jaw where it’s locked tight, the sting in his lip where his best friend hit him, and the ache in his ribs where your dad’s words have landed and stuck.
You watch as Joel takes it. Just…takes it. His chest rises, falls. A muscle jumps in his cheek, but he doesn’t try to argue. He nods once, slow, letting your dad’s verbal blows sink in before he speaks.
“I care about her,” he says eventually, the words deliberate, like he’s making sure they can’t be mistaken. “That’s the truth. You can hate me for it… but I care about her.”
“Care?” your dad repeats, quieter now, but there’s no mistaking the edge in it. His gaze cuts to you and you go rigid, bracing yourself for what’s to come.
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous this is? What it looks like? I didn’t raise you to sneak around. To lie. To hide things from the people who’d do anything for you. You think this—” he gestures between you and Joel, a flick of his hand like the words themselves are distasteful “—is worth throwing that away?”
Around you, the party is still there, but it doesn’t sound like it. You can’t hear the music anymore. Can’t hear the judgemental chatter. Just the three of you, suspended in this narrow, airless space.
“Dad,” you try, fighting to keep your voice from breaking. From sounding weak. “It’s not—”
“It’s not what?” His voice is almost venomous now, and you struggle to think of a time you’ve ever heard him so incensed. So…broken. “Don’t stand there and tell me it’s different. I’m disgusted. In you.” His eyes slice to Joel. “And in you.”
You open your mouth. God you want to tell him, to make him see what this really is, but before you can, another voice edges in.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Dina’s dad is there, planting himself between you and your dad, his tone the kind that leaves zero room for argument. “Everyone needs to cool off. Now.” He clamps a hand on your father’s shoulder, steering him toward the house, his own voice dropping low as he mutters something only your dad hears. Two of Dina’s cousins have Jesse by the arms, hauling himself out the side gate.
And just like that, it’s as if someone hits play on the night again. The hum of the party swells back in again—music lower than it was but enough to break through the awkwardness, laughter itching at the edges of the yard. People are staring, whispering, shifting their weight like they’re trying not to look but are failing. You can feel the judgement crawling along your skin, itching there, hot. Damp.
You’re already turning to Joel. His cheek is swelling, and the split at the corner of his lop is dark and wet under the fairy lights. “Are you okay?” you breathe, hands already hovering near his jaw.
He studies you for a beat, brows knotted together. “Are you?” You frown up at him before he adds, “Darlin’, you’re crying.”
Your hands fly up to your cheeks. Oh. They’re wet. You hadn’t noticed. Joel’s mouth parts, arms shifting slightly like he might reach for you right there in front of everyone. But he stops himself. His eyes stay on you though, heavy and with intent, even as Dina saddles up beside you like a lifeline.
“You okay?” she asks, close as she scans your face. “Do you need anything?”
You blink, surprise catching your breath. You’d half-expected her to lose her shit at you for causing such a scene. “I…I’m sorry,” you manage. “I ruined your wedding.”
Your best friend waves it off with a quick shake of her head. “Don’t be silly. You didn’t ruin a thing.” She glances affectionately at where Ellie is dancing with Dina’s nephew. “Nothing can ruin a day like this—but you’re not the problem. Jesse is. He shouldn’t have been here.” “I know but we—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dina says, voice sharp despite the calm she’s trying to keep. She forces a tired smile, but you still see the warmth in it. “Joel, you think you can get her home?” He meets your eyes and nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”
You take another glance at your dad through the open patio doors. He’s leaning against the counter, plastic water pressed to his lips. He shakes his head, one arm gesturing angrily as he talks to Dina’s dad—about you.
About Joel.
You can’t imagine whatever he’s saying could be worse than what he’s already thrown at you in front of everyone. But the not knowing still stings. Still presses down on your chest, where your heart feels wedged in your throat, beating hard and uneven.
You turn back to Joel, eyes still a little glassy. “I’m ready. Take me home, please.”
***
The hum of the engine fills the cab. There’s no music, no laughter like there was while the two of you trekked around town. It still smells like Joel, leftover cigarette smoke and the copper tang of blood. He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other pressing a handkerchief to his split lip, and you keep thinking he’s going to say it.
That this was too much trouble. That you’re not worth it.
You’d thought, maybe naively, that once it was out there, once everyone knew, the weight on your shoulders would ease. That you’d feel lighter. Instead, it’s like you’ve traded one burden for another. One from where you’re not sure your relationship with your dad can be salvaged. You picture Joel backing away. Deciding it’s too messy, too ugly, too costly. You brace for it, for the way you’ll nod, make it easy for him, pretend you didn’t want him to fight harder for you. But he doesn’t speak. He keeps his eyes pinned to the road, jaw tight as he takes note of every shift you make in your seat, every little intake of breath. He holds the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping his hands steady. Wondering if you regret it. Wondering if this was supposed to feel like relief, and why it doesn’t.
It’s not long before Joel’s pulling up in the middle of your street, between your two houses. The engine ticks to silence. Neither of you moves. You fold in half in your seat, press your face into your palms as you let out a strangled scream. Joel reaches over, hand finding the back of your neck, thumb rubbing slow circles into the hair there. It’s simple. Comfort—without words.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you say finally, sitting up.
“What do you want to do?”
You shrug, even as you answer, “I need to talk to my dad. Without the crowd. Without the fucking theatrics.”
