So sorry to all the bad bitches that I forgot. If y'all know anybody that I forgot, tell me in the comments so I can either add them if I know them, or if you wanna reblog this and tag somebody that you know that I did not add.
But do you guys see how long this list is? Do you see how many Black mutuals I have? This is an accomplishment for me. Hell yes. This is what we like to see.
I think it’s hilarious when I come across writers who write for Jobe with a white reader in mind, bc when he was asked if he would date a white girl he said “I’ll just stick to football” 💀💀
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
synopsis : Y/N Jackson — cast of rhoa - bold, black , flirty, and drama-obsessed, is the wife of Michael Jackson. While the King of Pop stays in the background with those shy smiles the cameras love catching, Y/N dives headfirst into the chaos with NeNe Leakes, Kim Zolciak, Shereé Whitfield, Lisa Wu, and DeShawn Snow. Performative, quick with the shade, and always serving looks, she turns every lunch, shopping trip, and gala into pure mess. Real love, pop royalty, and Atlanta heat.
main cast : y/n jackson & michael jackson
warning(s) : i DO NOT own real housewives of atlanta (obviously) reader is inspired by kelly rowland, drama, cussing, kissing, age gap, MDNI
Episode 1: “Never Say Never… Unless it’s shade”
Episode 2: “Wigs Snatched & Glove Talk”
Episode 3: Chateau Drama & King Cameos
Episode 4: Baby Shower Blowout
Episode 5: Neverland Nights & Atlanta Lights
Episode 6: Flirt, Fight, Forgive?
Episode 7: Tabloid Lies & Protective Wives
Episode 8: Reunion Prep & Shade Rehearsal
Episode 9: Moonwalk Through the Mess
Episode 10: Finale: Crowns & Clapbacks
Reunion Special: “Diamonds, Drama & the King”
- p.s: omg this idea popped into my head outta nowhere! lmk if you want to be on the taglist! I’m so excited!!!
masterlist
don’t forget to comment and reblog and don’t forget to smile 😊
synopsis: growing up in the church in the south and being the pastor’s daughter is one thing but secretly dating one of the boys in the most popular boy group in black music is another.
jackie jackson x black!reader
warnings: smut, not proofread thoroughly, slight angst, reader’s parents from the souf hence her described accent, mentions of joseph, secret relationship, forbidden romance, pastor’s daughter reader, strict/protective parent dynamics, religious guilt, late-night sneaking around, fluff, mature language, emotional vulnerability, oral sex, blk reader insert — minors do not interact.
note. u want me to do a part two, huh?
all your life, you had been taught that a pastor’s daughter carried herself a certain way. soft-spoken. modest. untouched by the kind of trouble that made church mothers whisper behind gloved hands after sunday service. every part of your life had always belonged to the church somehow, from the dresses your father picked out to the hymns you sang with perfect posture and lowered eyes. but somewhere between growing up under stained glass windows and living by rules that never felt like yours, you started craving something louder than obedience. something warm. dangerous.
maybe a particular danger she was well acquainted with. this danger not only had a name but it also was 6 feet tall and had a afro with lips as sinful as his tongue. you first encountered him when the jacksons did a show right there in encino and visited your father’s church that following sunday. the sanctuary buzzed the second they walked in, they weren’t too fond of them disturbing the house of the lord with they devil music and boogie nonsense, as your father would say. that day the church was full of hushed gossip and curious stares, but you felt his eyes before you ever looked up. jackie watched you from halfway down the pews while you stood beside the choir, dressed in white and trying very hard not to notice him noticing you.
the church girls from the choir started giggling and talking amongst themselves about the handsome boys in the pews with their colorful bell bottoms and and afros. you had recognized them from the show soul train, which was a show you had to sneak around to watch. everyone in encino obviously knew who the group of young men were, so some people they were young, black, talented boys who were going some place. to your father, they were foolish.
jackie was your favorite amongst the jacksons. there was something about him that felt dangerous in a way you secretly liked, from the deepness of his voice and the blouse we wore, unbuttoned to show us chiseled chest to the smile that lingered too long whenever he caught you staring. he looked just as fine as he did on television, maybe even finer beneath the church lights. when he finally noticed your eyes fixed on him and smiled back, heat rushed through your body so fast you had to turn away before somebody noticed, that somebody being jackie himself.
after that sunday afternoon, he had more reasons to come and see you. it started with phone calls, him teasing you through the phone, bringing out soft laughter and whispers through the receiver, hoping to god your daddy wouldn’t pick up on the other line and hoping to god his father didn’t do the same. then it would start to get to a point where you were sneaking around to hang out with him, which was hard considering how small the town was, any movie theater was hard to get into without being noticed as the preacher’s daughter. but that didn’t stop you from sneaking him into your window late at night while your daddy was out preaching, actually it became all too easy.
and that’s how it led to where you are now, lips swollen from jackie’s lips, sliding against yours. you had him on your duvet, traps between your legs in a straddle. his shirt was far gone and so where yours but your ankle-long skirt and bra is left untouched, along with jackie’s blue jean bell bottoms. jackie’s fingernails left crescents on your back as the kiss started getting intense and messy. the room was warm and filled with sin, your hot combed hair was getting frizzy and other humidity, yet you still let jackie run his fingers through it. this was a night you were thankful for the frequent, week-long trips your daddy and mama would take to go preach.
you did feel bad about going behind your parents back all this time but the feeling of being bad felt too good, or did jackie’s lips on your neck feel too good?
you held onto his neck as he peppered delicate kisses down your warm pulse. most nights were like this, just kissing and enjoying each other’s warmth. you haven’t got the courage to go all the way with jackie. it wasn’t your religion hold you back, it was your lack of experience. jackie was a well experienced man, who was very in touch with his sexuality. you on the other hand was just a inexperienced church girl, who was taught that lust was nothing but the devil and that you must wait till marriage to perform such acts with a man. jackie knew this about you but didn’t care, he wanted to teach you but only when you’re ready.
this particular night felt different, you were finally ready to learn.
jackie’s lips moved slowly against your neck, warm and patient, his tongue tracing along your skin like he had all the time in the world. somewhere between his kisses and the way his hands rested on your waist, your hips began rolling against him without you even realizing it. a soft grunt slipped past his lips, low enough to make heat rush straight to your face.
“easy, mama,” he murmured, his voice velvet-smooth in the dark. “keep doin’ that and see what happens.”
your movements stopped instantly. embarrassment curled through you as you looked up at him, apologies already balancing on the tip of your tongue.
“m’sorry, jackie,” you whispered. “i’m just ready, s’all.”
and lord, he had truly done a number on you.
before jackie, your life had been church pews, bible verses, and confessing every little wrongdoing like it carried the weight of heaven itself. but now? now you were sneaking out after choir rehearsal with your preacher daddy asleep down the hall, letting a jackson brother hold you close beneath dim porch lights and backseat shadows.
and the things happening tonight? the way jackie touched you like a secret hymn only the two of you knew?
you wouldn’t dare confess any of it. not even to god himself.
jackie tilted his head up at you, eyes heavy-lidded and warm beneath the low bedroom light. one of his hands rested against your thigh while the other traced lazy circles into your waist, patient enough to make your nerves worse.
“quit lookin’ so scared,” he murmured with the ghost of a smile. “i ain’t gon’ hurt you.”
but that wasn’t what frightened you.
it was how quick you were lettin’ him ruin the good girl everybody swore you were. also you were scared of yourself and how you were really to let go of that good girl image. you were tired to being the person people expected you to be.
your skin was getting hotter under jackie’s dark and lustful gaze. “i know, i trust ya.” the southern twang in your voice was angelic to his ears. he didn’t know what was sweeter, your voice or the fact that you trusted him. all your life, you’d been taught to place your faith in one man above all else, but now you were letting that faith stretch for another.
jackie let the silence settle between the two of you before speaking again.
“lay back.”
you nodded, not letting him say another word before easing down onto the soft duvet, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. jackie smiled at your eagerness, climbing over you slowly until he rested on his knees between your legs.
even with your skirt still on and your bra clinging to your skin, you felt exposed beneath him. vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with being half-dressed and everything to do with the way he looked at you, like he was trying to memorize every nervous breath leaving your body.
and something told you the night was only going to make you feel more exposed. jackie had no intention of going all the way tonight. but he did have every intention of teaching you something.
while jackie kept your legs spread around his waist, you finally let yourself really look at him.
your eyes drifted first to the silver belt buckle resting against his low-slung bell bottoms, the metal catching beneath the dim light of the bedroom. from there, your gaze traveled higher, lingering on the slow rise and fall of his stomach each time he breathed. his chest looked broad enough to make you forget every prayer you’d whispered before sneaking out tonight, and the gold pendant hanging from his necklace rested perfectly against the center of it.
lord.
just looking at him was enough to make something twist low in your stomach, it was hot and almost painful, like something was boiling inside of you.
the longer he took, the worse it got. your hips lifted against him without thinking, searching for some kind of friction, some kind of relief.
jackie caught your movement immediately.
“if we gon’ do this,” he murmured, his hands sliding along your thighs to still you, “you gotta learn some patience, mama.”
truth be told, he was losing patience too. you could hear it in the roughness creeping into his voice. see it in the way his jaw tightened every time you moved beneath him. but he refused to rush this. refused to rush you.
one of his hands moved to your jaw, tilting your face upward before pulling you into another kiss.
kissing jackie wasn’t new. the two of you had stolen kisses outside church revivals, in parked cars behind diners, backstage after shows. but this felt different. heavier somehow.
his necklace brushed cold against your chest while the kiss deepened, and suddenly your mind felt cloudy with it. with him. the smell of his cologne. the warmth of his skin. the way he kissed like he was trying to teach your body a language before speaking it aloud. you held onto his shoulders for dear life which escalated the feeling in your stomach even more now that you were touching him. you felt jackie move his lips to your jaw, continuing his abuse there.
your chin tilted toward the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut as the feeling of him became almost too much to hold inside your body at once. every kiss jackie pressed against your skin left heat behind, spreading slowly through you until you couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and another began.
his mouth traveled lower in an unhurried trail until he reached the bra your mother had picked out special for you.
something suitable for a young, saintly lady.
the memory nearly made you laugh now.
before jackie could even tease you about it, you pushed yourself up from the mattress, fingers fumbling behind your back until the clasp finally loosened. the straps slipped from your shoulders and you tossed the bra somewhere onto the floor without a second thought.
jackie looked at you for a moment after that. really looked at you. and somehow that alone made your pulse stumble harder than his touch had.
“look at you,” he murmured, almost under his breath.
then his mouth was on you again, slower this time, tongue sliding on every ridge and line of your breasts, engulfing them in his mouth. his finger began to knead the plush of your nipples, rolling them against his fingers.
your back arched off the bed almost helplessly, fingers tangling into the curls at the nape of his neck as your hips searched against him for relief you didn’t even know how to ask for yet.
and jackie noticed every single movement. every shaky breath. every quiet little sound you tried to swallow back.
“that’s it,” he whispered against your skin. “don’t hold back, your daddy ain’t here.”
"please jackie."
"please what. speak up." he knew what you wanted he just wanted to hear it spill from those lips, the lips that only ever spilled gospel.
"i want your mouth."
"where? here?" he placed his hand on your stomach. you shook your head.
"lower!"
"here?" he then placed his hand on your hip, teasing you. you whined, shaking your head no once more.
jackie then placed his hand lower, cupping your pussy underneath your skirt, through your panties. "here." you nodded vigorously, grinding your hips into his hand.
jackie then unbuttoned your skirt, shoving it down your legs with haste before throwing it somewhere in the room. he then lifted off your legs and shoved them open to reveal the center of your panties which had a wet, dark spot on the center. he hooked his finger underneath the hem, shoving them down with force.
he then shuffled down your legs until he was met with your slick pussy. his hands had made their way to cup your thighs, pulling you closer to his face making you yelp in surprise by the sudden force. he pressed your thigh on your chest before doing one big lick, from your entrance to you swollen clit. your brows were pinched together, concentrating on the feeling of his mouth on you. everything about this was wrong and goes against every rule in your life but you were willing to break those rules with jackie.
the grip on your thigh tightened as your hips started to grind into his mouth. his tongue was caressing your entrance and his nose bumped against your clit sending a ungodly amount of sensations throughout your body. you kept grinding your hips, chasing the unfamiliar feelings.
"jackie, i think- mhm! i think-"
you're unable to speak as jackie's tongue keep playing with your clit, simulating the enlarged nub. by this time your hips are catching a consistent rhythm. you feel yourself reaching what you think is the end. you feel like peeing, which panicked you so you try pry jackie away from in between your legs.
"i think m'gonna pee, jack-"
"your not, mama. it's a orgasm. go ahead, lil mama. do it" jackie explained in a ramble, continuing his abuse on the warm, wet flesh of your cunt. as his tongue went back to work so did the sensation.
“okay jackie-mmm- i trust you, oh god!"
your hips are going in circles against his face as your head tilts back. you feel the pit of heat in your stomach grow, your open opens in a silent scream as your hands scamble to hold onto something. suddenly everything in your body came crashing down, your hips buck up in jackie's mouth with a squeeze as you cum. you start to sob into your floral pillows, hips now stuttered from post-orgasm bliss. your chest is rapidly moving as your breathing is slowly gathering back to a normal rhythm.
you feel instantly calm and collected, as you let your body sink in the duvet. jackie lands a kiss to your thigh to which you flinch slightly from being sensitive to his touch.
"you okay, sweet thang?"
a thumbs up was the only confirmation you could give him at that time, earning a grin from the boy. you began to regain consciousness, tilting your head up and making eye contact with jackie's bulge. you frowned, wanting to him to feel good. jackie began to catch your gaze, looking down at himself and realizing what you were thinking.
"it's okay, not tonight."
"but jackie-"
your interrupted by plush lips landing on yours in a sweet kiss.
"you hardheaded as all outdoors, just rest girl."
you didn't rebel, just snuggled underneath the covers of your floral duvet. jackie settled beside you with a tired sigh, the mattress dipping under his weight. the bedroom was dim except for the amber glow of the lamp on your dresser, painting everything honey-soft and sleepy.
he brushed a thumb across your cheek before pulling the covers a little higher over your shoulder.
"there," he murmured. "actin' like you ain't exhausted."
you huffed quietly, though there wasn't much fight left in you now. "i just didn't want you thinkin' i was neglectin' you."
jackie chuckled under his breath, low and warm like vinyl crackle. "girl, please. you think i came over here for anythin' besides you?"
your eyes finally lifted to his, and the look on his face near about melted you into the mattress. soft. patient. the kinda look that made your chest ache a little.
he reached over, lazily twisting one of your cross necklace around his finger.
"get some sleep, pretty mama," he said quietly. you feel him shift off your bed, bare feet hitting the ground. you stir and glance at him with a frown, sitting up in a criss cross, letting the blanket slip off your bare chest.
"you're not stayin'?"
jackie turns to look at you. "have to get back before jospeh notices I'm gone." he says while buttoning his blouse. he only mentioned his father briefly, describing him as a low down dirty bastard who only cares about making money off his sons.
jackie glances at your breast and smirks, breath faltering. "and if I didn't know any betta, you want me to be here all night."
you look down at yourself before squealing, "jackie!" and covering yourself, keeping the blanket secure by your arms.
"will that man ever let you live a little?" when you said that, you forgot who's daughter you were and that you life wasn't simple neither. you had rules wrapped around you neck too.
"i could ask you the same thing, baby." jackie teases before leaning down and giving you one last kiss on the lips, sweet and cruel. your lips chased his for a second longer when he pulled away. jackie smiled at that, before fixing his collar in the mirror you had hanged in your room.
the room smelled faintly of cocoa butter and jackie's cologne, something warm and expensive that with cling to the air hours after his gone. you start to think about something, head hanging low, playing with your fingers.
"one day." you muttered. "one day we won't have to sneak around like we're criminals." you made jackie laugh at that remark before turning away from the mirror.
"why? so your fatha will beat me like i stole somethin or better yet, so my father will kill both of us?" he teased.
that pulled a laugh out of you before you could help it.
"he doesn't think your all that bad."
"girl please, your fatha despises me. your fatha got a obituary ready for me, in my name as we speak!." he corrected you, pointing at you dramatically.
your grin is buried by the blanket as jackie grabs his jacket and shuffles his shoes on. for a second the reality of him leaving is filling the room. you didn't notice but you begin to form a little bit of a pout.
jackie noticed your expression immediately.
"don't do that."
"what?"
"look so sad." he walked back over to the bed, kneeling one knee on th bed while his hands rested on either side of you. "women you are tempting, gon' have me getting roughed up by everybody at home."
you looked up at him with doe eyes.
"maybe I want that."
jackie cooed. "that's cold, women!."
your lip curled up. your fingers curled loosely around the sleeve of his jacket, reluctant to let go. jackie kissed your forehead this time, lingering there just enough to make your stomach flutter.
"I’ll call you tomorrow," he promised, quietly. he's so pretty went he promises things.
"you betta!."
"see? hardheaded as all outdoors." he laughed softly, backing toward the window with that same easy swagger he carried everywhere. "go to sleep, angel face."
and just before slipping out into the night, he pointed at you one last time.
"and quit worryin' so much. your face too pretty for all that."
soon after there was no trace of jackie but his presence was still strong. you let yourself lay back down on the covers, pondering about previous events. you couldn't wait to feel his mouth on you again or better yet you wouldn't wait for him to let you go all the way. you know jackie doesn't want to hurt you and want to protect your values, well what little values you have left.
why did that finale have so many nasty, mean spirited moments that were just unforced errors of the writing. javadi who’s going into PSYCH saying that about mel, robby screaming at baran, samira apologizing to robby, the lawyer calling ellis as PITBULL, digby being “crazy” etc etc etc a whimper instead of a bang. some of the most miserable television writing i’ve seen in awhile i actually didn’t think they could sink this low
Summary: Richard Harkness ruminates on the past. Ray Garraty meets the Green family! Anthony makes a mistake.
Click here for the previous chapter.
Word Count: 16,451
Warnings/Tags: theres always some gavries here, internalized homophobia (brief), reference to racial violence, reference to sexual harassment, threat of sexual assault, use of an extremely offensive term towards Black people, racism (none from Ray), reference to racial violence, racial violence, bullying, violence, violence against a child, death, description of gore (brief), sexual innuendo, strong language
It should also be noted that this fic takes place in the year leading up to the movie. It is, for the most part, a prequel.
A/N: oh my god I formatted this post for a whole hour and the app crashed on me and I had to do everything again. Fuck my stupid chungus life. Enjoy lol
Nine years earlier, somewhere in Louisiana.
“You’re a fuckin’ pussy, Hark - ness.” Tommy spat, pushing eight year old Richard Harkness to the ground. He landed with a hard thud, letting out a shout of pain as Tommy’s cronies laughed around them. “Fuckin’ pussy.”
Richard felt the floor of the forest bite into his cheek as Tommy Wordsworth put his foot on his head. His vision was blurring, and he was sure his glasses lenses were broken. He didn’t know what excuse he’d give Lilith, his bigger sister, this time.
“You not gonna say nothin’?” Tommy spat, and Richard squeezed his eyes shut, tiny body trembling. “You not gonna say nothin’, you fuckin’ fruit? I saw you hangin’ around that colored girl.”
“Shut up.” Richard said weakly, and the other boys around Tommy shrieked in laughter. “Shut up, Tommy, I’m tellin’ on you, I’ll tell —“
“You think they’re gonna believe a for - eigner?” Tommy had a habit of drawing out his words. “You think they gonna believe a sissy border - swimmer like you?”
Thomas “Tommy” Wordsworth was big, blonde, mean and stupid. He’d been bullying Richard ever since they were little — his dad was in the Squads, a man with hooded eyes and a cigar always in the corner of his mouth, burly and thickly - mustached. He was a general, six and something feet tall, Harkness knew. Was a bully just like his son, being all slimy to women in town and such. And he’d been making eyes at Lilith as of late. Lilith hated him. And though her romance with Ant wasn’t public knowledge, General Wordsworth hated Anthony Green too. Would spit at him anytime he passed, laughing with his men. Harkness heard he was part of the Klan.
“Hey!” Tommy kicked Richard in the ribs as he lay there, and he winced, his little face all scratched up. “I’m talkin’ to you, dampback! Why’re you always hangin’ with that colored girl, huh? You got jungle fever?” Kick. “Youse a nigger lover?” Kick. “My Pa said anybody that fraternize with them Greens is nigger - lovers.”
Harkness looked up at Tommy, who leered back down at him toothily. His teeth were yellow and cracked, because his Pa would let Tommy eat as much candy as he wanted, and didn’t particularly care whether or not his son’s teeth were in check. Or his behavior, for that matter. Harkness narrowed his eyes, small body still trembling.
“Oh, look,” Tommy said, guffawing. “Little Richie’s gonna cry!”
“Eres un pedazo gordo de mierda.” Richard whispered, shaking. Tommy and his friends stopped laughing, leaning closer to Richard.
“What you say, four eyes?”
Richard used his skinny arms to prop himself up, straightening his glasses. “I said, eres un pedazo gordo de mierda.”
“He performin’ some sorta Mexican curse on us?” One of the boys said, starting to pick his nose — he then spat on Richard, staining his little shirt, the shirt Lilith had ironed for him that morning. “You lot are as bad as them niggers, I tell you — “
Richard let out a small scream before launching his skinny body at the boy, beating him with his tiny fists.
“Agh, fuck! Gerroff me!” The boy shouted, as Tommy and the third boy tried to pull Richard off.
“You bully!” Richard yelled, fist flying everywhere. “Big bully, you are, I hate all of you —“
They tugged at Harkness’s curly, thick black hair, pulling his head back as he clawed at the boy’s sallow, pimpled face. His glasses were completely off now — little Harkness was attacking blindly. With a final grunt, the two boys heaved Richard off, Tommy throwing him to the ground. Tommy then kicked him harshly in the stomach, and Richard let out a shout of pain.
“Fuckin’ swimmer!” The boy he’d attacked hissed, touching a scratch Harkness had made on his face. It was bright and red and angry. “We’re gonna teach youse a lesson now…”
Harkness blinked blindly, the world around him blurry and out of focus — he heard a crunch and knew one of them had stamped on his glasses.
“Prepare for a beatin’, you little —“
A high, shrill scream cut Tommy off — he stopped, looking around the forest clearing wildly. “What was that sound?”
Radio silence. Richard simply trembled and whimpered on the ground, hoping they wouldn’t beat him too hard.
“It was nothin’, Tommy,” another boy replied. “Let’s just beat this little —“
Another scream, closer now. As the other boys looked around, Richard dared to crack one of his eyes open. They were completely distracted.
“Think it’s a madman?” One of Tommy’s friends asked, fearfully. “What if he gotta knife — ?”
“Don’t be a sissy, Zack, there ain’t no nut job out here,” Tommy spat on Richard, but he sounded uncertain. “Nobody’s gonna hurt us, my Pa’s —“
“Your Pa isn’t anythin’!”
The high, sweet voice of nine year old Lottie Green rang out loud, and the three boys looked up the slope that led down to the clearing they were all at — Harkness, though half - blind, blinked rapidly as he recognized her voice.
“Lottie…?” He said uncertainly, starting to look around.
“‘S that colored girl,” Tommy sneered, crossing his big arms as Lottie looked down at all of them. She wore old overalls and a striped, flowery shirt — her hair was out in that big puff of an Afro. Her hands were on her hips.
“Leave Harkness alone, you big bully!” Lottie yelled. Tommy spat on the floor once more as his friends laughed. “He’s only eight, you’re all twelve! You can’t even pick on someone your own size!”
“Shut up, ya little bitch.” Tommy yelled back. “I’ll have my Pa lynch ya.”
Tommy’s friends laughed as little Lottie scrunched up her face in fury.
“Lottie!” Harkness yelled, his voice trembling. “Lottie, go on, I’ll be fine!”
Tommy kicked him in the face, and he saw stars as he fell back down.
“Richie, hold on!” Lottie yelled, before beginning to run down the steep slope. “I’m comin’ to save you!”
Lottie Green close to stumbled as her boots thudded on the slope, using the momentum from her descent to rush at Tommy. Tommy sneered, readying himself to hit Lottie — but she was small, and swift, and clever. She dodged his swipe at her, rearing back and kicking him roughly in the crotch instead. A roar of pain erupted from Tommy as he held himself, and Lottie laughed loudly.
“You’re nothin’ but a big bul - ly, Tommy!” She teased, giggling and not noticing his two friends rushing toward her. With a swift grab, each took an arm and held her down; Lottie shrieked as Zack struck her harshly across the face. Her smooth, lovely cheek was now reddish brown, angry on her behalf.
“Let me go!” She yelled, shaking her head as the two boys laughed and held her down. “Let me go, before I —“
“Before you what, nigger?” Zack spat, cackling. Tommy was still holding his crotch, groaning. “When we’re done with you, you’re gonna remember your place.”
Zack gave Lottie another hit; she screamed and kicked as Tommy slowly recovered.
“Leave her alone!” Richard protested feebly from the floor. They had really done a number on him. “Let her go — !”
“You’re gonna get it now,” Tommy growled. “I’m gonna —“
There was the sound of a loud gunshot; all the children froze, not moving a muscle. Tommy, who had been preparing to hurt Lottie, was as pale as a sheet.
“The fuck was that?” Zack trembled, he and the third boy loosening their grip on Lottie’s arms. Lottie lay limp, shaking slightly and staring at each boys faces. They were turned away from her. She didn’t know if Richard was ok.
A beat. “Tommy, should we — “
BANG. Another gunshot ripped through the atmosphere, making the children flinch once more — Lottie had her eyes squeezed shut, and she felt the two boys let go of her arms.
“We need to get the hell outta here,” Tommy was saying, trying to sound manly and failing terribly. “It’s probably a Squaddin’.“
“What about—?”
“Leave ‘em,” Tommy snapped, before kicking Harkness in the stomach again — he let out a cough of pain as Zack spat on him. “Nigger and her nigger - lover ain’t worth the shit under my boot.”
Zack let out a bark of laughter with the other boy; Lottie lay quietly and stared up at the sky as they walked past her. Tommy leaned down, looking into her face.
“Next time,” he said, his putrid breath fogging in her face. She shut her eyes. “I’ll get a branch and have my way with ya.”
“Bugger your Ma.” Lottie replied, eyes still shut — Tommy scowled before kicking her too. With that, the boys ran off.
There was silence in the clearing as Richard lay curled up on the floor, some meters from Lottie. Everything was blurry. Lottie still lay as well, spread - eagled. Birds were twittering. There were no more gunshots. The sky was blue, the clouds sparse and wispy. It was spring.
“Richie?” Lottie called into the silence, after twenty minutes. Richard didn’t reply, using all his strength to get up and crawl towards Lottie. She stayed lying there, admiring the clouds. After he’d crawled far enough, he collapsed next to her. The children were now lying side by side- by - side, inches from one another. Richard was looking up at the sky, too. He had not looked at Lottie’s face.
“How did you find me?” He asked, after a long moment of silence. “I thought you were with Clementine.”
Lottie swallowed before answering. “I saw ‘em pushin’ you into the forest. So I told Clem I wanted to go do somethin’, because I knew if I told her I was comin’ to save you, she’d come. And I didn’t want her to.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause she’d get all sad and start cryin’ when she saw it,” Lottie said, her hand drifting closer to Harkness’s. “She’s got a soft soul. ‘S’why I love her so much.”
Harkness blinked. “You’ve got a soft soul too, Lottie, soul of a writer.”
“Shut up.” Lottie replied softly, but Richard took her hand in his. Hers was limp for half a second, hesitating, before gripping his back. Tiny hands, the both of them.
“I’m sorry.” He said, after a long beat. “Shouldn’t’ve let ‘em hit you.”
“What could you have done about it, Richie?”
“Not be a sissy.” Richard sniffled, wiping his nose with his other arm. “I should’ve rescued you, but you keep rescuing me.”
“You’re not a sissy.” Lottie squeezed his hand. “Stop sayin’ that.”
“Why not?” Richard replied, exasperated. They still hadn’t looked at each other. “Everybody else says it. Even you. I know you do, don’t deny it.”
Lottie pursed her lips. “I’m just teasin’. I don’t think you’re a sissy, not really. I just think you’re… different.”
Richard looked at her, and she didn’t look back. “Different?
Lottie hesitated, before turning her head towards him. “Different. Especially with that little book you say you’re gonna write.”
“It’s not little,” Richard protests. “It’ll be worth so much. A firsthand account of the Long Walk. People will love it.”
“Don’t do it,” Lottie said suddenly, gripping Harkness’s hand. “Richie, please don’t go on that Walk when you’re older.”
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
“The Walk, it’s scary.” Lottie said firmly. “I know everybody says it’s honorable but I don’t like it, not one bit — Ant keeps talkin’ about it, and it makes my Pa angry when he does. I never watch. And I don’t think I ever will, Richie, I hate it.”
“Don’t say that.” Richard replied, staring at Lottie’s profile. Her little chin was wobbling as she stared upward. “Lottie, it’s going to get my family a lot of money.”
“And what about all them other boys?” Lottie replied, turning to Harkness again. It pained her to look at him. Despite the bruises he was sustaining, he was still ever chipper. “Huh? Answer me that.”
Richard didn’t answer, pursing his lips. “If I go, I want you to watch. Watch me win.”
“Lilith will hang ya by your ears before she’ll let you go.”
“I’ll be older.”
“And hopefully less stupid.” Lottie shot back, sitting up — Richard sat up with her, still holding her hand. “I hope you’ll change your mind.”
“And I hope you’ll write the foreword to my book.” Richard replied. Lottie shoved him, and he fell back. “Ow!”
“Where’re your glasses?” Lottie looked around, and she found Harkness’s glasses, now broken into two, lying some ways away. She crawled to it as Richard lay there, giggling. She picked them up, before reaching into her pocket and taking out some short rope. Sticking her tongue out and kneeling on the floor, she wound the rope around the bridge, fixing the glasses and keeping them together.
“Lottie?” Richard called, still blinking. “Lottie, you there?”
“Richie, wait —“ Lottie shifted closer to him. “Get up.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Richard sat up, and Lottie slowly placed the glasses on him. “There. Good as new till you can save up to buy another pair.” Richard blinked rapidly, his vision adjusting — he could see Lottie’s dirty, round face a lot clearer now. Her cheek still looked a little red from Zack’s slap, but she was grinning.
“Oh,” Richard breathed, his cheeks turning pink . “Thank you, Lottie.”
“And,” she reached into the pockets of her overalls. “I got you somethin’.”
She pulled a medium - sized blue book from one of the large pockets of her overalls — she’d sewn them on herself, and could carry close to anything in them. The book was thin, spiral - bound and probably cheap. But it was new. And new was expensive. Harkness stared at it with starry eyes as Lottie dusted it off, smiling at it.
“Where’d you get that?”
“From town.” Lottie answered fairly. “I used up my savings to buy it. It’s a nice notebook.”
“A notebook?” Richard shuffled closer, eyes shining. “What’s it for?”
Lottie stared at Harkness for a long moment. “You.”
Richard blinked rapidly, eyebrows shooting up. “For me?”
“Yeah,” Lottie shrugged, thrusting it into Richard’s hands and not looking at him. “For your book. If you’re really insistent on goin’ on that Long Walk. Or, preferably, for another book.”
Richard gaped at Lottie. “Lottie, this is — how did you — I can’t —“
“Take it,” Lottie replied firmly, pushing it to Richard’s chest. “It’s my gift to you. Fellow writer.”
Richard swallowed, staring at Lottie, who smiled uncertainly back, shrugging. His face was turning a funny sort of pink.
“You alright, Richie?”
“Lottie, I know I already asked, but —“
“Don’t.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Richie!” Lottie was laughing. Richard was dead serious. “No!”
“All right,” Richard huffed, pushing up his tiny glasses. “It was worth a try.”
Lottie stared at him for a long moment, like she was having an internal battle with herself.
“Richie,” she said softly, shifting. “I got another gift.”
Lottie hesitated before covering Richard’s lenses with her hands. He couldn’t see a thing even if he did open his eyes. Then, slowly but surely, she leaned forward, squeezing her own eyes shut — Richard felt her featherlight lips on his, for half a second, brushing. Then a quick peck.
He couldn’t help himself — he gasped as Lottie uncovered his lens, not looking him in the eyes.
“Oh, gee!” Richard grinned, half - bouncing as Lottie huffed. “That means you will marry me!”
“Hush up, Harkness.” Lottie said, her voice all squeaky and embarrassed. “I just did it for a present. It wasn’t even a proper kiss.”
“Then will I get a proper kiss?” Richard asked eagerly, leaning forward and puckering his lips. Lottie laughed and pushed his face away.
“No, four - eyes.” Lottie said fairly, and Richard sulked. “At least now you can’t say you’ve never kissed a girl.”
“Okay, I’m just pulling your leg. I’ll think about it.”
“Great!” Harkness thought for a moment. “Will you write the foreword for my Walk book?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause Lilith won’t let you go, and neither will I.”
“But let’s say I did go,” Harkness said, and Lottie rolled her eyes. “Would you watch me? Please?”
“Richie —“
“Please, Lottie?” Richard shifted closer, and Lottie sighed. “Please watch me win when we’re older, promise. You’re a very good friend, and I want you to watch me.”
“What, cheer you on from my living room?”
“Yes! And then I’ll marry you after!”
“No.”
Richard sulked and Lottie laughed. “But I will watch ya. If you insist.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Lottie nodded before she finally got up, holding out her hand to Harkness. He looked up at her.
“Come on, Richie.” She said, as he looked up at her. “Let’s go home. Lilith’s probably frettin’.”
“I don’t know,” he said, shifting. “How will I explain the whole thing to her — ?”
“Make somethin’ up,” Lottie shrugged. “But we should tell her.”
“I don’t wanna worry her,” Richard said, and Lottie frowned.
“Okay,” she sighed. “But we need to go home.”
Richard stared at Lottie for a long time. Then he took her hand, heaving himself up and wincing.
“You okay?” Lottie asked, supporting Harkness. He had her arm around her shoulder, and she was half holding him up.
“Yeah,” Harkness nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s… it’s just my ankle —”
“Warning. Warning, 49.”
The memory came to an abrupt end as the morning chill finally got to eighteen year old Richard Harkness; he was in complete and utter pain, limping his way through the Walk. He had broken his ankle last night, on the hill; and he knew, then and there, that he was soon to get his ticket.
The pain of walking on a broken ankle for six hours was excruciating. He had been coping by remembering, but remembering things did not make you win the Walk. He was not going to win the Walk. He was going to be shot dead on the road, just like Lilith had said he would. He wished she was still around. Then she would’ve stopped him. But it was too late.
Everything was too late, everything was over. He could see Garraty and McVries up ahead — they weren’t looking at him. He wouldn’t look at himself either. What remained of his broken and bloody foot was disgusting. He was disgusted with himself. He wondered, dimly, if Clem, or even Lottie were watching — it had been nine years since he’d seen her last. He did not know if his childhood friend was alive or dead. What he did know was that he was sorry. The ankle. His ankle. His fucking ankle.
Richard then felt a wetness on his cheeks. Rain? No. Tears. Streaming everywhere. Wetting everything. The sky was grey. Perfect weather, he thought, gasping for air — perfect mood. He wasn’t going to be a writer. He was going to be another number on a TV screen; another someone that people would gasp at before shifting their attention to the next breathing, living boy. He gasped in one of his last breaths of air, before crying out.
“My ankle!” He sobbed. “My ankle’s all twisted up…”
“Warning, second warning, 49.” That robotic voice from the halftracks droned on, and Harkness gripped the notebook Lottie had given him a decade prior. He was meant to finish it, he thought, crying more — he was meant to make that friendship mean something, anything. He was meant to —
“Come on, Harkness!” Ray yelled from ahead, still not looking at him. “Just keep it movin’, one foot in front of the other, you got this!”
Two young boys had been watching him by the side of the road eagerly, clearly waiting for Richard’s demise — he couldn’t see them. He could only see forward, past forward, into some indecipherable After. He could only see home in front of him, his family, his friends. He was going to go, he knew. He was going home.
“Hey, get out of here!” Art Baker yelled at the two little boys — they stared back at him, faces unreadable. “Yeah, you! Get out of here, scat! You don’t wanna see this!”
Harkness’s legs gave out, and he fell to the floor — Tommy Wordsworth would be proud. The harsh gravel scraped his palms, but he still managed to hold on to the notebook. His gift. What he’d come for, his hard work. He thought, momentarily, if he should give it to Garraty, but he had no idea if he could get it to who he wanted to get it to. Ray didn’t know Lottie, Clem, or his parents. Nobody here did.
“Warning,” the voice droned as Harkness shakily got up; “third warning, 49. Final warning.”
He was close to going home. He was close to the After. He would go home and explain everything to Lilith, like Lottie had told him to, and Tommy, in the form of this robotic voice — would leave him alone.
“Get out of here, man!” Art Baker kept yelling at the kids, and Harkness noticed the boys around him had scattered. Ray and Pete were becoming pinpricks. His mouth opened to call Ray back. Maybe he could —
BANG!
Harkness’s body stopped walking. He blinked slowly, confused; he was not dead. But there was a weight missing, he knew. Something was wrong. White confetti floated around him, and he realized they were little pieces of book pages.
“What…?” He whispered, sobbing. “My… my book…” He looked down to his hand, the one carrying her gift, his work. There was a gaping hole through his hand, and the book — he had been shot there. He looked back up, and saw Ray staring back at him, horrified. Pete was still not looking back, arm around Ray. But Harkness could tell he was shaking. Or maybe it was his own body. That, he could not tell.
“Why — why did you shoot my…” his voice was choked.
Slowly, he held the shot hand with the other. He had not let go of the book, not till he wouldn’t be able to hold on anymore. Not till he could go home and explain everything. He looked forward to the Walkers, then beyond them, to home. He started forward, limping, hiccuping, crying like the sissy everyone said he was his whole life, poor old Harkness. He was going home.
He would not be able to give the book to anyone. It would die with him. This was his last thought.
“I’m… I’m gonna go, go h—“
BANG!
Harkness’s body fell to the floor, his brains splattered carelessly on the asphalt. He was dead.
Ray, who had been clutching the handkerchief Lottie had made for him, started shaking silently with rage, walking forward with Pete. This wasn’t fair. None of this was, it was —
“It’s so fucked, this thing is so FUCKED! IT’S ALL SO FUCKED!” He yelled, flinging out his arms in pure frustration — Pete was solemn and silent beside him, staring at the floor as they walked.
“I don’t like it!” Another boy, Percy, screamed suddenly. He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, eyes wide and red - rimmed. “I don’t like it, I don’t like it, I don’t —“
“I can tell when someone’s near the end,” Stebbins piped up, voice thick. He sounded sick. “Percy’s definitely there.”
“Shut the fuck up, Stebbins!” Ray spat.
“You’re too emotional, Garraty,” he replied, coughing and staring forward. “That’ll get you in the end.”
And it had. God, it had gotten him. He was an impulsive piece of —
“You know you hardly talk, but when you do, it’s just fucking garbage!” Pete snapped, pointing at Stebbins. He looked like he wanted to cry, and turned back forward. “Think a fucking cold motherfucker like that would just probably win the whole thing.”
Ray didn’t reply, staring hollowly at the side of the road — his eyes were wide open. Lottie was standing there, once again. She looked forlorn. She wasn’t staring down at him, like she’d been at the hill. She was staring behind him, where Harkness had been. Where he had died. The forget - me - nots stuck in her coily hair were starting to wilt. Her lips were cracked. Her dress was long, white, and wet at the hem — the damp roadside had made it dirty. She was barefoot. She was mourning. She wasn’t even there, Ray knew — a blink and the hallucination of Lottie was gone.