“You want me to come inside and wait with you?”
You look at him—really look at him for the first time since getting into the truck tonight. His mouth is still bloodied, jaw shadowed with the promise of a bruise, and there’s a smear of red just beneath his chin he hasn’t noticed. The collar of his shirt is crooked, hand now on the back of the bench seat, tracing the same patch of fabric like he’s keeping count of your breaths. Joel’s completely steadfast, even after the verbal lashing he’d taken at the wedding. Even after all of it.
Of course you want him to come in. But you need to do this yourself. Need to show your father you’re not some little girl being led astray and taken advantage of.
You shake your head, the decision firm even as uncertainty gnaws at you. “No. I think I need to talk to him alone.” You force a small, wry smile. “Plus, I’m scared of what he might do to you when there’s not a crowd of witnesses around.”
Joel lets out a half-grunt, half-chuckle. Then his voice drops. “Whatever he does, I deserve it.” There’s no anger in his words, no bitterness. He’s just resigned, like he’s already accepted the bed he’s made and knows he’s got to lie in it.
A few beats roll past as you hesitate, words caught somewhere between your chest and your lips. Eventually, you say the only thing you can for certain.
“I fly back to Charlotte on Monday. First thing in the morning.”
Joel’s jaw tightens, ticks, a flicker of something unreadable—regret? Longing? Maybe both. His dark eyes drop, searching for answers you don’t have, can’t give.
“Hell,” he mutters roughly. “That soon, huh?”
You nod, biting back the ache that blooms in your throat. “Yeah.”
The silence swells between you, grows legs, slaps you about like it’s a living thing. Neither of you knows what comes next. Without another word, he pulls you closer, his lips crashing against yours. It’s desperate—rough, urgent, tasting of blood and stale beer. It’s a kiss loaded with everything left unsaid, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll get this chance again.
When Joel finally pulls back, his breath ragged, he murmurs against your skin, “It’s gonna be alright, baby.”
Whether that’s true or not remains to be seen, but in this moment, wrapped in his arms, it feels like it could be. Like maybe there’s something steady beneath all this shit.
You pull back just enough to catch your breath. Joel reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering as he swipes gently over your cheek. His eyes catch the faint glow of the dashboard, amber glowing in the dimness. They hold you steady—fierce, warm—and he gives you a short, reassuring nod.
“You should head inside,” he tells you. “You need anything, you know where to find me, alright?”
You want to say something more, something that could make this moment less fragile. Less…unfinished. Maybe thank him for being here, or tell him you’re scared, or just ask him to stay a little longer. But the words never eventuate, just stay tangled up with everything else you’re feeling. So instead, you just nod and force a shaky smile. Hope it’s enough for now.
“’Night, Joel.”
He swallows hard, offers a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “’Night, darlin’.”
You climb out of the truck, your breath hitching in the cool night air. Once inside, you barely manage to lock the door behind you before your knees give out and you slump against it, the floodgates finally opening. The tears come fast and hard, wracking sobs shaking your body as you finally let the night break you down.
Across the street, Joel pulls into his driveway, the quiet inside his truck stretching thick. His teeth crunch down on each other, the strain tweaking a headache in his temple. He slams his fist into the steering wheel, the horn yelping sharply in protest as raw frustration tears from his throat.
“FUCK!”
***
It’s nearly two A.M. by the time you hear keys fumble at the front door.
You’ve been curled up in your dad’s armchair in the living room for the past hour—freshly showered, pyjamas on and knees drawn to your chest while you mulled over what you’d say when he came home. The door swings open and closes, but not with the sharp slam you’d braced for, but a slow, measured push.
A good sign, you tell yourself. Maybe.
You get up when he comes into the room, all your muscles pulled taut while you watch as he drops his keys on the kitchen counter with a metallic clatter. His movements are sluggish—shoulders slumped, feet dragging like he’s being charged per step. His coat hangs off him half-buttoned. He doesn’t look at you if he notices you standing there, gaze fixed somewhere ahead.
“Dad—” you start, but he only shakes his head, still not meeting your eye. “Dad, we need to talk about this.”
He holds up a hand, palm out, a blunt stop. Then he walks past you without a word, giving you nothing, heading straight for the stairs. The silence is worse than the shouting at the wedding, worse than the snap of his fist on Joel’s face and the red-faced rage. This is colder. Final.
Upstairs, the floorboards groan under your dad’s weight, and then it’s just the hum of the fridge and the sound of your own breathing, suddenly too loud in the stillness.
***
Joel barely sleeps. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling, phone up on the nightstand, half-expecting to see your name pop up, glowing in the otherwise dark room. His mind runs loops so tight he feels dizzy as he turns over the last couple of weeks. Picking apart every moment like they’re old wounds. Where he could’ve handled things better. Could’ve kept his distance. Where he could’ve betrayed people—your dad—less. It’s no use though. Truth is, that lie was crossed the moment he saw you in The Rusty Antler, your laugh across the bar sparking something in him he had no business feeling. Not for you. That first trip of his heart—that was the real betrayal. Everything that came after was just the echo of it.