“Harkness, man,” Pete said hoarsely, sniffling as they went on. “Poor old Harkness.”
“Why don’t you write him a poem, then?” Barkovitch’s slimy voice piped up. “Actually — you know what, you should write him a song, songwriter.” He leered. Pete’s fist clenched.
“Why don’t you kiss my ass, killer?” He hissed.
“Hey, don’t fuckin’ say that shit, man,” Barkovitch snapped, whipping around to face Pete, eyes wide as he pointed at him. Pete stood his ground, looking at him head - on. “You’re fucking wrong to say that, man.”
“What?” Ray said meanly, narrowing his eyes at Barkovitch. “You prefer the title racist instead?” He let out a bitter laugh, sounding insane. “Pick or choose, racist or murderer?”
“Don’t fucking —“ Barkovitch turned away, before turning back. It was like he didn’t know where to look.
“Shouldn’t have said that shit about my girl last night.” Ray snapped, his eyes red - rimmed. “Never fix your lips to fucking—“
“Shut up Garraty, before I say it again.”
“Say it again, and I’ll rip off your fucking nose and feed it to your mom.” Ray spat. “Or what? Is it just your Meemaw at home? Your mom die of an overdose?” Barkovitch’s face paled, lower lip trembling. Ray felt a sick sense of satisfaction. “Piece of shit.”
“Shut up,” he started, voice shaking. “SHUT UP!”
“Really?” Ray spat on the ground, the Walk grinding on him. “Make me, killer.”
“I’m not fucking wrong. You’re fucking wrong, man.” Barkovitch replied.
“Oh yeah?” Pete asked. “What’re you gonna do?”
Barkovitch stared at them, Pete significantly. “I got plans for you, motherfucker. Okay?”
He stormed off. Ray then stared at the floor, the feeling of satisfaction gone and replaced with Lottie and Harkness and regret. Regret of coming here. Pete’s eyes flicked to him, before putting an arm around his shoulder.
“Ray.” He said softly. “You good?”
Ray didn’t respond for a long moment.
“I mean, I’m…” Ray trailed off, swallowing. “Better than fuckin’ Harkness, I guess.”
“That’s good, Ray.” Pete nodded, though his lip was trembling. He looked like he wanted to cry. Ray wanted to wipe his tears away with his thumb if he did. Wanted to take care of him, his Pete. He realized that sounded queer. He was beginning to not care if it did. “Remember, we can’t have it both ways.”
Ray didn’t reply, running a hand over his face — he felt more stubble there than yesterday. He felt, inexplicably, like laughing in that moment. Day two, and there was already so much stubble. It must’ve been because he hadn’t bothered to shave in the days leading up to the Walk. No one was there to shave it for him. He did know how to do it himself, but that was before he met Lottie. Then he’d use it as an excuse for her to straddle him, an excuse to grip her waist and keep her in place. She’d take a razor and run it over his face, shave off the unruly hairs. She liked the beard, surprisingly — she only did it because Ray liked to stay clean - shaven. Every time he asked her if she could do it, she’d sulk a little.
“What’s wrong?” He’d asked around the third time, laughing softly as she got the razor.
“Nothin’.” She’d reply, shrugging and not looking at him — Ray would laugh even more because he knew she was lying. “Just —“
“Just what?”
“I kinda like the rough look,” she admitted, getting the shaving cream from his bedside. “Makes you look like those strongmen on TV.”
“Strongmen, huh?” Ray would repeat incredulously.
“Mhm,” Lottie replied, nodding. “Big. Tough. A little stupid.”
Ray let his mind drift off to the first time she’d shaved his beard. The day before he was to meet her father, Atticus Green.
***
“Oh, fuck.” Ray had groaned that Sunday afternoon, not too long after church — Lottie had come over, and she was lying on his bed, reading a book. Her dress, long and white, was patterned with sunflowers. It was still summer break, and Ray had borrowed his dad’s radio to play some music — a calming, indecipherable tune was on. His window was wide open, sunlight spilling onto Lottie and making her look golden and at peace.
“What’s wrong, jumper?” She had looked over to Ray inspecting his face in the mirror. Ray glanced back at her.
“Nothing serious, I just haven’t —“ he turned his face another angle. “—shaved in a while, and my mom will start complaining soon.” Lottie shook her head, smiling and rolling her eyes as Ray complained. “And I hate doing it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Always cutting myself in some places.” Ray huffed, stepping away from the mirror and collapsing on his bed, next to Lottie. She put down her book as he rolled to look at her. “Can never quite get it right.”
Lottie giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. Ray rolled his eyes, smiling as she did. “What?”
“Nothin’.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, fuck youuuu, Lottie.” Ray gently pushed her face away as she let out a louder laugh, her body shaking. “What’s so funny anyway?”
“You’re eighteen, and you don’t know how to shave without nicking yourself?”
“You don’t know how to drive,” Ray pointed out, and Lottie huffed, looking away.
“‘S’not very nice of you, Ray Garraty,” Lottie said, mock - offended. “I will learn, though.”
“You’re pulling my leg.” Ray said, stretching and resting his head on her stomach. “You love to procrastinate.”
“Do not.”
“Do too,” he mumbled, burying his face in her midriff. It tickled, and she let out a laugh.
“Do not.” Lottie said fairly, after she’d stopped giggling. Ray looked up at her, and she looked back, her hand hovering above his head, hesitating slightly before threading her fingers through his hair. Lottie was almost always cautious with touch — like she was afraid something would happen if she wasn’t, like she was shy. But Ray could tell that she wanted to touch him, that she loved to — that carefulness, inexplicably, made him want her even more, if that were possible. Made him want to shut all the windows, the curtains, lock his door, and kiss, kiss, kiss her… made him want to hold her on this very same bed, to press her into the mattress and make sweet sounds come from her sweet mouth… made him want to dampen the bedsheets and fog up the —
“I could shave it for you, you know.” Lottie said suddenly, and Ray blinked.
“Shave what?”
“Your face.” Lottie elaborated. “I watched my Ma do it for my Pa thousands of times. There’s no harm in tryin’ it.”
Ray grinned. “You gonna slice my neck, Green?”
“Nonsense,” Lottie replied, getting up and letting Ray’s head fall back onto the mattress with a soft thump. “I’d do it much more discreetly.”
“I keep my shaving cream in that drawer over there.” Ray said, watching Lottie search through his bedside table. “The lower drawer.”
Lottie bent over further, and Ray felt heat rush up his cheeks. She was… generously endowed.
“How do you find anything in here?” Lottie called, digging further. “Jumper, you never keep anything arranged —“
“Could rearrange your fuckin’ guts.” Ray mumbled.
“What?” Lottie called back, finally finding the razor and shaving cream.
Ray coughed loudly, looking anywhere but at her. “Nothing.”
Lottie cocked her brow at him, but said nothing. “You got any water in here?”
Ray silently pointed at an abandoned cup of water on his bedside table. Lottie smacked her forehead gently. “Oh, I don’t know how I didn’t see that — Ray, go wash your face.”
“Wash it for me?”
“Don’t push it.” Lottie pointed the razor at Ray, and he laughed before getting up and walking out the room. In a few minutes he was back, face dripping and flushed. Lottie had uncapped the tub of shaving cream, and motioned for Ray to sit on the edge of his bed. He obeyed, and watched as Lottie dipped her fingers into the shaving cream. He’d always be fascinated by the way she moved. So graceful and smooth.
“I’m gonna start now…” she put the first dollop of cream on Ray’s right cheek, and spread it slowly. Ray stared at her throughout, her furrowed brow, the look of concentration as she went about her task.
“See something green?” Lottie said, before beginning to hum. Ray grinned.
“Aren’t you tired, standing and doing that?”
“Not particularly,” Lottie replied, spreading the other dollop she’d put on Ray’s face and smiling to herself. “There’s no chair in here.”
“Yes there is.”
Lottie raised her eyebrows. “You trying to get me to sit —“
“— on my lap?” Ray shrugged. “Yeah.”
Lottie laughed, rolling her eyes. “Okay, Raymond.”
Slowly, Lottie climbed on top of Ray, straddling him and holding the razor over her head so she wouldn’t cut him accidentally — she then settled on him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her from sliding off. They were the picture of a couple then: Ray Garraty, looking up at his girl Lottie Green, he in a shirt and shorts and she in a long white dress. She was barefoot, he was wearing mismatched socks.
“Now,” Lottie muttered slowly, lowering the razor to Ray’s face. “Stay still. ‘M not that experienced.”
“Should’ve told me that before, Lottie.”
“Your ears are between your legs, jumper, you wouldn’t have listened,” Lottie replied fairly. “Anyway. You agreed, so.”
Ray took a sharp inhale as Lottie started — she stopped, raising her eyebrows in a question.
“Just — slowly, please.” He asked quietly, his eyes closed. The way he said it made Lottie feel that sinful feeling again, but she cleared her throat and pushed it away.
“Oh, yeah — sorry, jumper.” She mumbled.
“No need to be so formal,” Ray joked as Lottie went on, slowly shaving off his stubble. “We’re officially a — thing now, if that’s what you’ll call it.”
“I’m not bein’ that formal,” Lottie laughed softly, her eyes still on Ray’s cheek as she shaved. He kept his eye on her, observant. “But… you may have to do somethin’ formal soon.”
Ray blinked, surprised at Lottie’s change in tone. “How so?”
“Well…” Lottie bit her lip, not quite meeting Ray’s eye. “You know when I went back home from our date last week?”
“What, something else happened to your ankle?” Ray half - teased. Lottie smiled, shaking her head.
“No, but…” she trailed off. “My family knew I’d snuck out. They were waiting for me in my room when I got in.”
“What?!” Ray shifted a bit too harshly — with a hiss and a hurried ‘sorry!’ from Lottie, the pair discovered that he’d been nicked by the blade. A drop of blood beaded on the small cut, and Ray wiped it away with his fingertips.
“Oh, Ray —“
“No, don’t —“ Ray looked at the blood on his fingers. “Lottie, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I should’ve stayed still. But… why didn’t you tell me the morning after?”
“Because you’d get all… sad and paranoid.”
“Paranoid?” Ray repeated, incredulous and a little guilty - looking. “Why would I — when have I ever —“
“You were so happy about the date, I didn’t want you to start blaming yourself for my getting caught,” Lottie continued, still shaving Ray. “And I told myself… I’ll tell him tomorrow. Then tomorrow would come, and I’d procrastinate again —“
“Aha! So I was right about the procrastinating.”
“Shut up.” Lottie swallowed, and Ray’s face got serious.
“How much trouble did you get into?” He asked, searching her face as she shaved on. “I hope I didn’t — Lottie, I can go and —“
“I didn’t get into any trouble, Ray.” Lottie elaborated, still not meeting his eyes. Ray then furrowed his brow.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“My Pa wants to meet you, face - to - face.”
Ray blinked. “Are you serious?”
Lottie paused shaving for a moment, looking directly at Ray. “Yes, Ray. Why would I lie about somethin’ like that?”
“Oh.” He breathed. “When does — when does he wanna meet me?”
Lottie didn’t answer for a long moment, continuing to shave Ray’s face.
“Lottie.” He urged softly. She sighed, and stopped. “When does he want to meet me?”
“…tomorrow.”
“What?!”
“Jumper, don’t worry,” Lottie reassured him, continuing to shave carefully. She was almost done. “I’m sure my Pa will love you. You just gotta —“ she hesitated. “Use your charm.”
“Use my charm?” His voice cracked on the last word. “I don’t have any charm!”
“Then how’d you reel me in, huh?”
“By pure fuckin’ luck!” Ray threw out his arms, and Lottie wobbled on his legs a little before he caught and steadied her. “I don’t even know why you — Christ, Lottie, I still don’t know why you put up with me —“
“Don’t.”
“Okay.” Ray said, huffing — Lottie still gave him a stare. “I said okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” Ray nodded. Lottie continued shaving, and Ray wet his lips. “You really should’ve told me earlier. I could’ve prepared a whole speech.”
“Oh yeah?” Lottie challenged, curving the blade deftly. “And what would that entail?”
“Dear Mr. Green…”
“Oh, dear God.”
“I promise to love your daughter wholeheartedly and honestly…”
“Ray.”
“And I also promise I’m not going to just screw around with her.”
“Oh?”
“I will cherish…” Ray’s hands slid down Lottie’s back slowly, and she paused her shaving. “…and adore…”
“…my backside?” Lottie completed incredulously, smacking his hands away — Ray let out a groan and a laugh as she finished off shaving his face. “There. All done.”
Ray pressed a kiss to Lottie’s nose, making her giggle as she got off his lap. With a few strides toward his broken dresser mirror he inspected his face — apart from the nick that he’d caused, it was clean - shaven to near - perfection. He whistled lowly, making Lottie laugh again as she threw the water out the window.
“This is some fine work, Miss Green.” he said teasingly, running his fingers over his smooth face. “better than anything I could’ve done.”
“You’re flattering me.”
“I’m not.” Ray shrugged, stepping close to her. “Writer, batter, and a good barber —“ he gently pulled Lottie in by the waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she hugged him back. “How’d I get so lucky, huh?”
“You’re a nice boy.” Lottie replied, squeezing his big body with her arms. “You caught my hat and the rest was history.”
Ray huffed out a laugh as he pulled back, looking into Lottie’s face. She was smiling, so sweet and smart and herself. That’s why he was nervous. About fucking this up with her dad. Lottie noticed the shift in Ray’s expression, and kissed him on the cheek.
“Hey.” She whispered. “They’ll love you, I promise. Robbie’s just… a little overprotective.”
“Gee, you think?”
“Ray.”
“Sorry.”
“And my Pa… well, you can’t blame him for bein’ a little wary, but he’s already lettin’ you in the house! That’s a good sign!”
“And your mom?”
“She’ll love you too, I promise — just…” Lottie dusted some lint off Ray’s shoulder. “Be yourself. Plus, it’s only fair. I didn’t get any prep time before meeting your mom and dad either.”
“But that’s different,” Ray pressed, his face a picture of worry. “You’re… amazing, talented, beautiful, and I’m just —“
“— the equally amazing Ray Garraty.” Lottie completed, and Ray gave her a small smile before she kissed him. “Calm down. They’ll love you.”
“You sure?”
Lottie nodded. “As sure as March’s Walk.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Too grim?”
“Yeah.” Ray swallowed. “Fuck, Lottie, I’m about to meet your parents, for crying out loud.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Lottie hesitated, “well, my Pa can get a bit intense, but —“
“A bit?!”
“Ray!” Lottie said a little loudly, gripping Ray’s shoulders. “Don’t be scared. You’ll be okay. There’s only a fifteen percent chance he’ll shoot you anyway.”
Ray sighed. “How comforting.”
***
“When did you guys get a doorbell?”
“Around last week.” Lottie paused, checking Ray’s watch. “You’re stallin’.”
“No ‘m not,” Ray replied, mumbling. “I came here extra early.”
“Because I came to get you extra early.” Lottie reminded him, and he smiled at her, showing his chipped front tooth. “Now you’re asking about… doorbells.”
“It’s a valid question!”
Lottie rolled her eyes at Ray, looking to her front door; the day prior had been spent with Ray panicking after she told him he was to meet her father. He’d dug up some of his savings to go buy a box of chocolates and a bouquet, standard gift - giving etiquette for meeting a girl’s parents, and wore a simple cream - colored button down with grey trousers and slacks. Not too formal, definitely not too casual; Ginnie, his mom, had insisted on him wearing a bow tie. He had groaned and moaned about it all the way to Lottie’s house door, while Lottie thought it was sweet.
“Look!” She had gushed, poking the bow tie. “You even got a green one!”
“It doesn’t match the rest of my clothes.” Ray had replied, blushing at the close proximity.
“But it’s a little funny, jumper,” Lottie replied fairly. “A green bow tie for the Greens.”
Now, Ray took a deep breath, staring at the door of Lottie’s house — he’d only been here once, and that was to beg her to come to his birthday party. Now he was meeting her parents. Time flew.
“Go on,” she nudged him gently. “Ring it.”
He swallowed, looking at her before slowly reaching out and pressing the doorbell once, gently.
Ding - dong!
“Fuck…” Ray muttered to himself, as Lottie rocked on her heels. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“Clean out your mouth before you meet them, jumper.” Lottie whispered, half - joking. Ray didn’t respond, before giving her a sideways glance and lightly tapping her ass.
“Ray!” Lottie hissed, laughing.
“What?” Ray responded, pretending to be oblivious.
“You’re about to —“ she smacked his shoulder, and he started to giggle. “You’re about to meet my Pa, for cryin’ out —“
The front door opened with a flourish, and both Ray and Lottie righted themselves immediately.
It was Atticus Green. He looked down at the both of them, quiet and intimidating — Ray swallowed. He was at least two inches taller than him, sporting that same mustache and silent strength he had on the first day Ray had seen him, the day the Greens moved into Freeport. He wore a long - sleeved shirt, it doing nothing to hide the muscle underneath, his coily salt and pepper close - cropped hair shiny in the sunlight. He kept his hair well - oiled. He was darker - skinned, as dark as Lottie, and upon closer inspection, he sported the same squinty - eyed look that she did. He was squinting down at Ray right now, scrutinizing him. There was a cigar in the corner of his mouth, one he hadn’t taken a drag of yet. Lottie subtly bumped Ray with her hip, signaling to introduce himself.
“U - uh…” Ray stammered, intimidated by Atticus’s stare. He thought he was handsome, and pushed the queer thought away. “Good morning, Mr. Green.” He held out a hand for Atticus to shake. “My name’s Raymond Garraty, it’s nice to meet you.”
Atticus stared at Ray for two long moments, before looking down at his outstretched hand. Ray held it there, uncertain, before Atticus took a drag of the cigar and blew the smoke not too far from Ray’s face. He still coughed, waving some of it away, and Lottie gave Atticus a look as he smirked.
“Pa.” She said simply. “Can you —“
“Alright, buttercup,” Atticus replied, before shaking Ray’s hand. He was still coughing. “The name’s Atticus Green. I’m Charlotte’s father, as you can tell. But you can continue to refer to me as ‘Mr Green,’ or ‘Sir.’”
“Okay… sir.” Ray nodded. Atticus nodded back.
“Pa,” Lottie started, fiddling with her hands. “Can we come inside?”
Atticus nodded, and went back into the house — before Ray could think, Lottie had taken him by the hand and led him in.
“Ignore him,” she whispered, as Ray took in the foyer. “He’s just tryna see if you’ve got…” she made a vague motion with her hands. “…guts. I don’t know.”
Ray nodded, looking around — the Green family’s foyer wasnt that different from the Garraty’s, family pictures hanging on the wall. There was a table, however, which housed only one picture. It was a boy, who looked to be their age, but it wasn’t Robert, Ray knew. He paused, and Lottie paused with him.
“Is that…?”
“Anthony, yeah.” Lottie wasn’t looking at the picture, instead just looking at Ray’s expression. “We still keep his photo.”
Ray nodded, not saying anything — Anthony shared that squinty look, sporting a bowler’s hat and a wide smile. He was quite handsome, and though Ray couldn’t see him fully, he looked to be well built, not as built as his father, but maybe moderately so like Robert . His face, however, didn’t share much resemblance with Atticus. He was clean - shaven, and the photo was in black - and white.
“He looked like a nice guy.” Ray said quietly, without thinking. Lottie gripped his hand just a little harder.
“Yeah, uh… looked.” Lottie repeated, scratching her right cheek, which bore the scar. Ray furrowed her brow at her, but before he could ask —
“Anyway, let’s go!” Lottie chirped brightly, dragging Ray further into the house. “My Ma will be in the dining hall…”
Ray was pulled into the living room by Lottie’s hand, trying his best not to drop his things and to take everything in before he was faced with Atticus once more. The living room was very cozy — a large, plush armchair was close to the window, where Ray assumed Atticus would reside, and a sofa opposite with a rocking chair. A broadcast of a State - sanctioned movie anyone with a TV had already seen a hundred times played in the background, volume low. The sunlight filtered in through the main windows, which were large and clean. The whole place smelled of flowers, the wallpaper yellow and vibrant. A cross was pinned to the wall, under a clock. The kitchen was connected to the living room, just like in Ray’s house, and they could both see people moving about and talking within. The rotary phone Ray had called Lottie on many times rested on the wall, dormant and red and shiny.
“Nice place you got.” Ray murmured in Lottie’s ear, and she smiled up at him. “Very cozy.”
“Thank you, Ray.” Lottie replied, before leading him forward. “Come on. I think my ma’s in the kitchen, and so is Robbie.”
“And your dad?”
“He probably went to his room,” Lottie explained. “He’ll be back in a second, don’t worry.”
Ray nodded, following Lottie and feeling big and awkward in this little house. All houses in Freeport were said by the State to be the same size, but the abundance of things, things that the Greens could afford to put around, made the house seem a little smaller. In a good way, Ray thought. The grocery store must’ve really been racking it in.
They made it to the doorway of the kitchen, where Marie Green hummed and stirred a pot of soup — upon closer inspection, it appeared to be gumbo. And it smelled very good. Beside her, wearing a loosely buttoned linen shirt, was Robert — he had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, one Lottie quickly snatched out and put in the bin. Robert puffed out a cloud of smoke, throwing his arms out in silent protest.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Marie nodded to Lottie, as Robert gave her the finger.
“Lottie, what the hell was that for?” He hissed, as Ray stood awkwardly in the doorway. “It’s a free — oh, it’s not a free country.”
“Exactly.” Lottie replied triumphantly, Robert sulking — he then caught sight of Ray, who was still hovering in the doorway. “…oh, shit.”
“Robert, language—“ Marie started, looking up, and then catching sight of Ray. “Oh!”
Ray waved awkwardly, chocolates and bouquet in his other hand. “Uh… good morning, Mrs. Green. I, uh…” he offered the box of chocolates, and the bouquet. “I got you these.”
“Oh, well aren’t you sweet.” Marie said, smiling politely at Ray before taking the bouquet and setting it on the counter beside the phone — she then inspected the chocolate box. “And these chocolates are my favorite! Truffles and all!”
“Oh, I — I didn’t know, Mrs Green, I just guessed,” Ray said sheepishly. Marie sized him up for a moment, quiet. Then she smiled.
“Well — that’s a good sign.” She patted him on the shoulder affectionately, and Ray’s face colored with embarrassment. “Thank you, Raymond.”
Robert, who was behind his mother, stuck out his tongue and made a gagging face. Ray stared at him, while Lottie scowled.
“Robert, go ready the table.”
“Yeah, I’ll go,” Robert replied, keeping eye contact with Ray. “I’ll go get everythin’ nice and ready for Mr White Boy over here.”
“Robbie, stop.” Lottie snapped, crossing her arms. “Can’t you just —“
Robert didn’t respond, shouldering past Lottie and Ray and leaving. Ray’s face was still pink, and Marie huffed in disappointment.
“Don’t mind him,” she said to Ray. “He’s just not that accustomed to change — that he doesn’t like, anyway.”
Ray nodded, quiet. Marie looked at him carefully for a moment, then cleaned her hands. “Raymond, why don’t you chop up some garlic?”
Ray coughed for a moment, surprised — Lottie laughed behind her hand. “…me?” He squeaked. Marie smiled, and Ray noticed Anthony looked a lot more like her than Atticus. “Yes, you. Gumbo takes a while to cook, might as well have an extra pair of hands — Lottie, stop gawpin’ at your boyfriend and help with the sausages.”
“Ma!” Lottie hissed, and Marie laughed as Ray washed his hands — he then carefully took a knife nearby and started to cut the garlic on the chopping board. He’d helped his mother with making food in the kitchen before, but that was mostly soups, and they were simple… gumbo didn’t look so simple. He cut the garlic into pieces as small as he could, but the sympathetic look Marie gave him told him he hadn’t cut them properly.
“Let Charlotte help you, Raymond.” She said, and Ray heard aggressive clattering from the dining area — Robert seemed to be setting the table with some force. Lottie rolled her eyes at her older brother’s antics, before stepping behind Ray.
“Now, you’re not too far from doing the right thing, jumper,” she started, her voice soft. Ray felt warmth rise to his cheeks again. “But you’ll need to dice the garlic, not just cut it.”
“Right.” Ray said thickly, staring at Lottie place her smaller hands over his larger ones. Smooth on rough.
“You need to do this instead,” she instructed gently, smashing the peeled cloves with the flat side of the knife, releasing the flavor. She then used the knife to cut them in a sort of rapid fashion, a rocking motion — the first clove was diced.
“Wow.” Ray breathed. Charlotte smiled to herself.
“There’s not much math to it — try it yourself.” Lottie nodded to the garlic, and Ray attempted to dice the next clove of garlic. Lottie watched him work, her arms crossed, and Ray concentrated on dicing the clove.
“There you go,” Lottie smiled. “That’s it — now try again.”
“Oh, we got him cookin’ in our kitchen now?!” Robert yelled from the dining area. “What’s next, he’s going to be mowing our lawn? Pruning our bushes? Fixing the roof —“
“Robert, shut up!” Lottie yelled back. “You don’t like it, go buy your own house! You’re twenty!”
Ray snorted, but righted his face when Lottie looked back at him.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Ray smashed another clove with the knife, and Lottie raised a brow. He looked back at her, acting confused. “What? I’m minding my business.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” Ray nodded, as Lottie watched his mincing. He was actually getting good. “Just… slicing...”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“…and dicin’.”
“Corny.” Lottie bumped Ray with her hip. “You enjoyin’ this?”
“Well,” Ray lowered his voice as Marie went about the kitchen. “Your mom’s nice.” He felt a little bad about thinking she was stuck - up when he first saw her. “And this is fun.”
“I’m glad you’re havin’ fun,” Lottie replied, putting emphasis on the last word. “My Pa will warm up to you in due time, don’t worry.”
***
Around thirty or so minutes later, Marie had heckled both Lottie and Ray out of the kitchen and to the table, because they were doing ‘less cooking’ and ‘more canoodling.’ Whatever that meant.
Now, they and Robert were sitting at the table, the couple sitting opposite Robert. Robert had an empty chair next to him, meant for Marie, and the chair at the head would be meant for Atticus. He hadn’t come out of his room yet, so the three just awkwardly waited. Robert had been staring at Lottie and Ray the whole time, eyes flicking from face to face. Ray had been whistling, not making eye contact, while Lottie simply huffed and rolled her eyes.
Ray began to drink a cup of water when Robert suddenly piped up.
Ray put his glass of water down, swallowing before answering. “What?”
“Gumbo.” Robert pressed, raising his eyebrows at Ray. “You ever tasted it?”
“Robert, what are you tryin’ to do?” Lottie asked, sighing.
“I’m not tryin’ anything.” Robert threw up his hands. “Just asking dear old Garraty a question.”
“Uh, no, I haven’t.” Ray said, narrowing his eyes at Robert. The latter smirked. “Closest thing I’ve had to it is probably chicken soup.”
Robert snorted.
“Something funny?”
“Chicken soup is not anywhere close to fuckin’ gumbo.”
“Right.” Ray nodded, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Noted, Robert.”
“Hey, watch your mouth, bow tie boy.”
“I think his bowtie’s sweet.” Lottie cut in defensively, eyeing her older brother, Robert. He scoffed. “Nose down, Robbie.”
Robert was about to reply when Marie came with bowls of gumbo, placing one in front of each person. As she did so, Atticus entered the room, looking relaxed. He no longer had a cigar in his mouth. Ray reasonably stiffened up a little at his presence, but Lottie squeezed his hand under the table.
“Raymond,” Marie started, before kissing her husband on the cheek. “Are you alright with this food? I could always fix you up some rice, if that’s more to your —“
Robert snorted, and Lottie glared at him.
“No, Mrs Green, this is alright,” Ray nodded, smiling at her. She sat at the chair next to Atticus’s, which was on Robert’s left side, and Atticus sat down accordingly. Everyone was settled.
“In this house,” Atticus started, linking hands with his wife, before Marie then linked hands with Robert. “We pray before we eat. I hope you know the Lord’s Prayer, boy.”
“U - uh…” Ray swallowed. “Yeah, of course. Sir.” Lottie took Ray’s hand in one of hers and her father’s in the other, and they shut their eyes before praying. Afterwards, the family started to eat — just before Ray spooned some gumbo and raised it to his mouth, he noticed Atticus watching him closely.
“…is there something wrong?”
“No.” Atticus shook his head. “Just seein’ if you can handle it.”
Ray laughed nervously, and Lottie sighed. “Handle what?”
“Pa, stop it.”
“What? I’m just seein’ if your little boyfriend can handle a Louisiana dish.” Atticus said, shrugging.
“Pa, stop callin’ him my little boyfriend.”
“Is he not your boyfriend?”
“Yes, but —“
“So I’ll call him your little boyfriend.”
Ray was all pink - faced, staring at the gumbo .
“Look, Pa,” Lottie started, getting heated. “I didn’t bring Ray here so you could —
In one fell swoop, Ray spooned some of the gumbo and stuffed it in his mouth. Atticus and Robert raised their eyebrows, Lottie and Marie staring at him. Ray, on the other hand, felt his face grow redder by the second; the gumbo was extremely spicy, and he pushed it down his throat as tears sprung to his eyes.
“Ray?” Lottie asked carefully. “Are you okay —?”
“Water,” he choked out, fanning his face as Atticus let out a roar of laughter. Lottie grabbed a cup of water and handed it to Ray, who drank it hungrily as Robert began to cackle; even Marie let out a titter of laughter before going to fetch another glass.
“Oh, Ray,” Lottie said, trying not to laugh as she got him a hankie. “You shouldn’t have downed it like that — Pa, stop laughin’— do you need more water?”
“No, I —“ Ray coughed, face still red, and Atticus laughed even harder, holding his sides. “—I’m fine.” He gave a shaky thumbs up.
“Oh,” Atticus wiped tears out of his eyes, he and Robert’s laughter dying down as Marie slid Ray another cup. “You’ve got some sac, boy.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ray responded, his eyes still watering and face still red. “I try my best. Mrs Green —“ he coughed. “Your gumbo’s really good.”
“Thank you, darlin’.”
Robert didn’t say anything, still giggling as Ray continued to eat. Once he got past the spiciness, the gumbo was very good — different flavors burst in his mouth, the chicken and various meats adding to the taste. Lottie watched him out the corner of the eye as he ate, smiling to herself.
“So,” Atticus started, after some minutes of silence. “Where’s your family from? Or are you all natives of Maine?”
“My dad’s family’s been in Maine for a while, sir,” Ray answered, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “So I’d say they’re natives — not so much my mom’s side, though. My grandfather and grandmother migrated to America from Ireland, moved to Maine when my mom was really young.”
“You speak Irish?” Atticus asked, taking another mouthful of gumbo. “Gaelic?”
“Uh, no, sir. Not fluently.” Ray answered, looking a bit thoughtful. “My mom does, but she didn’t teach me that much. Only know bits and pieces.”
“Guess you were right, Robbie,” Lottie muttered, taking another mouthful of gumbo. “He does have some Irish in him.”
“What?” Ray was confused.
“Long story,” Lottie replied, looking back at her soup. Robbie didn’t reply, but he smiled a little to himself.
“What do you like to do in your free time, dear?” Marie asked. “Robert, pass me the salt.”
“Um…” Ray hesitated, “…I like to read.”
“How riveting.” Robert said sarcastically, but there was less bite than usual.
“Is that so?” Atticus asked, ignoring Robert. “What authors?”
“Oh, uh — a wide range.”
“Try me.”
“Well — one of my favorites are Twain —“
“As is mine,” Lottie nudged Ray, and they grinned at one another before Ray continued.
“Orwell, Austen,” he went on, looking thoughtful. “There was that one play script I read from John Webster that I liked, but I keep forgetting the name…”
“Duchess of Malfi?” Lottie offered, mouth half - full. Ray snapped his fingers.
“Yes. That one. Loved it, but that doesn’t really count, ‘cause it’s a play.” Ray looked deep in thought, before speaking up again. “Then there’s Baldwin’s stuff, but they got banned fairly recently, so they’re harder to find…”
“Don’t I know,” Atticus replied, shaking his head. “Been lookin’ up and down for ‘em.”
“Really?” Ray replied. “I think I have one of his books, if you’d like them. Sir.”
“You don’t say,” Atticus replied, straightening up slightly — he looked half - amused, half - interested. “Where’d you get those from? And what do you know about Baldwin, boy?” he teased.
“Quite a bit, sir.” Ray said modestly, smiling. “My dad has a sort of system, he gets me stuff. Shows me the old ways.”
“As he should,” Atticus nodded. “I think every parent should — not that you heard it from me,” he lowered his voice, before even offering a smile Ray’s way. “What other hobbies d’you have?”
“I, uh…” Ray wiped his nose, looking slightly embarrassed. “I knit, sir.”
Atticus let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“Pa!” Lottie hissed.
“What?” Atticus was genuinely confused.
“I’m not pulling your leg, sir.” Ray said quietly, looking a bit sheepish. “I do knit.”
“Oh!” Atticus said, after a long beat of silence. Ray noticed he said ‘oh’ like Lottie did. “Well — what do you, uh… knit?”
Robert snorted. “Probably skirts.”
Lottie glared at her brother. “Robert, nose down!”
“I try to knit gloves and scarves, especially in the winter,” Ray said, quite firmly, keeping eye contact with Robert. “My mom teaches me, so I think it’s a valuable skill. I’m not that good at it, and I don’t do it enough, but I’m learning. So.”
“That’s very nice, Raymond,” Marie said sweetly, before giving Robert a look — the latter had an unreadable expression on his face, but Lottie thought she saw a note of shame.
“Well,” Atticus said, “that’s not too bad of a hobby.” He took a sip of water, and Ray blinked. “Very practical.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome,” Atticus nodded. “But, I wonder — what do you intend to do in the future?”
“Sir?”
“Well, you’re clearly interested in my daughter,” Atticus started, and Ray’s face colored once more as Lottie squeezed his hand under the table. “And I would hope you don’t intend to use that… competition —“
The Walk.
“— as a future financial plan.” He completed, looking straight into Ray’s eyes. “So. I ask you. What do you intend to do after you finish high school? What are your goals? Aspirations? Dreams?”
Ray blinked. He had thought of the future before, obviously — he’d determined that he would get an odd job around town, save up and move out, drive around America and discover more about the world. He hadn’t had a solid career in mind, banking more on doing jobs in any state he’d stopped in. A factory here, a cannery there. Reading and roaming until he settled somewhere. But now, he had someone else’s dreams to take into account, a two- story house on the countryside with a farm to keep in mind, too. An end goal. He had started looking at careers, proper ones. But none had really fit yet.
“Well…” Ray trailed off. “I’ve got to be honest sir, I don’t have it all figured out, not yet.”
Atticus raised his eyebrows, but his expression didn’t change much. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” Ray nodded, a little ashamed. “But, if you don’t mind me saying — I fully intend to make plans. I am making plans. I’m not bad at school, though I’m certainly not as bright as your daughter.”
“Ray…” Lottie started, a bit flustered.
“No, I mean it.” Ray turned to Lottie for half a second. “You’re probably tired of me saying it, but you’re amazing, a real intellectual. I feel like I could read all the books in the world and not catch up to your wit.” Lottie let out a disbelieving breath, smiling, as Ray turned back to Atticus, who had been watching the two with an unreadable look on his face. “And sir, I know you and Robert may not like me much, and I understand that I’m not what you envisioned for your daughter, but — I really do intend to be stable for her. To respect and love her. I’ll get a real job, whatever you deem that to be. Just right after I get my diploma. Maybe we can both go to university together; I know she’d enjoy that — or just get straight to work. I’m not sure. I wouldn’t want to lie to you. To any of you. And I know you might worry that I’ll sign up for that Walk and abandon her, but I don’t plan on doing that, on doing any of that. My dad would probably get shot for saying this and so would I, but the Walk is nothing more than a death trap and I’ve been taught my whole life not to go. To sign up. And I have no reason to. I love my family, and they love me. I wouldn’t do that to them. Or to Lottie. I can promise you that.”
Atticus stared at Ray for a long moment. “What does your father do?”
Ray looked a little thrown off by the sudden subject change, but cleared his throat and spoke. “He, uh… works at the local factory, sir. He’s one of the managers, promoted a couple months back.”
“Is he now?” Atticus looked mildly impressed. “Is it the shoe one a little out of town?”
“Yeah, uh…” Ray hesitated. “They make boots and such. Sir.”
“Right,” Atticus nodded. “And your mother? She works at the diner, am I right?”
“Yeah, sir,” Ray nodded, not too surprised that Atticus knew where Ginnie worked — she was a local, working at the town’s diner as a part - time waitress when she wasn’t baking or knitting at home. She had a couple friends there — on Fridays they went out for night - time bingo. It was honest work and she liked being the trusty back up worker to call on when things got hectic.
“She makes a lovely milkshake,” Marie commented, sipping some water. “Very sweet, I met her around last week.”
“You did?” Lottie and Ray said in unison.
“Oh lord, they’re already in sync.” Robert muttered.
“Yes, I did,” Marie replied, after giving Robert another ‘stop it’ look. “She was so welcoming— told me a bit about a sprained ankle, too.”
Lottie’s face burned — she hadn’t told her parents she’d hurt herself that date night, trying her best not to limp around. The sprain was a minor one, and she already felt herself getting better, but she hung her head in shame all the same. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, Ma.”
“That’s alright, Charlotte,” Marie replied. “She also told me about a certain photo shoot of a certain baby.”
Ray turned pink. “…oh.”
“I think it’s sweet that you had a whole sailor’s theme,” Marie continued, as Lottie started to fret and Robert started to snigger. “I think she even had one picture in her —“
“Ma, stop.” Lottie whisper - shouted, as Ray stared at his lap. “Oh, my god.”
“I don’t know why you’re laughin’, Robert, you have a baby shoot somewhere too.” Atticus said offhandedly, spooning some gumbo into his mouth.
Robert stopped laughing.
“Speakin’ of baby pictures,” Marie rummaged in her pockets, and Lottie’s eyes widened in immediate horror. “I think I have one of —“
“Ma, no.”
“—Lottie!” She exclaimed, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. “You can have a look, Raymond.”
“No, Raymond, you cannot.” Lottie said, giving Ray a meaningful look. He stared at her.
“Can I see it?”
“Oh, no —“ Lottie started, as Marie handed over the picture.
Ray unfolded the picture, and there was a baby Lottie in Marie’s lap. She was laughing, being tickled by her mother, her face the focus of the picture. She wore a puffy white dress, face round and smooth and unscarred.
“Oh, you look adorable.” Ray grinned, holding the picture like it was something precious — Lottie was deeply embarrassed, her face buried in her hands.
“Shut up.”
“No, I mean it,” Ray nudged her. “You were laughing, just like me in my picture.”
Lottie dropped her hands from her face, looking at Ray. “Real smooth, Garraty.”
Ray just grinned at her. Slowly, she smiled back.
Atticus looked between them, thoughtful, before continuing to eat.
***
A while later, the table had been cleared, and Lottie, Ray and Robert were in the kitchen — Ray and offered to wash the dishes, while Marie cleaned the table and Robert dried the dishes. Lottie arranged them back into the cabinet, humming softly to herself.
Ray didn’t know how the dinner had gone — after the question - asking from Atticus, Robert had started to tell a story about someone who couldn’t read coming to hang about the library, and that had been a bit of a laugh. Atticus had been laughing particularly loudly, and hadn’t shot Ray, so he deemed that a good sign.
“So,” Robert started suddenly, breaking the silence. Ray paused washing the dishes for half a second, thinking he was talking to Lottie. “You play baseball, Garraty?”
Ray stilled. “Me?”