By the time the first streaks of dawn are creeping through his blinds, he’s already in the kitchen with a mug of coffee he can’t stomach, bitterness sliding down the back of his throat. He’d been up for a cigarette first—couldn’t help it, not after the night he’d had—leaning against the pillar on the back deck with smoke curling in the half-light, trying to settle the restless thrum in his chest. Now the smoke’s gone but the ache’s still there. He doesn’t know if he should wait to hear from you, or head over to your place himself. Try and hash it out with your dad in the sober light of day.
Turns out, he doesn’t have to decide, because the knock comes just past seven. Hard and deliberate. Not a morning, neighbour knock.
Joel already knows who it is.
He opens the door to your dad, standing there in a T-shirt and jeans, jaw tight. He’s not sheepish, but not lunging for a second punch either. His eyes rake over Joel like he’s studying a stranger. There’s no warmth in it, no easy familiarity. Just an eerily measured assessment, like he’s stripping Joel down to the bones to see what’s changed.
He feels it too, that strange tilt in the air. Almost like he’s just been called into the principal’s office. Despite towering over your dad, he feels a hell of a lot smaller in this moment. He’s braced for the kind of dressing-down you get from a father, not a best friend.
He steps back, holds the door open. “Coffee’s cold, but it’s all I got.”
“Not thirsty.” Your dad’s voice is gruff, tired, as he steps inside, scanning the place like he’s looking for evidence, like the whole place is a crime scene.
“Look, I owe you an apology. For hittin’ you.”
Joel shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.” “I ain’t worryin’ about it,” your dad makes clear, eyes narrowing again as he looks up at Joel. “But I mean every word I said last night.”
Joel leans against the kitchen counter, mug in hand, waiting.
“How long?”
“It’s not—”
The cut-off is sharp when your dad grits, “Don’t you lie to me, Joel. I want the truth.”
Joel nods, silently cutting that deal.
“Not long. Just since she’s been back,” he says quietly, adding: “It’s not like we planned it.”
Your dad exhales hard through his nose, pinches the bridge like it stings to hear it. “Jesus. You know she’s not that much older than Sarah, right? In the scheme of things?”
Fuck. Sarah. Joel knows, without a doubt, she’ll hear about last night—about you and him—soon enough, what with the way gossip spreads like wildfire through this town. He’s not sure he has the answers ready for the questions he knows she’ll ask, for the potential teenage judgement she’ll sling his way. Hell, he doesn’t even have answers for the questions he has for himself.
Still, he doesn’t bother arguing semantics with your dad. To him, the difference in age between you and Sarah doesn’t matter. In his mind, you’re both just girls, daughters.
Your dad shakes his head again. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” Joel tells him plainly. “That’s the truth. I wasn’t thinkin’. It just happened”
“Just happened.” Your dad scoffs. “You think that makes it better? You’re my best friend, Joel. You’ve been sittin’ at my dinner table for years. And now—” he waves a hand in the air, frustrated, “—this? I don’t get it. Don’t get you.”
That last part cuts deep. Scrapes along Joel’s lungs.
You dad goes on: “I know things haven’t exactly been busy for you in that department. I know things with Tess—hell, she was right there, and you didn’t—” He cuts himself off again, pushes a heavy breath out. “But my daughter?”
Joel stares at the floor, at the small hole in his socks, fingers flexing around his mug.
“She’s got a whole life in Charlotte that she’s going back to. Friends. A job. You’ve got yours here,” your dad outlines before fixing Joel with a hard look. “One that includes me, and the last thing I want is to spend the next twenty years lookin’ across the street and hatin’ what I see.”
The words stick in the air like barbed wire before Joel’s voice comes out quieter than your dad’s ever heard it.
“I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Yeah, not on purpose, maybe,” he bites back. “But it’ll happen. And if you care about her at all, you’ll let her go back, let her get on with her life without this hanging on her. You’ll give her space. Do the decent thing.”
Joel stays silent, watching as your dad makes for the door. His boots scrape against the threshold before he pauses, hand braced against the frame. He turns, eyes hard but tired in a way Joel hasn’t seen before.
“Don’t let her tie her future to yours,” he says, unflinching. “You’ll drown her.”
And then he’s gone, and the house seems to shrink around Joel, every wall an inch closer. He stares at the closed door for a long while, your dad’s voice on a loop.
She’s got a whole life… Do the decent thing… You’ll drown her.
He wants to stand up to your dad. Wants to march straight over to your place, say it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks—that his feelings haven’t changed, won’t change. That he wants you just as much as he did yesterday. But your father’s words dig into the fears Joel’s been keeping quiet, pry them open, shine a hard light on truths he’s not naive enough to deny.
Last night, he told you everything would be alright. He meant it. But now he’s not sure what alright even looks like now.
Or if it’s something that still has him in it.
You’re leaving tomorrow. Heading back to your life. And your dad… he’s Joel’s best friend. His neighbour. Years of history in that friendship, the kind you can’t rebuild once it’s broken.
The kind he’d like to salvage, if your father will let him.
The coffee in his mug is cold. He tips it down the sink and doesn’t make more.
When your text comes in just after eleven—can I see you?—he can’t bring himself to type a lie, or the truth. Can’t seem to figure out the difference.
So he flips the phone over and leaves it there, screen dark. Message unanswered.
***
You don’t sleep. Tossed and turned until the sheets were twisted around your legs, the events of last night, of the past few weeks scratching at every edge of your brain.
Every sharp word, every flicker of Joel’s face in the dark, the way your dad had looked at you like you’d grown two heads.
Every sound felt louder in the dark. The distant hum of cars drifting over from the highway, a party from a couple streets away, the first chirps of morning birds. Your own heartbeat, thudding in your chest like it’s sole purpose was to keep you awake. When you finally give up on sleep, you swing your legs out of bed, push the blinds open just in time to see your dad striding back across the street from Joel’s place. His hands are shoved deep into his jean pockets, shoulders shoved to his ears.
You’re halfway down the stairs before your brain catches up to your body, fuzzy socks thudding on each step. You skid on the hallway rug, catching your dad just as he’s stepping in the front door.
“Please tell me you didn’t hit him again,” you plead, the words tumbling out before you can temper them. He looks up, sighs, like the sight of you is already exhausting.
“I didn’t hit him.” A beat. “And even if I did, that’d be me being kind.”
A small pinch of relief nips at the edges of anxiety roiling in your chest. It doesn’t last though. He shoulders past you toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath.
“What the hell’s going on with you?” he says a moment later, spinning on his heel to face you. “Have you lost your damn mind, girl?”
“Nothing is—I’m fine.”
Your father shakes his head. Seems to be a reflex now when it comes to you. “You’re not fine. If you were fine, you wouldn’t be actin’ out, sneakin’ around—”
“I’m not acting out,” you snap. “I’m an adult, remember?”
“An adult who thinks it’s wise to be sleeping with my best friend. He’s old enough to be your father,” he seethes, disbelief bleeding into his voice. The corner of his eyes crinkle at the mention of you and Joel being intimate.
Your spine stiffens. “Who I am or am not sleeping with is none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t.” His face twists. “It is when it’s happening right under my nose. When it’s the two people I care about most.”
“You think I set out to make a whole mess of it, of—”
“I think you didn’t think at all,” your dad grits. “It’s not just you and Joel in this. Other people get hurt. Did you even think about Sarah? She’s your friend. What do you think she’s gonna say when she finds out? What do you think she’s gonna think of you?” The mention of Sarah hits harder than you want it to. You picture her face—the easy smile, the late-night talks you used to have—and it niggles at something in your gut.
“Sarah will understand,” you lie. You don’t believe it.
Neither does your dad, voice rising when he confirms, “No, she won’t. And you’re too wrapped up in whatever this is to see it.” “It’s not some fling,” you fire back. “It’s not—”
“It is,” he interrupts. “It’s some misguided rebound after Jesse, after what he did to you, and I get it, okay? I’d get why you’d want some validation, especially from someone who isn’t a young kid with no idea. But this—” He gestures vaguely, frustrated.
“It’s not a fling,” you repeat, louder now as heat burns behind your eyes.
Something in your dad’s expression shifts—not softer exactly, but almost weary, like he’s looking at a puppy that’s been kicked one too many times. “Sweetheart, come on.” His voice dips for the first time, gentler, almost pitying. “You can’t really think this is going anywhere. You and Joel don’t have a future.”
“Maybe we don’t,” you admit, voice trembling. “But you don’t get to decide that.”
He shrugs. “Maybe not, but I know Joel a hell of a lot better than you. He’s not a man who chases after anyone. Once you’re gone, you’re gone. He won’t come after you. Better get that through your head now and save yourself the heartbreak.”
Your head jerks back, your dad’s words hitting as hard as a lashing. Tears prickle hot and insistent at the corners of your eyes, and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from spilling over.
The Joel your dad knows isn’t the Joel you know. He doesn’t know the man who smooths his palm over your hip until your breathing events out, who murmurs things he’s too proud to say in daylight. Who looks at you like you’re the only steady thing in a world that won’t stop shifting.
Your Joel wouldn’t lie to you. He wouldn’t fill you with promises he had no intention of keeping.
He asked if he could come visit you in Charlotte. You can still hear him saying it over the sound of the chatter and coffee machine in the diner, rough and almost shy, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask. But your dad’s voice is there, rattling around in your head, and suddenly there’s a small, ugly curl of doubt threading through your chest.
What if Joel was just saying it to make leaving easier?
What if the asking was the closest he’d ever come to actually doing it.
You force yourself to shove the thought away. Straighten your spine, lock your jaw.
No. He meant it. You know he did. Whatever your dad thinks he knows about Joel, he doesn’t know this—doesn’t know the Joel who’s yours.
You glare at your dad, voice steady but sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Without waiting for a response, you turn and head for the front door. You step into whatever shoes you’ve left lying there, then pull your coat from the rack and shuck it on over your pyjamas.
As you push the door open, your dad’s voice cuts through the otherwise quiet morning. “You’re not going to Joel’s. Not today. Or any other day while you’re under this roof.”
You stop for a heartbeat, eyes flicking across the street to Joel’s house, feeling the pull of everything you want to run toward. But instead, you turn away and start down the sidewalk, each step deliberate as you try to ground yourself. You focus on the cold air filling your lungs, steadying the tremble in your chest.
One foot. Then the next.
You wander for God knows how long as the cool fall morning seeps through your coat. Passersby throw sidelong glances your way. Some are likely curious about your ad hoc outfit. Others you suspect have heard about last night, about the catastrophe at Dina’s wedding. You wonder how fast the news spread. Maybe someone snapped a photo, fired off a text at the exact moment it all blew up. Or maybe they held off, waiting until morning to start making phone calls. You wouldn’t be shocked to see an alert pinned in the neighbourhood watch Facebook group by now.