“Yeah.” Ray looked up at Robert, but he wasn’t looking back at him. “So. You play?”
“Uh — yeah. Yeah, I play baseball.” Ray swallowed, looking back at the dishes and continuing to wash. Lottie looked at the boys from the corner of her eye, but didn’t interrupt.
“You any good at it?” Robert asked, drying the bowl Ray set down.
“Yeah, I’d like to think I am,” Ray shrugged, letting himself smile a bit. “My dad’s been teaching me since I was little.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.” Ray hummed. “I’m a catcher, have my mitt at home. He basically gave it to me, he’s had it for so long.”
Robert made a look of mild amusement. “That’s nice. I think we have a mitt somewhere in storage — me ‘n my Pa haven’t played since we moved to Maine, we’ve been so damn busy.” He placed the newly dried plate next to Lottie. “If you’re up for it… we’ve been lookin’ for a catcher.”
Ray almost dropped the plate he had been washing — Robert Green, offering to play baseball with him? Ray thought he hated him. “…are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Robert shrugged, not looking Ray in the eye. “Lottie could do it, but she’s always makin’ excuses —“
“Hey!” Lottie exclaimed, mock - offended.
“—and you seem capable.” Robert completed, throwing a smirk Lottie’s way. “Plus… you two look like you’re serious. So I might as well get used to the idea.”
“Of what?” Lottie asked, putting away the last plate as Ray rinsed his hands.
Robert looked straight at her, a slightly pained but hopeful look in his eye. “You two. Courtin’.”
There was a long beat of silence in which everybody stared at each other.
“Oh.” Lottie breathed. Ray didn’t say anything, and Robert sighed.
“Look — I don’t hate you, Ray, not really. Never did. But —“
“I get it.”
“— no, I —“ Robert sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Lottie’s my little sister. Love her more than anythin’. And — no offense, Garraty, but — you’re not the type I imagined she’d bring home.”
“Robbie!” Lottie hissed.
“No, it’s okay.” Ray said, and Lottie crossed her arms and sighed. Robert took a breath before continuing.
“I don’t mean it like that. But you both know what I mean… the State hasn’t made it illegal, and you’re free to love each other, but you’re goin’ to get stares. Whispers, and such. You won’t get it, Garraty, but people that look like us already get those. And I thought, when Lottie started hangin’ about you, that —“ Robert rubbed his eyes, seemingly struggling to put his words together. “—you were just messin’ with her. I’ve heard stories about white folk that mess around with colored girls, promise them these things, hopes and dreams, in exchange for — well, you know what. Then they up and leave ‘em for a blonde with blue eyes, and it’s somethin’ terrible.”
There was another long beat of silence.
“I wouldn’t do that to her.” Ray said quietly, and Lottie looked at him — he was already looking at her. “Ever.”
“Well…” Robert trailed off, straightening up. “Lottie’s my sister, and a smart one. Got a solid head on her shoulders. And when she’s set on somethin’, she’s set on it. And she’s set on you. So.” Robert offered Ray a hand. “Might as well get along.”
Ray looked at Robert’s outstretched hand, and back to his face, not letting himself believe it. Robert shrugged as if to say ‘go on’. Ray grinned, and shook his hand.
“Truce?”
“There was no battle to begin with, Robbie!” Lottie threw up her arms in frustration, and Ray laughed out loud — Robert smiled, a genuine smile.
“Thanks for trusting me.”
Robert shrugged. “Your little speech might’ve worked on me, Garraty. I just hope you meant it.”
“Thank god you came to your senses,” Lottie muttered. “you absolute —“
“No touchin’ on each other, though.” Robert deadpanned. Ray turned pink, while Lottie made a face of horror behind him.
“ROBERT!”
“What?” Robert shuddered, clearly disgusted by the thought. “I don’t want no nieces and nephews, not till I’m forty. No turning my sister into a —“
“Robbie!” Lottie had her ears covered, face a reddish - brown. “Stop! You’re makin’ my brain hurt!”
“Alright.”
“Raymond.” The deeper, calm voice of Atticus Green interrupted the young adults, and Lottie promptly dropped her hands from her ears. He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking at all of them — his face had that unreadable, but not so threatening, look. Ray blinked.
“…sir?” He said, his voice only shaking a bit.
“A word.” Atticus nodded his head towards the hall. Lottie looked from Ray to her father, a little thrown.
“Pa?” She asked a question without asking it, and Robert’s eyes flicked between Ray and Atticus.
“It’s nothin’, I’m not going to hurt him,” Atticus shrugged, offering a small smile to Lottie. “I just want to talk to him.”
“Pa —“
“Of course, sir.” Ray said, trying his best to sound confident — he gave Lottie a sideways glance. She gave him an uncertain smile back — Atticus led Ray away, into the foyer and out to the porch. It was early afternoon now, and the sun was high in the sky. Some people were walking along the street, going about their daily day and minding their business. Someone’s chained dog was barking in a far off yard, jangling their chains with each bark. Ray felt sweaty. Atticus was not looking at him, instead looking at the horizon.
“Sit down, boy.” Atticus said, but it didn’t feel like a demand — it felt like an offer. His voice was no longer as rough as it was when Ray had first arrived that morning. It was gentle, and low. Like Lottie’s. Keeping his eyes on Atticus, Ray sat down on the wooden bench beside the door. After a few moments, Atticus sat down too.
They both sat next to each other in silence for exactly two minutes. Atticus people watched quietly, waving to the odd person here and there, them waving back, some hesitantly. It was clear why. Ray sat all stiffly, still afraid to do something unimpressive, something that would bar his access to Lottie Green for ever and ever.
“You know why I called you out here?” Atticus said finally, plucking a daisy from the nearby flowerpot. It was small, and delicate — he rolled the stem between his index and thumb finger, watching the flower’s face rotate clockwise and anti clockwise. Ray watched the flower too.
“No, sir.”
“Didn’t expect you to.” Atticus replied fairly, before doing something unexpected — he tucked the flower behind his ear, before looking out at the street. Ray stared at his profile before looking away, a little sheepish. “I don’t know how to organize this in a clean cut way. That’s somethin’ I’m not very good at, but I’ll try.”
“Okay, sir.” Ray nodded, looking at Atticus, who finally looked back at him. His eyes were still sort of squinty.
“I’ll be honest with you.” Atticus looked back outward. “If I had a bad feelin’ about you, I woulda chased you out the minute I saw you. I’m a man. I know how boys your age work. Only want one thing.”
Ray swallowed, fiddling with his fingers. Atticus looked at him.
“Unless I’m wrong, and you also want only one thing?”
“No!” Ray said a little loudly, startling himself. “Oh, sir — sorry. But no, it’s not like that with Lottie, I promise —“
“Relax, boy.” Atticus chuckled to himself. “Only teasin’. But. The point is, I’ve seen your parents round town. Your father visits my store sometimes, on late nights. One of the few folk that haven’t been that sort.”
Ray knew what ‘that sort’ meant. Porterville was a majority whites town. That was not magically going to change.
“And,” Atticus continued, thoughtful. “I surmised this — good roots, good boy. But that’s old - fashioned, see. There can be a man with the sweetest parents on earth who turns out to be a no - good asshole. They let ‘im do whatever, ‘cause they have no spine. But I’m going off track here. My daughter, for her own reasons, is drawn to you.” Ray’s cheeks turned pink, and he struggled not to grin. “She loves you. I can see it. And who am I, as a father, to deny my baby girl what she loves?”
There was some silence then, and a bird far off twittered. Ray could feel summer coming to an end, though you couldn’t see it unless you squinted. Atticus drummed his fingers.
“You’re a good boy. You caught her hat. You’re soft - spoken, not all harsh and uncarin’. You’re well - read.” Atticus raised his eyebrows. “Not a lot of boys your age read.”
Ray smiled. Atticus smiled back, before looking back out, daisy still tucked behind his ear. “What you said on the table… I hope you meant it. Because I’d hate for my daughter to be wrong about you. You were honest. You’re not sure what your plan is yet, but you’ll be sure soon. I’d prefer that over grand, fake promises — you remind me of myself when I met Marie. I wanted to stop messin’ around. Wanted to give her a stable life. And I have.”
The wind blew, ruffling the daisy behind Atticus’s ear, but not blowing it away. “The fact that you promised you won’t sign up for that Walk resonated with me.” He looked at Ray, who was staring up at him. “You gotta have some sorta privilege to not jump at the opportunity. I don’t know what that is. I’ll be honest — if the Major was around when I was your age, I would’ve signed up. In a heartbeat. I grew up dirt poor. But God had the grace to stop that from even existin’ in my day. But I digress. There’s a core to all I’m saying, all I’m tellin’ you.”
Atticus shifted closer to Ray then, leaning in slightly. His eyes were level with his, and the latter swallowed.
“Charlotte may have not told you about the pain this family has been through,” he started, his voice lowered and rough once more. “And I won’t tell you either. She will tell you in her own time, when she feels it is right. But. I know you’ve seen her scar. You don’t know where it came from? You will. You are to love that part of her as much as you love the other parts. You are to keep the promise you made on that table.”
Ray trembled slightly, Atticus’s eyes boring deep into his. With warning.
“Let me make something very clear, Raymond Garraty. Arguments in relationships, disagreements, they’re normal. Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ that — but there are some lines, as a man, that you do not cross. If you lay a finger on Charlotte, if you go back on your word, if you abandon her to go on that Walk… I will hurt you. Badly. I am trustin’ you, boy. I am givin’ you two my blessing. A Green’s trust is not somethin’ to be taken lightly. Do you understand me?”
Ray stared back at Atticus, face unreadable, before slowly nodding. “Yes, sir.”
Atticus hummed, before drawing back and looking out onto the street. Ray felt his heart pounding. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that Atticus meant every word of what he said. A moment of silence passed before Atticus took the daisy from behind his ear, looked down at it a little sadly, and handed it to Ray.
“Here,” he placed it in his palm. “Take care of it.”
Ray knew what that meant, and he stared at the daisy for a beat before placing it behind his own ear.
“I overheard you and Robert talkin’ about baseball,” Atticus said suddenly, heaving himself off the bench and stretching. “You feel like playin’, son?”
Ray blinked — Atticus had not called him ‘son’ until now. “U - uh — yeah, I’d love to, Mr. Green.”
Atticus nodded before going back inside. Ray stared out at the street, tucking the daisy further behind his ear, before following suit.
***
Nine years earlier, somewhere in Louisiana
Anthony Green was scorned.
The nighttime air bit into his cheeks as he shouldered his hunting bag, trudging his way to the forest. It was 10 pm, probably later — the nighttime owls hooted as he got closer and closer to that solid wall of tree, that dark place he’d hunt in from time to time. He narrowed his eyes as he remembered the look on his little sister Lottie’s face as he’d briskly come in and out of the house.
“Ant!” She’d called to him, her hair styled into coily pigtails as she held her stuffed rabbit, Stebbins. “Ant, where’re you goin’?”
“I’m going out, Lottie.” He’d muttered back, not looking at her. Atticus, his father, hadn’t been talking to him much as of late. Ever since that argument they’d had over him wanting to sign up for the Walk, Atticus and Anthony Green had been at odds. They didn’t speak for long, didn’t look each other directly in the eyes — Robert and Marie hadn’t spoken about it, but a new tension had set over the house, hot and heavy.
Lottie, small and innocent and clueless Lottie, would simply go on as she always did — asking Anthony to read her a story, asking him if he’d gotten any treats from the market that day. Ant hated seeing her face fall when he said no.
Things were getting harder.
He was still doing the odd jobs around town with his father, still trying to make an honest living, still trying to save up so he could move away with Lilith and start their own life. But the Squads general, General Wordsworth, was making it difficult to hold a job. Going around and intimidating anyone who’d let Anthony or Atticus work around their place.
“Fuckin’ asshole,” Anthony muttered to himself, his boots thumping against the ground. “Fucking fuck. Piece of shit.”
General Wordsworth had been determined to make life hard for the Greens, specifically Anthony — he would stop him in town, spitting on the floor and such; calling him ‘boy’ and snickering anytime Anthony responded to any of his stupid questions.
“What’s your business here, boy?” He’d said, that hot and dusty afternoon.
Anthony swallowed, looking at the ground, at the spit that resided there. “I’m goin’ to work at the local repair store, sir.”
“Pardon?” Wordsworth had cupped a hand around his ear. “Wha’choo say, boy?”
“I said,” Anthony repeated lowly, with gritted teeth. “I’m going to work at the local —“
Wordsworth suddenly burst into laughter, slapping his belly. “I can’t hear a word you’re sayin’ — but then again, I don’t expect your sort to speak all clear, see.”
Anthony didn’t reply, staring at the ground, feeling his fists clemch. A foreign thought came into his head, uninhibited and rageful: he could punch him. He could hit the general. He could knee him in the crotch, so hard he wouldn’t be able to bother the women in town with that limp thing again. Wouldn’t bother his girl, Lilith either — his girl, who he’d been making moves at. He couldn’t even do anything about it, couldn’t protect Lilith, or he’d find himself hung in the town square, body swinging as the sun rose on his dead eyes. So he shut up. He watched Lilith walk away from the general, shove him off. Anytime Ant asked about it, she’d avoid the subject, telling him not to worry.
But he could tell it bothered her. Badly.
They needed to get out of this town. He needed to go on that —
“Did you hear me, boy?” Wordsworth snapped, taking Anthony out of his train of thought. He felt a stinging pain in his hands, and realized his fingernails had bitten into his palm. He’d been clenching them too hard.
“Yes.” Anthony replied, after a long moment. “I’ll just be on my way, I didn’t mean any harm.” He started off once more, before Wordsworth stopped him.
“What do you say after you refer to me, boy?” He hissed, his beady eyes staring into Ant’s. Anthony looked at the grimy, large hand holding his shoulder, and back to the general’s face. He repressed the urge to shove him away, to spit on his face and see how he liked it, to refer to him as ‘boy’, but he didn’t. He shut up and swallowed and looked him in the eye.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” Anthony said slowly. “Sir.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Wordsworth let go of Anthony’s shoulder, and Anthony turned away— he hadn’t even made one step before he said it. “That’s right. Be on your merry way like a good little nigger.”
He had paused walking for a second. He debated turning back. He did not.
Now, Anthony had carried all that rage through his day and into the night — he had all but ignored his mother when she’d asked if he wanted to eat, barely spoken to Robbie and dismissed Lottie. He didn’t know where his father was. He was beginning not to care.
He was beginning to memorize the number you called to sign up for the Walk.
Hunting had always cleared Anthony’s mind, anyway, he thought, stepping over a large boulder, trying not to think too hard about anything. He mostly just caught salmon for his Ma to fry, but once in a while he’d kill a deer. He felt terrible every time he did it, but times got rough. Now, however, he was doing it out of pure stress - relief. He needed, he realized, to hurt something — it sounded fucked - up, but he did.
Anthony shook his head as he went deeper into the forest. It was mostly empty this time of night, and you’d be hard of seeing anything. Reaching into his bag, he took out his headlamp and secured it around his head, clicking a button so it turned on, flooding his surroundings with yellow light. Richard, Lilith’s younger brother, had gasped when he saw it, asking where Anthony got it over and over before Anthony promised him he’d buy him one.
Now, he smiled a bit at the memory.
Hunting a deer was not simple — you had to track it first. Look around. Scope the area, see if they left any tracks, check for trails and scrapes. Anthony could see a trail of prints on the forest floor now, small and dainty hooves. The size of the tracks made him feel a pang of guilt. What the fuck was he doing? Hunting a fucking deer. Ignoring his baby brother and sister. What was going on with him? He should go back home. Forget all this. Read them a story. He never even cussed this much.
“No.” Anthony said out loud to himself, shaking his head — his voice was choked. “No, I’m not fucking — I’m not a sissy. I’m finishin’ this.”
He shouldered his bag once more, now sniffing out for the scent. Musky. It couldn’t be that far from him, not at all — he took out his set of binoculars, using them to look around the expanse. Empty. He saw a fox’s tail slither away behind a tree when the light of his headlamp fell on it, but otherwise nothing. The crickets chirped as he sighed and put the headlamps away, wary of his surroundings. He was getting further and further from the entrance to the forest, further from home.
Anthony listened carefully as he trekked deeper into the brush, the crunch of his footsteps accompanying him. He still couldn’t hear any sign of the deer, but he knew it had to be around. Far too many hooves for it to have been long gone — these were fresh.
“Come on.” He muttered to himself, glancing around and getting his bow and arrow from his bag. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”
Anthony startled when a branch behind him snapped; whirling around with his bow and arrow at the ready, he was faced with…
Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Not even a tail. Sighing, his arms fell to his sides and his shoulders slumped.
“Must’ve been a rat.” He mumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes and yawning. It was getting late. He should go home. This was stupid —
Ant paused, realizing he wasn’t too far from a clearing; there, grazing quietly, was the deer he’d been looking for. Its tufty tail twitched as it fed, eyes closed in silent satisfaction; the picture of peace.
“Oh, fuck.” He whispered. Deer meat could feed the Greens for a good week. He stepped forward, drawing his bow and arrow, aiming at the little deer. Its ears twitched, still unaware of its hunter — Anthony was far enough so his headlamps gave him a clear view, but not close enough so the deer could see him.
Aiming. Narrowing eyes. Drawing the arrow back…
“Clear shot.” Ant whispered. The deer then looked up, staying still as a butterfly settled on its nose. Anthony’s jaw tightened them, his bow and arrow lowering for a beat.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh, hell — I can’t kill — come on, Ant, come on.” He straightened up once more, but upon seeing the deer still focused on the butterfly on its nose, found he couldn’t do it. This was a waste of time, after all. He should just —
“Nice bow ‘n arrow you got there.” A voice said.
Anthony let out a yell so loud the deer straightened up and sprinted off, the butterfly gone with it. He whirled around to see a young boy not much older than thirteen or fourteen, staring up at him. He had dark brown skin, just like Ant’s, and his face was dirty and had a hardened expression, one he wasn’t fully pulling off. He had squinty eyes, like his little sister’s, and close - cropped coiled hair. His shirt was dirty and tattered, and he wore trousers that looked a size too big for his scrawny frame. Ant saw he was holding something, but couldn’t tell what it was. His face held the same roundness as Lottie’s.
“Who’re you?” He asked skeptically, looking the boy up and down. He had a sort of unreadable expression on his face. “I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts before.”
The boy paused, staring at Anthony’s face for a long movement. “I’m from Georgia.”
“Then what’re you doin’ all the way in Louisiana?” Anthony asked, looking into the boy’s face — he really did look young. “Where are your parents?”
The boy shrugged. “I’m just travelin’. Seein’ places.”
“With your parents?”
“My parents ain’t around.” The boy said lowly, looking at Ant’s bag. “I’m alone.”
Anthony saw the boy staring at his things, and hitched up his bag. “What d’you mean, your parents aren’t around?”
“They’re dead.” He replied simply, but Anthony saw a slight tremble in his lower lip. “They died in the Big War. My uncle took me in, but he’s dead now, so I’m by myself.”
“Oh.” Anthony breathed. Upon taking s closer look at the boy, he really did look homeless — he wondered how the State hadn’t caught him. Homeless and parentless kids were put into the foster system, which wasn’t all that great — you stayed in a mucky orphanage — but it was better than whatever was outside it.
“You, uh…” Anthony scratched his nose, stepping closer to the boy. The boy stepped back, still eyeing the bag. “You need help? What’s your name?”
The boy looked at him warily. “My names Peter. But I go by Pete. Pete McVries.”
“McVries,” Anthony nodded, wiping his nose. “Alright. Look. If you need any shelter, I don’t live too far from here. You stopped me from gettin’ that deer, but you can always eat the rice my Ma made, in my house.”
Pete stared at him. “How I know you not tryin’ to do something to me?”
“I’m not, I promise,” Ant said — Pete didn’t say anything in reply, but sized him up once more.
“I’m not trying anything on you, I promise,” Ant pressed — Pete looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Please, just — let me help you, alright?”