Despite the weight on your chest, walking helps. Your thoughts slow, and by the time you loop back toward your street, you feel steadier, even if it’s only slightly. You’re still in a bit of a fog, however, so you don’t notice that you’re nearing Tess’ house, where she’s standing out front, reaching for her Sunday paper. But she clocks you immediately—eyes sharpening, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. Her lips press into a thin line before offering a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Mornin’,” she says. Her voice is light, but you know better, already bracing yourself. “Walk of shame, huh?”
You hold her gaze, waiting for her to finish, knowing she’s far from done.
“I always thought you were a sweet girl growing up. Even at dinner the other night. Polite, kind,” she sighs dramatically. “Never pegged you for someone who steals other people’s men.”
There’s hurt, jealously tangled up in her words.
“I didn’t steal anyone,” you say. You try to sound strong, but your voice betrays you, coming out barely above a whisper.
She scoffs and crosses her arms, a hint of smugness tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Men these days can't resist young, easy things like you, can they?”
She’s trying to get a reaction out of you, to make you feel bad, as if the fallout from last night hasn’t marred you already. “Tess, I don’t want any trouble.”
“It’s a bit late for that, though, isn’t it?” she asks rhetorically. Then, she tilts her head, sluices her eyes over you. “Ever since you’ve been back, I keep catching him watching you, you know. Thought he was just keeping an eye out for his best buddy’s daughter. Didn’t realise you were out here doing him favours when no one was looking.” You keep your gaze steady, refusing to give her the satisfaction of looking rattled as she goes on. “Honestly? I’m surprised you’d go for your daddy’s best friend. Bold move. Guess you could’ve done worse… like some married guy, right?”
That triggers you, your voice coming out brittle when you say, “You don’t know a thing about me and Joel.”
Tess shrugs, smug edge still there. “Sure, say I don’t. But Joel? He’s not built for anything serious. I’ve seen it myself—handsome, brooding, but blind when it comes to what matters.” You open your mouth to respond, but she interjects, cold when she says, “But he sees you, I suppose.”
It’s clear what she’s getting at.
You don’t matter.
You let the words hang between you, aware that across the street, Mr and Mrs Lynden are watching the pair of you from their porch swing. Great. How long until the rest of town hears about this, too? Angst boils in you, and you consider snapping back at Tess, something cutting, but the fight suddenly feels pointless. So instead, you give a small nod, resign from your post outside her fence as you say, “Okay, Tess.”
Your feet carry you down the sidewalk, the burn of Tess’ eyes at your back. The impulse to knock on Joel’s door grows with each step, but when you get there, his truck is gone. The weight in your chest tightens.
Back at home, the day passes by in a blur of routine. You pack your things without much thought, folding clothes and stuffing bags while your mind drifts elsewhere. Every item packed feels like a step closer to leaving this whole mess behind, but also a step away from Joel, at a time where there’s already more distance than you can stand. He hasn’t replied to your earlier message—or the follow-up: Saw you’re not home. I can come meet you somewhere? Every now and then, you think you hear your phone buzz. Your heart jumps. But the screen’s always blank. You check your messages again, scroll back just to be sure, then keep staring, waiting for it to light up. It doesn’t. You keep an eye on the window too, on his driveway, where his truck never pulls in. Maybe he’s at a job. Maybe with Tommy. Or maybe just avoiding you.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, organising the last of your clothes, when your phone finally buzzes for real. The sound is sharp in the quiet, jolting through you until you’re standing.
You snatch it up too fast, and your foot catches the edge of your bag—you stumble, heart in your throat when you see Miller on the screen.
But it’s not Joel.
It’s Sarah.
Your fingers hover a second before you swipe into the message.
My dad??!!!
Two words. Three exclamation marks. Enough to tell you she knows.
The message gives nothing away—no hunt if she’s furious, hurt, or just plain confused. You don’t ask. Not yet, just set the phone facedown on the bed and let it buzz once more against the covers before falling silent. Downstairs, the smell of beer and the low drone of the football on the TV pull you into the living room. Your dad hasn’t said a word to you since you got back from your walk this morning. Now he’s planted on the couch, bottle in hand, eyes on the screen but his jaw set like stone. The room feels emptier than it should. Joel isn’t here—no half-heard mutter of his voice from the kitchen, no extra beer sweating on the coffee table. You’re not surprised, but the hollow space where he should be still makes your stomach dip. Part of you had hoped—stupidly—that for some reason, he’d be here.
You linger in the doorway a moment, then step in far enough to lean on the arm of the couch. “Dad.”
He doesn’t look at you. Just takes a sip of his drink, eyes still fixed on the game.
“Can we—”
A sharp shake of his head cuts you off before you can finish. Whatever conversation you’d been hoping for isn’t happening tonight. Your stomach growls, a hollow pang serving as a reminder that you haven’t eaten since… Well, all day. You think about grabbing something from the kitchen, but the air in here feels too tight, too sour. You can’t stay.
You climb the stairs again, two at a time, snatching your phone up from where you left it on your bed. One name stands out in your messages, their texts still unanswered as you hit call.
Dina answers on the first ring.