Pete didn’t speak for a long moment, staring at Anthony’s bag. “Alright.”
Anthony offered Pete a smile. He offered an almost - smile back, and Anthony turned on him, ready to lead him back to his house.
“Now, you can just stay for tonight, if you want,” Ant started, walking. “It’s not safe to stay out this late, especially in the South —“
Suddenly, he felt a strong blow to the back of his head, stumbling to his knees — his vision swam as he whirled around, his hand rushing to the back of his head. He could feel a tender bruise there. Pete, the boy, was holding a rock over his head, his eyes wide as he stared down at Anthony.
“What the —“ he started, voice slurred — so that was what he’d been holding in his hand. Fuck.
“No hard feelings, man,” Pete started, his voice echoing and sounding far away. “You just got some pretty lookin’ things I could sell, that’s all.”
Anthony managed to dodge as Pete took another swipe at him, launching himself at his bag, which he’d dropped — inside, he knew, was something that could help defend himself — Pete was scrawny, but strong.
“What’s wrong with you?” Anthony managed, his headlamp askew. He rummaged through his bag as Pete advanced. “I was about to help you, you sick little —“
The rest of Anthony’s sentence was lost as Peter kicked him hard in the abdomen — he shouted out an obscenity as he felt his fingers close around the handle of something in his bag.
“I’m not tryin’ to kill you,” Pete said, his voice oddly calm. “I just need your stuff. I don’t have any money.”
“So you pick fights?” Anthony huffed, buying time and scrambling further away. Pete had drawn back his hand, ready to hit Ant in the face with the rock.
“…yeah.” Pete shrugged, stepping forward and readying himself to hit Anthony — Anthony withdrew his weapon with surprising efficiency, giving Pete almost no time to react; he arose and swiftly slashed the young boy’s cheek open, blood spurting outward and onto his face.
Pete stumbled back, holding his face and shouting in pain as the blood streamed out from between the cracks of his fingers. He looked from his bloody hand, to Anthony, who was still gripping his hunting knife — he looked shocked. He didn’t know that was what he’d been holding, and he didn’t mean for shit to get this bad —
“Fuck.” He breathed out, as Pete paled. “Fuck.”
“What the fuck?!” Pete exclaimed shakily, his eyes welling up. “You cut me, man — you fuckin’ cut me — !”
“I’m sorry!” Anthony yelled, the hand with the knife trembling as he widened his eyes. “I didn’t mean to —“
Pete let out another shout of pain and anger; he ran towards Anthony all zig - zag, and the latter barely thought before doing it again — he slashed across his collarbone, making Pete’s already bloodied face contort in agony once more as he screamed; Anthony then pushed him back. It didn’t take much by then; Pete fell onto the forest floor, his eyes fluttering and face paling further before he passed out.
Anthony stood there, his chest heaving as he stared down at Pete’s unconscious body. He looked down at his hands. They were spattered with blood, and so was his shirt. In that moment, he felt a sick sense of release, of relief — he’d satiated the anger he’d been feeling. What the fuck was wrong with him? He felt the wound at the back of his head, and felt the dampness there, too — Pete had hit him good. But Anthony had cut him better.
He looked back at Pete. Little Pete. Young Pete. He fell to his knees beside him, lowering his ear to the boy’s face — he was still breathing.
“Thank god.” He whispered, panting. “Thank god, than god, thank — fuck, I need to go get help. Fuck. He’s goin’ to die, and it’ll be all my fault —“ Anthony felt tears spring to his eyes. Madly, in that moment, he remembered he was going to be eighteen in a matter of weeks. Eighteen, and he might’ve cut this boy’s life short at fourteen.
Staggering, Ant got up — the town’s physician wasn’t too far. He’d call him, tell him he’d found Pete passed out in the forest. Yeah. Then they’d take him to the hospital in Baton Rouge, and the State could take him in, take care of him. No kid should be livin’ like that. Or maybe he’d run away. Fuck if he knew what Pete would do, but he’d be alive. He’d be alive.
Anthony got up then, grabbing his bag and marking where he’d left Pete, so he’d be easy to find for the authorities — then he started to run. Even if Wordsworth caught him out after hours. Even if he’d get into trouble. He had to do this.
As he ran to town, as he felt his bag jumping up and down with each step, Anthony Green knew something terrible was happening. He knew it when he’d seen Pete touch his newly harmed face, when he’d ignored his siblings. He knew it when he’d watched those rich folks in town, watched them with resentment. He knew it when he’d argued with his Pa. He knew it more and more each day.
There was rage inside of him. It was growing by the days, weeks, months, years — rage from everything. Anthony was a sweet boy. Anthony was a sweet boy who’d cut another boy’s face open. Nothing made any sense. The General wouldn’t let him keep a job. The State, a voice. His father, autonomy. He was trapped. Cornered. Bad things happened when boys like him got cornered. They turned to the closest solution. A competition. A promise. A prize.
Anthony Green was losing himself.
The Long Walk was gaining him.
***
Author’s Note:
I know Harkness’s thinking Ray didn’t know Lottie when he heard him mention a Lottie the night prior is contradictory, but he was in a state of delirium and on the brink of death. So.
Clementine and Lottie were friends in childhood, but Clem moved away when they were around eleven, losing contact. Harkness moved away earlier, also losing contact with Lottie and Clem — subsequently losing that southern accent, too. The reason why he moved away will be revealed in due time, as it is connected to Lilith, his sister.
This is Ray Garraty and Lottie Green’s casting call in my head. I love them! The scrunklies ever!! I know I already have the face claim from League of Their Own, but this one just resonates so much more with the Lottie in my head, a reader suggested / headcanon end it and I’ve been in love with Fanta’s face since. I only use the League of Their Own face claim because Fanta’s not an actress, just a model, and therefore doesn’t have screen caps. But I imagine this Lottie when I write, you pick whichever one you like more. So.
No I will not be addressing the elephant in the room! Or the other one! Jk if you have questions PLEASE ask I love to answer em, love comments and reblogs too they motivate me! Please recommend this fic to people who you’d think would b interested :))
Till next time — I haven’t been updating as often because I’m in my final year of highschool and things have been so stressful study- wise,been juggling a lot. And I have to do so much research for the next chapter because it is happening… I haven’t written that sort of stuff before and I’ll try my best not to fuck it up.
Summary: Ray recovers from a rough night, and sees a bumblebee with Pete. Lottie challenges someone. The Garraty parents meet Lottie!
Click here for previous chapter
Word Count: 15, 503
Warnings / Tags: description of injury, name - calling, gavries, strong language, sexual shame, mention of erotica, brief mention of a child’s death, fluff, brief mention of nudity (kinda tame chapter, actually)!
It should also be noted that this fic takes place in the year leading up to the movie. It is, for the most part, a prequel.
A/N: I have no idea how I ended up blabbing so much on this chapter… I’m so sorry (ಡ‸ಡ) anyway, next chapter will definitely be much darker than this one. Don’t forget to comment, Reblog and like! It motivates me! Also, I’m sorry if this chapter took too long to release. I’m back in school TvT
Ray Garraty would not admit it, but he stared at Lottie Green’s scar a lot. It wasn’t in a disgusted, repulsed way — never that — but he had just been so damn curious on how it came to be. It was, to him, beautiful and abstract. He would always know it was Lottie’s. It was a part of her. Yes, that is Lottie’s scar, and Lottie is the love of my life, and I know it’s hers. He’d never do it while she was looking, though. Always when she was turned away from him; he noticed that if you looked closely enough, it went on for longer. The noticeable part was at her cheek, but it kept going, thinning and thinning until it got to her collarbone. Then it would disappear, dissolve like a dream, under her clothes — even though she’d worn the bikini beside the lake that day, she’d been hugging herself so much that no one had really seen the severity of it all.
Peter McVries’ scar was very similar to Lottie’s, but to Ray, it looked like it was made with intent. Lottie’s looked wilder and unplanned, but Pete’s was precise. Almost clinical. That was the one thing that separated and united the two, and it came in the form of a scar. He did not know how long Pete’s scar went on for, because he had not seen Pete naked, or without a shirt. He knew how long Lottie’s went on for, however. He knew the severity, all the grooves and edges, how it felt under your thumb. He’d seen it all. The reason is clear.
***
Ray blinked sleepily as he walked beside Pete, the morning looking hopeful. Lord knows he needed a hopeful morning after last night.
The rising sun, orange and calming, reminded Ray of the way the sun had looked the morning after that night. The night he did not want to remember, the night with her, and he shook his head to try and forget it, forget it all. But he knew he couldn’t. Trying to forget Charlotte was like trying to forget how to ride a bike. The absurd comparison made Ray laugh out loud then, and Pete gave him a look.
“Somethin’ funny, Ray?” He asked, smiling. Ray smiled back, shaking his head.
“Uh, it’s nothing, Pete. Just been thinking, is all.“ Ray shrugged, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He was feeling tired. He wasn’t sure if he’d walked off all his warnings, though. He couldn’t slow down, Pete had told him.
He had not looked at or heard a word from Harkness, or many of the other boys. They were all walking like zombies. Hank, overhead, had a glazed look in his eyes — his tongue stuck out slightly, and it looked dead. Gone was the teasing boy from last night; Hank was not talking to anyone. Ray wondered what he was thinking about.
“Hey!” A shrill voice broke through the quiet, and some of the boys looked up, curious. It was a girl, with some of her friends, by the roadside. She was waving.
“I thought spectators weren’t allowed.” Tressler, a boy Ray hadn’t spoken to much, muttered. He brushed his dreadlocks behind his ear, squinting at the girl.
“I told you all already, they’re allowed if it’s their hometown, crowding won’t come till later,” Stebbins said stoically, and Ray rolled his eyes. Pete scoffed. “You all don’t listen.”
“Hey, why don’t you stuff it, know - it - all?” Ray spat bitterly, last night’s events still taking a toll. “Speaking like you’re better than all of us.”
Stebbins simply smirked to himself. Ray felt like strangling him. In order to not feel this way, he lazily looked at her too, as did Pete. She was pretty, and was with a couple of friends, boys and girls alike. She looked their age, eighteen or so. Ray cringed when he saw her sign: ‘Go Go Garraty: Maine’s Own.’
“This one doesn’t look fourteen, huh?” Collie said teasingly, trying and failing to lift the mood. When no one laughed, he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Just trying to ease the fuckin’ tension.”
Ray raised a hand in a wave to the girl, and she and her friends made noises of excitement. One of the girls next to her whispered in her ear, and she nodded before looking back at Ray and smiling — with a surprisingly swift flourish, she lifted up her shirt and flashed the boys.
“Oh, Jesus fuck.” Ray turned and shielded his eyes, face burning as the boys around him whooped and wolf - whistled, someone yelling that she should ‘call him if he won.’ He only heard Pete let out an amused chuckle — a camera flash went off, and he was sure it was Barkovitch.
“Whoo!” Barkovitch said as the cheers died down and they’d made some distance from the girl’s group. “Now that woke me up.”
“I was hopin’ that sonofabitch never woke up.” Pete muttered, shaking his head as Ray looked up again. “That excite you, Ray?”
Ray stared at Pete. “No, not really. Only one pair of those truly have, and they’re all the way back in Porterville.”
“Hmm.” Pete hummed. Ray’s eyes flickered to Pete’s chest.
“Maybe two.” he elaborated, before looking away. Pete coughed then, flustered — Ray didn’t speak on the subject further.
***
A bee had been hovering around the group of boys for about ten minutes, and Ray didn’t like it. He didn’t like bumblebees. There was a specific reason as to why, but he didn’t really want to go into that.
“What’s your favorite fruit, Pete?” Ray asked then, bored. Pete had been whistling. Ray wasn’t sure if he’d seen the bumblebee, or heard the question. “Hey. Pete.”
Pete stopped whistling, doing a little skip before looking at Ray. “Hm?”
“What’s your favorite fruit?”
“What, you asking him that because you’re both fruits?” Barkovitch butted in, and Ray felt like punching him. “Because you’re both fa—“
Barkovitch tripped then, and that robotic voice from the halftracks called out again.
“Warning, warning number 5.”
“It was a fuckin’ mistake, dickwads!” Barkovitch yelled at the soldiers, and Pete smirked.
“Just trip two more times,” he started, all sing - song. “And you’ll make my day, Barkovitch.”
“You shut up!” Barkovitch pointed a shaking finger at Pete, who simply stared back at him with contempt. “You — you —“
“Stutter any more, we’ll think you’re an invalid,” Stebbins said, and Barkovitch flipped him off before storming forward. Both Pete and Ray laughed, before Pete turned to Ray.
“My favorite fruit, huh?” He said thoughtfully. Ray nodded. “I’d say… apples.”
“Good choice,” Ray yawned, blinking rapidly. He was trying not to fall asleep. “Talk to me Pete, I’m… fuck, I’m tired.”
This had been the second time Ray had asked Pete to keep him awake today — the first being when Pete asked him if he thought he’d survive the Walk. Ray had answered no, but deep down, he also didn’t want to. He needed to, he knew, but…
He did not want to burden Lottie with ever having to see him again.
“What’s your favorite fruit, then?” Pete asked, wrapping an arm around Ray’s shoulder. Ray felt those sparks again. “What fruit would you have now, if you wished?”
Ray thought for a long moment. He thought of summer. He thought of baseball, he thought of a first date. He then smiled.
“Watermelon.” He answered finally, mouth watering. “Christ, Pete, what I’d do for some cold watermelon right now.” He thought of biting into the soft flesh of it, the cool water running down his neck, parching his thirstiness, Lottie laughing as she cut him another slice.
“Oh, Garraty, don’t make me thirsty now,” Collie grumbled, casting a glance back. Ray laughed, uninhibited.
“Sorry, man.”
Just then, the bumblebee that had been circling the boys flew down. Ray, alarmed, almost swatted at it. Pete smacked him gently over the head.
“Ow.”
“It’s a fuckin’ bumblebee, man,” Pete shook his head at Ray, just as it landed on his nose. Pete then smiled at it, his eyes crinkling. Ray, who’d been rubbing his head, stopped — Pete looked beautiful. Handsome. Whichever one.
“Look at it,” Pete said softly. “It ain’t trying to hurt nobody.”
Ray swallowed. His face was burning again. The bee then buzzed softly as it moved from Pete’s nose to his index finger, settling and beating its wings slowly. Pete whistled to it.
“Be free, bumblebee.” He said softly. The bee got up then, hovering around Pete’s head as if saying goodbye, and then flew off. Ray stared at it leave, watching until it turned to a tiny pinprick — and began to think of why he didn’t like it in the first place. Who it reminded him of.
***
Lottie lay in the grass of the field, feeling the sun beat down on her heavily as she squinted her eyes at the blue sky. Not a cloud could be seen. Cicadas chirped as she heard the sound of thudding footsteps, all around. Cigarette smoke wafted into her line of view, momentarily fogging up her view of the sky.
She was wearing a tank top and her daisy dukes. She had no sandals on her feet, she could feel the dirt under her soles.
It was a Friday. It was the last day of school, first day of summer break. She, Max, Alex, Bobby, Ray and a bunch of other kids had decided to loiter around the town green to relax — Lottie’s date with Ray was tomorrow evening. She still hadn’t figured out where he was going to take her. He’d been terribly vague about it.
“Max,” Alex coughed, and Lottie rolled her head to the side, watching him as he waved Maxine’s cigarette smoke out of his face. He was wearing a light t - shirt, and trousers. “Max, can you fucking smoke that somewhere else?”
“No.” Max replied swiftly, taking in another drag and leaning on Lottie’s drawn up legs. “You can move somewhere else. Lottie isn’t complaining.”
“Actually, yeah, I am.” Lottie corrected, sitting up — her Afro had blades of grass stuck in, and she shook it. “You’re going to make me smoke involuntarily, Max.”
“Oh, shut up, you’ve smoked before.” Max rolled her eyes, before nudging Bobby — he had his nose buried in a textbook about the minerals found in rocks. “Bobby. Hey.”
Bobby still read his textbook. Max furrowed her brow when he didn’t respond, nudging him again. “Hey. Bobert.”
Bobby snapped the book shut as Lottie giggled. “My name is not Bobert.” He said, monotone. “Do not call me that.”
“Yes it is,” Alex shot back lazily, squinting at the boys messing around in the distance. “Lottie, if you didn’t know, that’s his full name. Bobert Bartholomew Banker.”
The group started to cackle as Bobby’s face turned red. “Charlotte, he is lying. My name is not — not —“
“Hey, it can’t be worse than Raymond.” Ray had walked up to the group then, in a shirt and shorts and sandals, and Lottie’s face burned as he sat among them. His hair was ruffled, and his cheeks were rosy — his freckles were dotted across his face like a constellation. Ever since Lottie had told him she loved him, Ray Garraty had been in an almost perpetual state of glee, far removed from the gloomy boy he’d been a month ago. Max had remarked many times to Lottie, snickering, that he looked stupid. Lottie had scowled at her.
Alex nodded his greetings to Ray, and Bobby muttered a thanks. Max simply shrugged.
“So,” Alex started, after smacking Max’s cigarette out of her hand — she gave him the finger as he looked around the rest of the group. “Who’s up for a game of baseball? I’m bored, and the guys over there are definitely up for it.”
Lottie tapped her chin, thinking about it as Ray perked up. “I don’t know, Alex, it’s been a while since I’ve played.”
“You play baseball?” Ray asked, raising his eyebrows at Lottie. She nodded.
“Yeah! I used to play it with my brothers when I was little,” she started, reminiscing — Ray furrowed his brow.
“Brothers?” He asked, confused. “You have siblings other than Robert?”
Lottie stilled then, looking embarrassed.
“Yeah, I thought you only had one.” Alex added, and Max looked at Lottie closely. She let out some nervous laughter.
“Did I say brothers?” She said then, her voice getting higher before she cleared her throat. “I meant brother. Robert. Just him. Um.”
“Right,” Max agreed briskly, letting the moment pass. “So. Who’s going to play first?”
Ray was not listening to her. He was staring at Lottie — Lottie, who had suddenly become very interested in her hands. She was fiddling with her fingers, and not looking at anybody.
“Ray?” Max asked, after a long moment. Ray didn’t respond, still staring at Lottie, who wasn’t looking at anybody. “Hey. Ray.”
Did Lottie have another sibling he didn’t know about? How many things was she hiding?
“Ray!” Max yelled, and Ray startled, finally paying attention. The rest of the group were staring at him. “You gonna play?”
“What?”
“Baseball.” Lottie said, a little firmly. “She was asking if you’d play.”
“Yeah, uh…” Ray gave Lottie a ‘what was that’ look, but she simply shook her head, and he held off. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk about it. Whatever ‘it’ was.
“…I’ll play.” Ray finally agreed, still looking at Lottie, who was now not looking back at him. “Yeah. Uh — Lottie?”
“She’ll stay back.” Max butted in, before Lottie could speak up. “You boys can go.”
“But I do not want to play— “ Bobby started, and Max shot him a look.
“I said,” she started with gritted teeth. You boys can go.”
Bobby got the message and left with Alex and Ray, the latter still looking at Lottie as he left. When they had made some distance and were out in the field, Max turned to Lottie — Lottie hoped she wouldn’t start asking why she was acting weird.
“We, my friend, need to have a chat.“ Max started.
“A chat?” Lottie replied, not meeting her eye. “Max, we always chat.”
“Yeah, but I need to talk to you about something important.”
Lottie blinked. “What?”
Max grinned at her then, and started to rummage in her bag. As she did, Lottie looked at her closely; her red hair, her freckles, her effortless charm. She would not say it out loud — but she was grateful Max had become her friend. She was funny and smart, and certainly brightened up Lottie’s days, using their free time together to go and hide out in a meadow and talk about nothing.
“You’re a writer?” Max had said one of these times, looking up at the trees with Lottie. “Seriously?” She rolled to her side, looking directly at her. “Write about me.”
Lottie had laughed behind her hand, unable to keep eye contact with Max for long. “That’s not how it works.”
“Sure it is.” Max had shrugged, sitting up. “Just write about the… ah, what do teachers call me — yes, the unruly one.”
Lottie shook her head, smiling. “You’re more than that, Max, more than that.”
“Just lie.” Max said, leaning in and squinting at Lottie’s face. “Glorify me. Make me… revolutionary.”
Lottie had then laughed and pushed her face away. But despite everything, she knew Max didn’t always like being referred to as the unruly one. She never asked about it, because she knew Max, with all her wily ways, would not want to talk about it. The same way she didn’t like talking about her father, or why she made a face whenever Lottie asked about him.
“Aha!” Max said suddenly, drawing Lottie out of her train of thought. She pulled out a book. “I found it.”
Lottie was about to ask what ‘it’ was, just as there was a whoop from the field, some yards away from them. Ray, who had taken the position of pitcher, had caught the baseball in his mitt. He seemed to have fallen backward, his arm sticking up in quiet triumph as the other boys cheered. Lottie covered her mouth, laughing.
“Sweet, huh?” Max asked, watching as Ray sat up all red - faced and grinning, before waving at Lottie. She waved back eagerly. “You two going out yet?”
“What?” Lottie replied, her voice a bit higher. Max arched a brow, and she cleared her throat. “U - uh, yeah — we’re not a… we’re not a thing yet, but he did ask me out.”
“Hm.” Max hummed, looking thoughtful. “Perfect. Then I can show you this.”
“Show me what?” Lottie asked, just before Max handed her a book. The cover was black. “…what’s this?”
“Hard - core erotica.” Max deadpanned. Lottie blinked.
“Hard - core what now?”
Max sighed, rubbing her face. “Porno, Lottie.”
Lottie’s face warmed as she promptly dropped the book onto the grass. “…what?”
“You’ll need it.” Max shrugged, putting it back in Lottie’s hands — she dropped it once more, letting out a terrified wince. Max arched a brow.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?!” Lottie hissed, blushing furiously. “What’s wrong with you?! Bringing that — thinking I would — that I and Ray —“
“Because you will, eventually,” Max replied simply, amused at Lottie’s reaction. “And I don’t want you to just… lie there. How you’ll feel is important too.“
“I’m NOT having —“ Lottie lowered her voice, looking around like someone was listening in. “…intercourse with Ray.”
“It’s called sex.” Max deadpanned, and Lottie close to gasped. “You can say sex, you know. There are different terms: Fuckin’. Screwing. Banging. Popping the cherry —“
“Maxine!” Lottie hissed, so hot in the face she felt like sweating even more than she already was. “It’s against the Bible for me, you know that — “
“Lots of things are against the Bible, but you still do it,” Max shrugged. “You weren’t taking that church service very seriously. And you smoked.”
“Shut up.” Lottie huffed, looking away as Max slid the book toward her. “That’s… different, I —“
“Take it.” Max pressed, and Lottie looked directly at her. “It’s not illegal. Just… have a bit of fun. Don’t be frigid.”
“I’m not stiff!”
“You know the frigid I mean.” Max elaborated. Lottie was about to reply when another shout was heard from the field. They looked over once more, and Alex seemed to be rolling his shoulders and gripping the bat. His muscles glistened with sweat in the sun, and a group of girls giggled as he prepared to bat. Ray, who was sweating through his shirt now, was looking at him in concentration. Lottie stared at him, his squinty eyes, and felt a flutter in her chest.
“Okay.” Bobby said meekly, crouching behind Alex and the home plate. He was the catcher. “You may give Ray the signal now.”
Alex whistled lowly, and Ray gripped the baseball, nodding to Lottie, who grinned back. He then pointed at her with his free hand.
“For you!” He yelled. Max rolled her eyes as Lottie giggled.
“Oh my god, you two are so corny.” Max cringed as Ray reared his arm back, hurling the baseball as hard as possible. It made a high arc in the blue sky, and some people cheered, including Lottie — she stood up, cupping her hands around her mouth and whooping. Ray turned to her then, grinning — he didn’t notice Alex batting back the baseball, hard. Lottie’s face fell as it rushed back towards Ray, at full speed.
“Ray!” She yelled, waving her arms. “Jumper, look out — !”
“What?!” Ray yelled back, not hearing Lottie clearly. Lottie was about to yell back when the baseball hit Ray in the side of the face — he stumbled backward and fell, clutching his cheek.
“Oh,” Max winced, as Lottie began to run over. “That’s gotta hurt.”
“Ray!” She yelled, as a group of people laughed hysterically. Ray was groaning on the ground, and Max was running behind Lottie. Alex had dropped his bat, Bobby tottering behind him as the group closed in. Ray’s vision was spinning as he lay on the ground spread - eagled, staring up at the blue sky. He tasted blood. Fuck. Something in his mouth felt loose.
“Ray!” He heard Lottie’s voice as she crashed to her knees beside him, all wide - eyed and worried. “Raymond, can you hear me?”
Ray giggled, a bubble of blood forming at his mouth and popping. Lottie let out a noise of despair and surprise upon seeing the blood, and Max made a face. Alex winced, and Bobby blinked.
“He is hurt.” Bobby said, and Lottie whirled to him.
“Well of course he’s hurt, Bobby — ah, fuck me.” She hissed, looking over Ray’s face. Ray was seeing in all fours — he blinked slowly.
“Gladly.” He slurred. Lottie smacked his shoulder, seemed to remember that he was hurt, and then started fretting again.
“We need some ice,” she said, her hand on the side of Ray’s face. “He’ll start swellin’ up soon.”
“Ray, man, I’m so sorry.” Alex said, pale.
“‘S okay,” Ray replied, before Alex nodded and ran off to find ice.
“Garraty, how many fingers am I holding up?” Max said, holding her middle finger to Ray’s eyes. Lottie smacked her hand away, scowling.
“Max! Now is not the time!”
“Just trying to ease the tension.” Max shrugged, as Lottie looked back at Ray.
“Jumper, open your mouth.”
“Why?”
“Just do it!”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Ray giggled again, more blood bubbling. Lottie shook her head as he opened his mouth — she almost heaved when she saw the amount of blood. A tooth in the back of his mouth was hanging by a strip of gum, knocked loose by the baseball.
“What is it?” Ray said groggily. “My teeth that ugly?”
“Your molar appears to have been knocked loose.” Bobby commented. “We will need to extract — “
Lottie let out a short scream as Ray reached into his mouth and tugged the tooth off the string of gum, letting out a shout of pain before turning away and spitting it onto the grass.
“Problem solved,” Ray said shakily, spitting out blood as Alex came running back with ice. “Go go Garraty.”
Alex handed Lottie the bag of ice, and she pressed it against where Ray had been hit, before dragging Bobby away with him so they could get some water. Lottie tutted and mumbled sweet nothings to Ray that he could barely hear; he blinked slowly up at her.
You’ll be alright, Ray. Why didn’t you look out for the ball, idiot. You could have a fracture, for all we know — you need to be more careful, Garraty what will your mother think. You’re going to give me a fuckin’ heart attack, jumper. Idiot. Stupid stupid stupid. Hold still.
Among the many mutterings of Lottie Green, Ray saw a little bumblebee hovering above the group. It was buzzing in circles. His eyes followed it around, delirious. He huffed when he saw it descending to the group’s level — soon it would settle on Lottie.
“Lottie.” He mumbled. “Charlotte.”
“What?” Charlotte said, almost desperately. “Am I hurtin’ you?”
“Bumblebee.” He whispered.
“What?” Lottie said, momentarily confused — her expression softened as she saw the bumblebee settle on her shoulder. “Oh.” She breathed. Ray furrowed his brow before swatting at it. It buzzed out of his reach, and Lottie hit his hand.
“Ow!” He hissed.
“Bumblebees mean good fortune, you stupid —“ Lottie rolled her eyes as Max started to laugh. “Hold still!”
The bumblebee then settled on Lottie’s other shoulder, and Ray swatted at it again.
“Ray!” Lottie hissed. “Stop!”
“‘S gonna sting you.” Ray paused. “Why’d you say brothers earlier instead of brother?”
“Why don’t you shut up and focus on staying awake?” Max replied swiftly, just as the bumblebee moved to Ray’s nose. He made to swat at it, but Lottie caught his hand. Smaller than his, but more deft and smooth. Ray was all rough edges. Lottie was all cookie dough.
“Leave the bee.” Lottie said firmly. “It doesn’t mean any harm.”
“It’ll fucking sting me.” Ray replied, looking cross - eyed as he tried to stare at the bee on his nose.
“I think bumblebees are sweet.” Lottie replied fairly, still pressing the ice into Ray’s cheek.
“Oh yeah?” Ray huffed out a laugh, wincing at the pain as he slowly came back to his senses. “Why’s that?”
Lottie’s eyes flicked to his momentarily, before furrowing her brow and focusing back on Ray’s bruise.
“They remind me of you.” She said quietly. “All soft. Round. Big brown eyes, sweet.”
Ray didn’t respond to Lottie for a long time. He simply stared at her. Lottie, thinking he was unconscious, looked back at him. She startled — his pupils were dilated. His pupils were dilated and he was looking up at her like she’d hung the sun.
“Hey, Garraty,” Max said, squinting at Ray’s face. “Are you on drugs?”
Ray didn’t respond. Lottie’s hands got sweaty, the grass blades beneath her knees making her body itch. She couldn’t keep eye contact with Ray.
“Stop that.” She muttered.
“Stop what?” Ray replied softly. “Staring?”
“Yes.”
“Hm. I don’t think I will.”
Lottie was about to reply when she heard an all - too familiar voice from afar — it was amongst the people who were laughing. Narrowing her eyes, she looked behind them.
“The motherfucker can’t even catch!” The loud, proud voice of Ben Miller boomed. He was laughing with his cronies, tears in his eyes. “Now he’s got his little girlfriend poring over him — what a fucking sissy!”
“Is that the fucker I punched last time?” Ray asked drowsily, as Lottie scowled. Max narrowed her eyes at Ben, giving him the finger.
“Yeah, that’s all you can fucking do, Maxine!” Ben yelled back at her, and Lottie gripped the ice harder. “Tell Garraty to be a better pitcher next time! I know his bitch can hear me!”
Lottie suddenly got up; the pack of ice still in her hands. Max furrowed her brow as she shoved the ice into her arms.
“What are you —“
“Stay here, press the ice on Ray .” Lottie replied through gritted teeth, as Ray sat up. She started to storm towards Ben.
“Lottie?” Ray called after her. He noticed the bumblebee was still hovering around her. “Where’re you going?”
She ignored him, grabbing the baseball bat from some other kid, who protested feebly. She then walked straight up to Ben, who whistled lowly.
“Got a problem, Green?” He asked, and his friends laughed, some nervously.
“Listen here, Miller.” Lottie jabbed a finger into Ben’s chest. “Since you think you’re such a professional at baseball, come be a pitcher.”
Ben blinked at Lottie, before laughing. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Green?”
“Definitely not anybody’s bitch.” Lottie spat; some people blinked in surprise. Lottie was rarely known to be aggressive. There was a long moment of silence where Ben and Lottie stared at each other — then Ben simply laughed, beckoning for someone’s mitt. A timid looking girl handed it to him.
“As you like it.” He said, keeping eye contact with Lottie. “Let’s get it on, Scarface.”
Lottie shouldered past him, before going to stand at the home plate. Bobby and Alex had come back to the field with water for Ray, and Lottie narrowed her eyes at Bobby.
“Bobby!” She yelled. Both Bobby and Alex stilled, confused as to why Lottie was at the home plate and Ben on the other side. “Come be my catcher!”
“But Raymond is in need of the — “
“Give the water to Alex and come over, NOW!”
Bobby nodded, stuffing the water into Alex’s arms, jogging lightly and taking a mitt before kneeling behind Lottie. Ben was at the other side, mitt on his hand and a readiness in his eye.
“You get three strikes, three chances!” A girl yelled, and Lottie rolled her eyes, gripping the bat. “Three strikes without batting, and you’re out!” Bobby, who was still crouching behind Lottie, whimpered in fear, his skinny arms trembling.
“Bobby, you a good catcher?” She muttered, glancing back at him. He looked up at her with terror before shaking his head slowly. Lottie gave him a look of confusion. “But — when Alex was battin’…”
“I know Alex is an extremely accomplished batter,” Bobby said matter - of - factly, his voice trembling. “But I do not know if you are. I have never seen you play… the ball may hit me.”
“Well thank you, Bobert.” Lottie humphed, offended. Bobby raised a shaking finger.
“My name is not Bob —“
Lottie whistled loudly, giving the signal for Ben to pitch. She dug her heels into the dirt as Ben readied himself, smirking. Despite Max’s protests, Ray had sat up to watch, leaning forward eagerly as Lottie gripped the bat.
“Garraty, you could have a concussion.“ she started, grumbling. Ray ignored her, eyes trained on Lottie.
Ben reared back and pitched, and Lottie’s eyes locked onto the oncoming baseball. It zipped toward her, and she heard the voice of Anthony in her mind:
“Remember to put your back into it, Lottie,” he’d said to her, all those years ago. “It’s all in the hips, too. Swing with strength. Grit. Steel —“
“Strike one!” The girl off - pitch yelled, and Lottie let out a disbelieving breath as she swung and missed, Bobby catching the baseball behind her with a surprising swiftness.
“Fuck.” She hissed, as Ben laughed.
“All bark and no bite, huh?!” He yelled, and some guys cackled with laughter. Lottie’s face grew hot with embarrassment. Bobby, noticing her falter, cleared his throat meekly.
“There are still two more chances.” He offered, and Lottie pursed her lips.
Once Ben had gotten the ball back, Lottie closed her eyes, remembering Anthony’s advice when she was eight. He had a bat in his hands, demonstrating the Green family’s signature swing. He loved baseball, as their father had, and apparently the father before that. Lottie didn’t care for it much — but she’d shown an interest because her brother and Pa did.
“You swing like this,” he’d done it slowly, gracefully, gripping the bat in just the right way — Lottie opened her eyes, and whistled the signal for Ben to pitch. He reared back once more, throwing it with a grunt; as it flew in an arc, Lottie felt she could bat this one, that she’d prove him wrong — closer, closer…
“Yeah, bat this, Scarface!” Ben yelled suddenly — Lottie’s concentration was hindered.
“Fuck!” She said shakily, swinging and missing, letting the baseball zip right into Bobby’s trusty mitt. Ben pumped his fist, and Lottie close to dropped her bat, kicking a nearby pebble in frustration. “FUCK!”
Bobby blinked at her as she paced, still gripping her bat, looking like she’d hit someone with it any minute. “You do not usually get this agitated. It seems Ben’s low - life attitude has emotionally affected your skill.”
“Bobby!” Lottie yelled, close to tearing her hair out. “Why do you — can you just —“
“Two strikes!” The girl off - pitch yelled, and Lottie felt like screaming.
“Hey!” A voice yelled, and Lottie looked over to see Ray standing next to Max, holding the ice pack to his cheek. Max looked fed - up with trying to get him to sit down, and hopped next to him, waving her arms in encouragement.
“What?” Lottie whispered stupidly. “Is that — Raymond, SIT DOWN!”
“No!” He yelled back, as Ben got another ball. “You can do this! Remember the bee? Good luck!”
Lottie shook her head, close to laughing — it was then that she saw the bumblebee hovering above her head. It looked almost sentinel - like. She stared up at it for a long moment. Then she looked back at Ben, who was clutching the baseball with a readiness.
“I advise you listen to Ray.” Bobby said behind Lottie, and she shook her head, trying not to laugh. “Do not let Benjamin win.”
“Okay.” she replied, and Bobby nodded as he got back into position. Lottie took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the bee once more. It settled onto her shoulder. Anthony’s voice entered her head.
“The most important part,” his voice reverberated in her skull as she whistled the signal and Ben reared back. “Is to believe in yourself. Take that risk, and bat the ball, with all your strength.”
The baseball flew in that high arc once more, and Lottie concentrated on it.
“Rear back,” Anthony’s voice guided, as it zoomed closer, whistling. “And swing.”
And she fucking swung.
There was a sharp crack as Lottie’s bat met the ball — she let out a grunt of effort as it ricocheted back, tearing forward between the lines, fast enough that people ducked before they realized where it was going. Ben, who had expected her to miss and wasn’t paying attention, let out a yell of surprise as the baseball zipped past his cheek, grazing it.
“YES!” Ray yelled, pumping his fist as Lottie ran counter clockwise, around the three bases, and back to the home plate. Max whooped and the other kids cheered, and Lottie collapsed at home plate. “Fucking YES! That’s my lady, suckers!”
“No, she’s not.” Max patted Ray’s back as he cheered.
“Atta girl.” Anthony’s voice echoed in her head, and Lottie let out a disbelieving laugh as she lay on the ground, Bobby looking down at her, hands on his hips. He was grinning. The bee was circling his head, and Lottie watched, panting, as it buzzed off.
“I am sorry for doubting you.” He said, monotone as Alex joined them, yelling praise. “You are a skilled batter.”
“‘Course I am,” Lottie smirked, heart pounding as other kids cheered. Alex offered her a hand, and Lottie heaved herself up. She saw Ray coming with Max then, and she grinned before running to him — he dropped the ice he’d been holding to his face, enveloping her in a hug. She hugged him back, giggling.
“Didn’t know we had a professional batter here,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck, Ben’s shouts of rage echoing in the background.
“Yeah, well,” Lottie drew back, brushing some hair out of Ray’s face. He blushed. “Couldn’t let him say that about you. You wouldn’t, I know.”
Ray grinned at Lottie then, about to reply —
“FUCK!” Ben screamed then, and the group looked over at him swatting something away. “A fucking bee stung me!”
***
Ray Garraty checked his watch, waistcoat draped over his arm as he waited underneath Lottie’s window. Crickets chirped as his foot tapped on the grass, waiting.
It was Saturday night, and he was taking Lottie out for their first date. He was nervous as hell. His palms kept sweating, but he was grateful it wasn’t his pits like the first time he’d gone to see Lottie in her family store, and he reckoned that sweaty palms were better than sweaty pits —
He really should stop thinking about being sweaty.
Ray then straightened out his shirt — he’d dressed up relatively nice; wearing another one of his dad’s old suits, the one William had worn at he and Ginnie’s wedding reception twenty or so years ago. It’d taken a while to launder, and it was a deep burgundy. He’d had to borrow his mom’s perfume because his dad’s cologne was finished, and he smelled like flowers. If Ben was still friends with him, he’d call Ray a sissy for it.
Ray was glad they weren’t friends anymore.
Ginnie had helped style his hair, and it wasn’t all messy like it usually was (no more cursed cowlick)! Now, it was a simple side - part, and Ray wore a simple black tie, with his simple linen shirt and simple suspenders. All simple. His mouth was still a little sore from having his tooth knocked out yesterday (His mom had fussed over him and sent him to the dentist to see if there was anything else to be done), but other than that, Ray was fine. He still felt tingly remembering Lottie pressing the ice to his cheek. A bandage rested there. The baseball had bruised it. Even though Ray was a big boy, the pants he wore felt bigger than he was. He felt stupid, and giddy.
He checked his watch again. 7:45. They were supposed to leave at eight, but Ray would probably wait till twelve. He’d wait as long as possible, for her.
Suddenly, the quiet of the night was pierced — Ray looked up at Lottie’s window as it was pushed open. Even though the house was only one story high, the crawl space underneath elevated it significantly. Ray wondered how Lottie had managed to jump out her window the night of his party.
He grinned as Lottie’s head popped out. Her face, even in the yellow glow of the streetlights, was radiant and round and pretty. She beamed down at him, her pearl earrings dangling.
“Hi, Raymond.” She whispered softly, drawing out Ray’s name. He blushed.
“Hi, Charlotte.” He whispered back. She clapped a hand to her mouth, giggling. “You want me to help you down?”
Lottie looked back in her room before looking down at Ray. “You sure? I think I’m a bit heavy.”
Ray shrugged. “I can handle a lot of weight.”