“Oh good, you’re alive. I was about two texts away from thinking your dad had you buried under the shed. That, or you and Daddy Miller were off to Pound Town in some kind of severe, spite-fuelled defiance.”
You huff out a laugh. “I know. I’m sorry I haven’t responded.”
“How is everything?” “A fucking mess.”
“Oh, babe.” There’s a few moments of compassionate silence before you continue.
“ I know you and Ellie are in, like, newlywed bliss, but—”
“What do you need? Whatever it is, I’m there.”
Fuck, Dina’s a good friend.
“I could really go a margarita and two-dollar spicy wings.”
A couple of beats pass before Dina’s grin is audible down the line. “Coincidentally, that’s exactly what I was craving. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”
***
At The Rusty Antler, Joel sits hunched over his beer, elbows on the worn bar. The place is quieter than usual—just a low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from the corner table and barely decipherable music from the jukebox. Nothing like the last time he was here, when the air was loud and close, you throwing flirty glances his way before the two of you made out of here together.
Now it’s all space. Space between him and the rest of the crowd. Space between then and now.
Tommy’s beside him, nursing his own drink, letting the silence between him and his brother breathe. He doesn’t push. Not right away, at least. Just takes a slow slip, eyes scanning the half-empty room. Eventually he leans in slightly and says,” So, you wanna talk about whatever we’re drinkin’ about, or d’you wanna keep sulkin’ in silence?”
“I ain’t sulkin,” Joel tries, but one slice of Tommy’s eyes has him backtracking. “It’s complicated.”
Tommy nods, like that somehow explains everything. Takes another sip. Then, without changing his tone, “More complicated than fuckin’ your best pal’s daughter and everyone findin’ out about it?”
Joel’s head snaps toward him. He sets his beer down with a solid thunk.
“How the fuck did you hear that?” Tommy doesn’t flinch. “Maria’s sister is friends with Tess, remember?”
Joel huffs through his nose. “Of course she fuckin’ is.”
His brother turns on his stool to face him fully, hand still clasped around his bottle. “So… it’s true, then?”
Joel takes his time answering, lifting the beer to his lips, swallowing slow. “Depends what you’ve heard.”
“Just that. That you and her got somethin’ goin’ on.”
Joel exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Look, it ain’t like—” He stops to search for the right words. “It just happened.”
He’s very aware that seems to be the go-to explanation for this, for you, but it’s the only one he can scrounge to give it meaning.
“Uh-huh.” Tommy tips his beer, watching his brother over the rim. “What does just happened mean, exactly?”
Joel shakes his head, more at himself than at Tommy. “Means I didn’t plan it. Means she didn’t either. We were just… there. Together.”
Tommy leans in, voice lower now. “You’re not dumb, Joel. You knew what this would look like. What people would say when they found out.”
“I know.” Joel’s tone is clipped, but there’s no real bite behind it. “I just never figured it’d get to a point where anyone had to find out. Thought it would be one and done, between us. I didn’t expect it to carry on.”
“But it did,” Tommy says flatly.
Joel stares at his beer. “But it did. And… I don’t know how I’m supposed to let it go.”
“Shit.” Tommy leans back, studying him as it clicks. “You actually care about her.”
Joel sits up straighter on his stool. “Yeah, I do,” he admits. “And her dad’s given me a hell of a dressin’ down—”
“And a hell of a shiner,” Tommy adds, gesturing to the stormy bruise on Joel’s chin.
“Yeah, well… He’s my best friend, Tommy. I fucked him over. Bad. He wants me to end it. I know I should end it. But she’s…” Smart. Quick as a whip. Laughs ‘til it gets in your damn bones and stays there. “She’s goin’ home tomorrow. And I don’t know if it’s for better or worse.”
Tommy swirls the last of his beer, eyes still on Joel as he knocks it back in one swallow. “I’m not sayin’ what you did was right,” he says finally. “But I ain’t sayin’ it’s entirely wrong either. I get not bein’ in control of your feelings. Hell, I didn’t expect to fall for Maria, but I did—and I had to fight like hell to keep her, to make her see I was in this. In it for her.”
Joel huffs, a humorless sound. “And now look where you are.”
“And look where we are,” Tommy agrees, shrugging. “I’m not tellin’ you what to do, Joel—you’re a big boy. But if what you’re feelin’ for this girl is anything like what I feel for Maria, you’d be an idiot to let her go without at least tryin’. Without tellin’ her, plain and simple, how you feel. I don’t give a fuck whose daughter she is.”
Joel doesn’t answer right away. He peels at the label of his beer, turning Tommy’s words over like a stone in his hand, feeling every jagged edge. The idea of telling you—really telling you—makes his chest tight. Not because he doubts the truth of it, but because he doubts what good it’d do now. You’re leaving. Your dad’s pissed. And Joel’s already burned more than one bridge in this mess.
“I don’t even know what I’d say,” he mutters.
Tommy smirks. “Try startin’ with the truth. Works better than you’d think.” Joel’s about to reply when a sound cuts through the low hum of the bar—a laugh he knows better than he would’ve expected just a few short weeks ago. Warm, unguarded, and sharp at the edges, like it’s always half a dare. His head snaps toward the door before he can stop himself.
There. You. Are.
Backlit by the burnt-orange smear of sunset through the entryway, you stand with Dina, both of you grinning about something. Your hair’s a little wind-tangled, your cheeks flushed from the walk in. You look like you’ve got no idea you’re walking into combative territory—and yet, to Joel, you look like you belong here more than anyone. He goes still, every muscle braced, his eyes locked on you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks. Tommy follows his gaze, then lets out a low whistle.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says under his breath, somewhere between amusement and oh-shit realisation.
You and Dina are still laughing about the guy in the parking lot who tried to flirt with her while holding a bucket of live crabs (romance isn’t dead, she’d said), when you step inside. The bar’s dim after the light outside, your eyes adjustinslow—until they snag on a shape at the counter.
Joel.
You stop like you’ve hit a wall, the sound of your laugh catching in your throat. His face is half shadowed by the pendant light hanging above him, but you can see the set of his jaw, the way he’s looking at you.
Like you’re the last thing he expected and the only thing he was hoping for.
The air between you feels immediately thick, charged. Dina glances at you then to where you’re looking, and makes a quiet knowing ohhhh.
Your pulse jumps. He’s here. You’re here.
Dina tilts her head toward the far side of the room. “I’ll get us a table,” she says, already moving.
You murmur back something resembling sure, though you’re already halfway somewhere else—drawn forward, unthinking, like your feet know where they’re going before you do. Joel’s standing by the time you reach him, as if the same magnetic pull’s working on him too. It’s only when you’re close enough to touch that you clock the man beside him.
Tommy. He’s looking between the two of you with a spark of amusement, like he’s watching a particularly tense tennis match.
“Hey, Tommy.” Your smile is soft, a little embarrassed, already guessing he knows what everybody else does.
Your name is warm as he says it. “Long time no see.” There’s an awkward beat before he pushes up from his stool, hiking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna head home. Joel—call me later.” His eyes flick between you both one last time as he tacks on to his brother, “And remember what I said.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you in the static of Joel’s silence.
From the corner of your vision, you can see Dina settling in near the empty stage, her coat shrugged off and tossed across the back of a chair. She’s watching the two of you with a kind of lazy curiosity, like she’s just been handed front-row seats to a slow-burn drama she’s been tracking for weeks.
Joel’s the first to break the silence. His voice is low, careful. “Thought you’d be busy. Packin’ or somethin’.” “Too busy to notice you ignoring me?”
His mouth twitches, jerking the day-old wound of your dad’s punch, like maybe he’s about to argue, but all that comes out is, “Darlin’, I’m not ignoring—”
You pin him with a look that’s sharp enough to cut through whatever excuse he was about to spit out.
“I’m not ignoring you,” he says again, this time quicker, like getting the words out faster will make them sound truer. His jaw flexes. He looks… uncomfortable. Unsteady in a way that’s not like him. “It’s just—”
“Holy shit.” The words spill before you can stop them, and they taste acidic on your tongue. “He got to you, didn’t he? My dad actually scared you off.”
Joel’s eyes flicker—just for a second—but it’s enough. “That’s not entirely—”
“What did he say?” Your voice is sharper now, pushing past the tightness in your chest. “Seriously, Joel. What could he have said that—” You stop, because you can hear yourself, but it’s too late to reel it back in. “You told me last night that everything was going to be alright. Was that just something to make me feel better at the time?”
You’re borderline shrill now, voice carrying down the length of the bar. The bartender glances over, a little wary, and some guy nursing a beer at the opposite end tilts his head just enough to watch you. Joel looks down at you—something fond erring in his eye—and it knocks the wind out of him. Hair scraped up in a messy bun that’s pulled together with the remnants of your wedding updo. No makeup tonight. A green knit sweater and jeans, simple as anything. There’s a faint shadow under your eyes that matches the bags under his own. And fuck, if you aren’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
You stare back up at him, eyes wide and a little panicked, and every second he doesn’t speak sends another bolt of frustration snapping through you. “So you ignore me over text, and now you’re just gonna ignore me to my face? Joel, what the fu—”
“Hey.” His hands come up without thinking, cupping your face. Warm and steady, the breadth of them framing you like they could block out the rest of the room if he pressed close enough. He feels the tiny shift in you, the way some invisible tension eases just from his touch.
It’s not like this with other people.
He knows it. You know it.
“Hey,” he says again, softer now. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I don’t ever want to ignore you.”
You blink, caught between anger and the instinct to lean into him. Joel’s gaze flicks toward Dina, still perched at her table, doing a terrible job of pretending she’s not watching every second of this.
“We need to talk,” Joel says finally, voice low enough that it’s meant for you and you alone. “But I don’t wanna do it here. Not with half the bar listenin’.” Your frown lingers, but his hands are still on your face, stabilising you in a way you hate to admit works. “Go,” he murmurs, nodding toward Dina. “Enjoy your time with your friend. Come by my place when you’re done. We’ll talk then.”
Your mouth opens, ready to protest, but before you can he dips forward and presses a firm kiss to your forehead. It’s brief, but enough to leave your skin buzzing. Then he lets you go, stepping back toward the door, the space between you suddenly colder.You watch him disappear through the door, the sounds of the bar closing back in around you.
By the time you make it to where Dina’s set up camp, you’re still buzzing—equal parts irritated and restless. You drop into the seat across from her with a sigh you don’t bother hiding. She eyes you for all of two seconds before flagging down the bartender with a lazy wave. “Seriously,” she says, deadpan: “If you guys don’t fuck and make up before you go home, it’s going to be such a waste.”
You huff out a laugh despite yourself, rolling your eyes as you wave her off. “Shut up. Let’s just get some food, okay?”
***
By the time you both have eaten your combined weight in two-dollar wings, and you’ve had one margarita too many for courage, the sharp edges of your run-in with Joel have dulled into something you can almost laugh about on the drive home. When Dina pulls onto your street, you point out Tess’ place, and having already told her about your encounter with her this morning, Dina flips the bird in the direction of her house without hesitation. You snort a laugh, the lingering tequila in your system sending a surge of giddiness through your body. She eases to a stop in front of Joel’s place, headlights spilling over his front porch. She twists in her seat and pulls you in for a tight hug.
“You’ve got this,” she says firmly. “I love you. Text me later, tell me how it goes. And if you chicken out, I’m coming back to drag you in myself.”
You laugh again, shaky but grateful, and promise her you won’t.
The Jeep rumbles off down the street, and you’re left standing in the cool night air, facing Joel’s porch. You barely make it to the top step before the front door swings open. For a second you think it's a coincidence—until you see the look on his face, the way he’s already filling out the frame like he’d been standing there well before you turned up.
Which he had been.
Joel had spent the last hour pacing between the living room and the front window, eyes flicking from his driveway to your house’s front door, ready to run interference if your dad decided to wander out at the same moment you showed up. His chest had been tight with a nervous, restless energy that reminded him of waiting for a first date. When Dina’s Jeep finally rolled to a stop outside, Joel’s breath caught. He’d been pacing, not because he was worried someone might see, but because he was itching to have you to himself again, uninterrupted.
He swung the door open as soon as you were on the other side of it.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound cool as he’s anxious. He scans your face, eyes bouncing over your features, like he’s making sure you’re really here.
“Hi.”
“Come on in.” His hand finds the small of your back as you step inside, heat blooming again at his touch while the door clicks shut behind you. For a moment, he doesn’t move away from the entrance, just watches you like he’s trying to figure out where to start. Then he huffs out a breath. “I was being a coward. And you were right, I was avoidin’ you. I didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but yeah, your dad did get to me.”
The way he says it knocks you off balance. Like he’s been carrying them around, worn smooth from turning them over again and again in his head. Your gut draws tight. You’re not sure whether this is the start of him letting you in, or the start of him letting you down.
Joel continues: “He said every fuckin’ thing I was worried about to start with. All the ways this could go wrong. And I—” his mouth twists, “—I let it stick.”
“I told you,” you say, sharper than you mean but fuck, if it doesn’t frustrate you, “those things don’t matter to me.”
He nods, just once. He believes you but hates himself for not being able to shake it. Your dad’s words wormed their way in, grapple hooks latching themselves to Joel’s conscience. “Maybe not to you. But I don’t wanna be the thing that holds you back.” He pauses before adding, “Thing is, I don’t want to let you go either.”
You pick at the dry skin at the corner of your thumbnail. “My dad… He said you’re not capable of chasing people. That once I’m gone, back to Charlotte, that’ll be it. This’ll be done.” Your eyes drop to the floor. “Tess seemed to think the same.”
Something flickers across Joe’s face but it’s gone as quick as it comes and is soon replaced by a tight set of his jaw. “Tess doesn’t know a damn thing about this,” he tells you firmly. “And your dad—Maybe I didn’t chase in the past. But that’s because there wasn’t anything worth chasin’.”
The words land like a punch and a balm all at once, your chest tightening around them. He takes a slow step closer, his voice softening but not losing its edge.
“I didn’t go lookin’ for any of this. Hell, I wasn’t even thinkin’ about somethin’ like this anymore. But now…” He shakes his head, a faint, almost incredulous smile ghosting over his mouth. “Now I can’t picture not havin’ it. Not havin’ you.”
You hadn’t noticed him drifting closer, or maybe it was you, moving towards Joel in some inevitable gravity pull. And now, he closes the last of the gap between you, hand coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb brushes over the swell of your cheek as he studies you with dark eyes.
“I don’t care if I have to fly, drive or fucking hitchhike to Charlotte every damn weekend to see you,” he tells you, all rough drawl. “If all I get for now is phone calls or weekends, whatever scraps of time you can give me…” His gaze flickers over your face like he’s taking note of every inch. “I’ll take whatever I can get. If you’ll have me.”
Your throat works, bobbing tightly under your skin, but the words don’t eventuate. Not when he’s this close, not when his sincerity hits you like a tight hug after being away from home for a while.
“Joel…” you whisper. Whether it's thanks, confession or a plea, you’ll never know, because his mouth is brushing against yours, almost clumsy in its urgency. It deepens just as quickly—his lips parting, catching yours again and again until you’re gasping into the heat of his. One hand paws at the back of your neck, tilting your head just where he wants it, while the other fists gently at the knit at your hip, holding you flush against him. It’s the kind of kiss that steals your balance but you don’t mind because you get something better in return.
His breath mingling with yours. The faint scrape of stubble on your skin. The low, unhinged sound he makes when your fingers curl into his shirt.
When you finally break for air, your lips are swollen, pulse rapidly high—and Joel’s looking at you like you’ve just answered him without saying a single word.
And you know then, with absolute certainty.
Of course, you’ll have him.
You always will.
***
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