“Ha - ha, Ray,” Lottie said, shaking her head before dropping her handbag. Ray caught it before beckoning for her to drop whatever else she had. Lottie hesitated before dropping her pair of pumps, which were a rosy red. Ray caught these too, almost dropping them himself. Lottie laughed before settling on the windowsill. Ray set her heels on the floor, before setting down his waistcoat and opening his arms. Lottie cocked a brow.
“Move, jumper.” She whispered. “You’re not gonna be able to catch me.”
“Lottie, jump.”
“Move.”
“I’ll catch you, I promise, sweetheart — just jump.”
“I’m not going to — don’t call me that.” Lottie’s face burned, struggling not to laugh. She didn’t want to alert her family to her sneaking out. She looked back into her dark room, and didn’t hear any footsteps. “Just let me jump down.”
“That’s no way to treat a lady.” Ray shrugged, and Lottie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Lottie, fall into my arms.”
“Lower your voice!” Lottie hissed — she close to screamed when she saw Ray smirk. She knew that smirk. “Raymond, don’t —“
“WHAT?!” Ray said loudly, and Lottie shook her hands in a quiet panic, pressing her finger to her lips repeatedly and shaking her head.
“Shut up!” She hissed. Ray gave her a mock - confused look, and she shook her head again when he took in a breath.
“NO!” He yelled.
“Ray, stop it!” Lottie was half - amused, half - terrified — her Pa slept like the dead, Robert didn’t. But Robert would chalk it up to be some drunk, she knew; her Ma tended to mind her business. Mostly.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Ray whispered now, laughing — Lottie scowled down at him. “Baby, would you just — please get down? I promise I’ll catch you.”
Lottie stuck her tongue out at Ray, and he laughed into his palm — with a sort of grace, she slid off the windowsill, and her red skirt billowed on her way down. Ray caught her with a huff and a swing, bridal - style. Her arm was draped around his shoulder, and she let out a surprised laugh, looking at the floor as Ray looked at her.
“Shouldn’t have doubted you, huh?” Lottie said softly, laughing. Ray responded by pressing a featherlight kiss to her cheek. Lottie let out a surprised giggle, swatting Ray away. “Stop that.”
“If you say so.” He lowered Lottie to the ground, and took her in as she put on her heels — she had a simple ankle - length wine - red dress on, with roses patterned all over. It had a white sweetheart neckline; her hair was out in an Afro, a singular red rose tucked behind her ear. Lottie also had a natural glow about her — she’d decided to only put on blush and lip - gloss. She smelled just like Ray, all flowery. There were white gloves on her hands. She’d ‘borrowed’ these from her Ma, but Ray didn’t need to know that.
“Alright,” Lottie said as Ray grinned at her, dusting off her skirt. She held out her hand to him. “Lead the way—“
Instead of taking her hand, Ray kissed it, and she felt heat rush to her face once more. She smacked him on the shoulder. “Stop that! You’re bein’—“
“A romantic?”
“An idiot!”
“Same difference.”
Lottie laughed again, and Ray grinned at her before fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. It was the one Lottie had made him for his birthday, ‘Property of Ray Garraty’ sewn on the fabric.
“What’d you bring this here for?” Lottie asked, smiling.
“It turns out, it’s not just useful for wiping stuff,” he started. “Not that I’ve been using it at all. It’s just so sacred to me, y’know?”
“Ha - ha,” Lottie said, crossing her arms. “What else are you usin’ it for then, jumper?”
“This.” He spread it out, before nodding towards Lottie. “Close your eyes, Lottie.”
“What’re you doing?”
“Just trust me, okay?” Ray assured her, stepping closer. “It’s clean, I really haven’t used it — plus I told you the date’s a surprise.”
Lottie cocked a brow at Ray, and he sighed. “Please?”
“Okay.” She said fairly, and Ray eagerly tied the hankie around her eyes — Lottie was completely blind now, and Ray slowly but steadily guided her by placing one hand on the small of her back. He was leading her to his father’s car, which he’d borrowed for tonight. William had been surprisingly gracious about it, winking at Ray an uncomfortable amount of times.
Ray had parked some ways away from Lottie’s house (so not too far from his own house) in order to not raise Atticus and Robert Green’s suspicions— he looked at the ground, kicking pebbles out of Lottie’s path. Didn’t want her to trip.
“Just where are you taking me, Ray?” Lottie asked, after some beats of silence.
“You’ll know when you see it, now duck your head —“ Ray guided Lottie into the passenger’s seat of the car, and she giggled.
“Your dad finally let you borrow his car, hm?” Lottie asked, as Ray shut her door.
“Yes!” He called back, running to the other side. “Took a lot of convincing — !”
Lottie shook her head, groping blindly for the child lock on the driver’s door so Ray could get in. She got a hold of it, pulling on the lock firmly as Ray made his way there.
“Unlocked it for you,” Lottie said, sitting back in her seat as he huffed. Ray fell quiet. “You okay?”
“Yeah, uh,” he grinned to himself as he opened the car door. “Just thought of a test.”
“What type of test?” Lottie asked, as Ray started the car.
“A door test.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
***
They had been driving for around thirty minutes, talking about nothing and everything — Ray was still giddy over Lottie’s baseball fiasco with Ben, and Lottie was being much too humble about it.
“I mean,” Ray continued breathlessly, eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel as Lottie laughed. There was gospel music playing on the radio. “Where did you even learn to bat like that?”
“I told you, my brother taught me when I was younger,” Lottie said, still giggling. “He had — has — a knack for these things.”
“I had no idea Robert was so good at baseball,” Ray continued, turning onto another road. “He’s gotta teach me one of these days. If he ever warms up to me.”
“Yeah,” Lottie replied, her smile becoming a little hollow. She hated lying. “Robert.”
The way she said it made Ray look away from the road and to Lottie’s face for a second, furrowing his brow; yet again he was reminded of Lottie’s ‘brothers’ slip - up earlier. As time passed, he was becoming less and less sure it was a slip - up, that maybe it was something more.
That maybe she was hiding something from him.
Besides. He still didn’t know how she’d gotten that scar — but he didn’t press, for now.
“Ray?” She asked, after a few beats. “We there yet?”
“What?” He spluttered, before looking back on the road. They were a little out of town now. “O - oh — yeah, we’re almost there.”
“Good, I think my leg’s goin’ to get a cramp…” she massaged her thigh. “I don’t like sittin’ for long.”
“I’m sorry, I promise we won’t be long, but…” Ray shot her a glance. “I forgot to ask you, how was your day? What’d you do?”
Lottie’s face warmed. “Oh, I was just… readin’.”
“Could’ve guessed that,” Ray replied, and Lottie smacked his shoulder playfully. “What book was it?”
It was then that Lottie cleared her throat, turning the other way. “Oh, just… stuff.”
“Hm.” Ray furrowed his brow. “What type of stuff?”
“I don’t think you’d be into it.”
“Try me.”
“No, I really don’t think you would.” Lottie repeated, her voice higher.
Lottie had been reading the book Max had given her yesterday, an erotica. At first, she’d stared at it lying at the bottom of her bag, afraid to touch it, like it’d brand her. Then, she’d gently placed it on her bedside table, before sitting topless and sweaty on her bed (curse the summer heat)! The air from the open window doing nothing for her. Fanning herself with an old book, she’d stared and stared at it, curiosity slowly getting the best of her — before, with a shaking hand, she took ahold of it. Slowly, she’d opened to the first page; a foreword, then a first chapter… a scarlet woman…
“Did you at least like it?” Ray asked, laughing lightly. Lottie was so glad he couldn’t see her eyes.
“…it was… useful.”
The way Lottie said it made Ray look over once more, but her face was turned to the window. They finally arrived at Ray’s mystery place, the car sputtering loudly to a stop, and Ray turned off the engine. “We’re here!”
“Wherever ‘here’ is.” Lottie muttered as Ray opened her door for her, pulling her out gently by the arm. She felt his strong arm wrap around her middle, and she leaned her head into his shoulder.
“For all I know, you could be kidnappin’ me.”
“You wound my integrity.” Ray said, holding Lottie tighter as they walked down a small hill; the couple were out of town. Lottie hummed softly to herself as Ray led her on, the crickets providing some background noise.
“And…” Ray trailed off, finally stopping Lottie somewhere. She giggled. “I’m gonna get something, come back and take off the blindfold.”
“Okay.”
“No peeking.” He pointed at her. She grinned.
“O - kay.” She drew out the word, still chuckling, and Ray hurried off somewhere. After a few moments, Lottie heard his running footsteps return, and the sound of panting.
“Okay,” he swallowed, still panting. “I’m gonna take them off now.”
“If you say so.”
Slowly, Lottie felt Ray removing the hankie from around her eyes . Gone was the wall of darkness she’d been seeing for the past half hour, replaced with —
“Oh.” She breathed.
Ray had set up a picnic by a large pond, where ducks and swans alike swam peacefully. There were lily pads floating on the surface, and multiple weeping willow trees surrounded the clearing — catkins fell down from them, all caterpillar - looking, but Lottie caught one in her palm nonetheless. On the picnic mat, a hamper filled with what was sure to be Ginnie’s cooking sat waiting, alongside a bottle of apple cider and multiple candles — and, marvelously, a projector. It was pointed towards a white blanket that hung from two branches of a tree, presumably to watch a movie on.
“Do you like it?” Ray asked uneasily from behind Lottie; his voice was a bit shaky, and his previous bravado was gone. Lottie turned to him, her hand hovering over her mouth. He had a bouquet of flowers in hand, and a very nervous smile plastered on his face — his cheeks were as pink as ever.
Oh, sweet boy.
“I wasn’t sure what types of flowers you’d want, because you’re always wearing so many different ones, so uh — I took some of my savings and my dad helped me out and I ordered fresh ones, but that wasn’t really smart, was it? Oh, fuck — I should’ve gotten plastic ones, these ones will die.”
“Ray.”
“And I got a film, because, y’know, I love films, and I wanted to share something I love with you, and I hope you’ll like it — I borrowed the cassette from my dad, this is early Post - War —“
“Jumper, I…”
“—and I had to beg my science teacher to let me borrow his projector, because I can’t fucking afford one, but when I get I job later on I will, so we can watch all the flicks you want, and —“
“Raymond.”
“— if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine, this was stupid anyway, I’ll take you home —“
“RAY!” Lottie yelled, and Ray stopped rambling, looking straight at her. She looked choked - up, and she was smiling.
“…Lottie?”
“I don’t like this, jumper, I love it.” She sighed, taking the bouquet from him — with a flourish, she sniffed it and smiled even wider. “This was so thoughtful of you. I’ve never…” she trailed off, gazing at the bouquet. “Thank you.”
Ray blinked, blushing. “You’re — you’re welcome Lottie, I —“
The rest of Ray’s sentence was lost as Lottie stepped forward and kissed him. It was a quick kiss, a peck, something fleeting and wonderful and theirs. She drew back immediately, not looking him in the eye. Ray’s fingertips went to his lips, and he felt his heart pounding. Slowly, a grin spread over his face.
“Um.” Lottie clutched the bouquet to her chest. “I meant to kiss ya on the cheek, and I missed…”
Thick southern drawl.
“Really.” Ray stepped closer.
“Mhm.” Lottie nodded, biting her lip. “So. Can we watch that movie?”
Ray nodded, and the two went to sit down at the picnic mat — Ray started to rummage through the hamper as Lottie gently placed the bouquet to the side.
“Okay,” he started, his face still hot from Lottie’s kiss. “…my mom made us some sandwiches, and cookies too — she made a salad, and, uh… I hope you like cheesecake.”
Lottie perked up then, shuffling closer to Ray. “Cheesecake? Oh, I love cheesecake —“
“Really?”
“Mhm. But I’ve never eaten it before.”
Ray blinked at Lottie before snorting, and she pushed him away playfully.
“What?”
“You’re laughin’ at me.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “You won’t get it.”
“I’m sorry, I just — how do you know you love cheesecake if you’ve never tried it?” Ray asked, before getting the film reel for the movie they were going to watch out of his bag. Lottie relaxed then, taking off her heels.
“When I was little,” she started, catching another catkin in her palm and blowing it away. “And we were livin’ in Louisiana, I took a visit to Baton Rouge with my brother.”
“Robert?” Ray said, trying to turn on the projector. Lottie pursed her lips.
“Yeah… Robert.” She fiddled with her hands. “Anyway. We were walkin’ through one of the busy streets, see; I saw, just then, a bakery. Y’know those bakeries only get visited by Squads generals, rich folks or the Major himself when they want a sweet treat.”
Ray gave a short laugh, but it had no mirth in it. “Don’t have to explain.”
“Exactly.” Lottie snapped her fingers, watching the projector sputter to life. “So, I saw this wonderful, creamy cake on the display, right? I point it out to my brother, and he looks at it with me, all dreamy and hungry. It had strawberries on it, the best Creole cream cheesecake you could ever dream of — there isn’t any of that type of cheesecake here in Maine, I know. Ray, we had the money to buy it then and there, but if we did, we probably wouldn’t eat for the next three weeks. So we held off. But I resolved that that cake would be my favorite dessert, even if I never got to eat it.”
Ray looked at the small cheesecake he’d brought from the hamper and felt oddly guilty; like he should’ve known Lottie would want the kind made in Baton Rouge.
“So, what movie are we watchin’?” Lottie asked, taking a slice of the cheesecake casually. She bit into it slowly, relishing the taste — Ray watched her for a long moment, embarrassing thoughts popping into his head before he cleared his throat and looked back at the screen.
“Bonnie and Clyde — came out not too long after the War, and the Major, uh…”
“The Major what?” Lottie asked, finishing up the slice. Ray swallowed.
“He killed everyone involved in making it.”
“Oh.” Lottie furrowed her brow, looking towards the screen.
“Yeah,” Ray sighed, looking towards the screen as the credits started to show. “My dad showed it to me when I was younger, when I wanted to know about the old ways. Fucking terrified me, and interested me at the same time. Became a total cinephile after that, it… was amazing.”
Lottie looked at Ray as he spoke, how passionate he was — she found herself smiling. The credits eventually gave way to the opening scene. Then came what Lottie could assume to be Bonnie — fully nude yet not showing a thing, huffing and puffing alone in her room. She was clearly bored, lying on her bed and hitting the frame in frustration.
“Did you know,” Ray started, muttering in Lottie’s ear. “The script for the flick was written by David Newman and Robert Benton?”
“Oh, really?” Lottie whispered, turning to him as the movie played on. “And who are they?
“Complete amateurs!” Ray said, widening his eyes and throwing his arms out. Lottie laughed. “Lottie, I tell you — they had never written a screenplay before. They were working at Esquire magazine. That magazine’s not what it used to be of course, but —“
The scene on film then cut to Bonnie seeing Clyde eyeing the car outside her home, a car that apparently belonged to an old lady. The window cleverly covered her nakedness, only showing shoulders - up. She was yelling at Clyde, but grinning at the same time. Lottie was dimly reminded of herself. She then stretched, looking at Bonnie scramble back into her room to put on some clothing.
“She’s mighty pretty,” Lottie commented, taking a chocolate chip cookie and biting into it. “Slender ‘n such.”
“Hm.” Ray hummed, giving Lottie a sideways glance. “Yeah, she is. Not my type, though.”
“Is that so?” Lottie asked, turning to Ray, who simply pretended to keep watching the film. “May I ask who your type is then, jumper?”
Ray looked in thought for a moment, before yawning. “Smart,” he stretched out his arms. “Fond of reading, pretty…” his arms hovered in the air for half a second, above Lottie’s shoulder. “…you.”
Lottie rolled her eyes, smiling. “Me?”
Ray’s arm rested on Lottie’s shoulder, pulling her closer. “…maybe.”
“Ray, you’re shaking.”
“I am?”
“You’re not as smooth as you think, y’know.” Ray was about to reply when Lottie kissed him on the cheek. “But it’s sweet.”
Ray needed a cold shower. This was way too much for him —
“Did you know that Jack L. Warner disliked the film?” He blurted, blushing and looking anywhere but at Lottie’s face. Lottie smiled, playing into it.
“Why?” Lottie asked softly, leaning into Ray.
“He, uh… he saw it as a throwback to earlier gangster pictures, and fought Beatty about it.”
“The director?”
“No, the uh… is it hot in here?”
“Not really,” Lottie leaned in a bit closer, lowering her voice. “…maybe it’s the company.”
The nerve of her, spinning that line back on Ray. Slick.
“Lottie…” Ray asked, breathing heavily. She leaned in closer. Their lips were mere centimeters from eachother. The film was still playing in the background. Neither of them were watching. “Are you sure you want to —“
Lottie responded by kissing him full - on, and Ray let out a shaky moan as he kissed her back, holding her face with trembling hands. She was surprisingly good at this, even better than the last time, kissing Ray so intensely that for once he had no time to kiss back. But a question was burning at the back of his mind, one he hadn’t been able to get rid of since yesterday. With much, much reluctance, Ray broke off. Lottie still had her eyes half - closed, panting in little gasps, face flushed. She seemed to realize what had happened, and quickly collected herself.
“Ray, what is it?” She asked, looking into his face. He fumbled with his fingers. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”
“No.” Ray panted, the movie’s light reflecting off his face. “God no, Lottie, it’s just — I feel like you’re…” he swallowed. “I feel like you’re hiding things from me.”
Lottie’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. After a long beat, she cleared her throat. “…hidin’ things from you? Ray, I don’t —“
“Yesterday, when you said you used to play baseball when you were little,” Ray continued on, flustered. “You said ‘brothers’. And before you say it was a slip - up,” Ray said, just as Lottie opened her mouth. “I have a feeling it wasn’t. That you’re not being completely honest with some things.”
“That’s — “ Lottie let out a nervous laugh. “Don’t be silly, Ray —“
“I’m not being silly, I know it,” Ray countered, shaking his head. “Lottie, I told you already. I love you. And… I feel like, I don’t know. We should be honest with each other. Completely. You won’t even tell me about your…”
“My scar?” Lottie finished for him, looking embarrassed. “Raymond, I’m not sure if I can — whether I’m ready to —“
Ray started to panic.
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me about that if you don’t want to,” Ray shuffled closer to Lottie, and took her hands into his. “I’m sorry, I’ll hold off —“
“It wasn’t a slip - up.” Lottie said suddenly, surprising even herself. Ray blinked.
“What?”
“I said,” Lottie cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. “Yesterday wasn’t a slip - up, Ray. I did have a brother other than Robert. His name is Anthony.”
“Anthony?” Ray repeated, taking in this new information. Lottie wasn’t looking him in the eye.
“Yeah. Anthony.” She repeated. “He… he ran away when I was little. Haven’t seen him since.”
“Oh,” Ray immediately felt guilty for pressing — Lottie couldn’t even look him in the eyes, her face turned to the ground. “Lottie, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, jumper.” Lottie shrugged, laughing. “It’s not like he’s — anyway. I don’t even remember that much about him. It’s no bother, really. I didn’t feel like explaining it to the others anyway.”
“Right.” Ray nodded, and Lottie sniffled. “Right — Lottie, are you sure you’re —“
“I’m fine. He’s nothin’ to me now, I barely think about him, I was so small.” She gingerly touched her scar, absentmindedly. “I don’t think about him at all.”
“Is he still…?”
“I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive, and that doesn’t matter.” Lottie said firmly, clearly done with the subject. “My family don’t talk about him, so — that’s that.”
Ray nodded, looking at Lottie. She wasn’t looking at him, only at her hands, so he squeezed them.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did, I can feel it.”
“No, you —“ she sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye before smiling at Ray. “You’re not wrong for wantin’ me to be honest. Besides, you saw how upset I got when you didn’t tell me you and Jan were a thing, and that happened before I came.”
Ray laughed. “Yeah. But — “ he rummaged in his hamper for something once more, and Lottie looked on in curiosity. “— I’ve got something I want to give you. I took it from my dad, he said I could give it. I don’t know if you’d like it.”
Slowly, Ray gave Lottie a tattered looking book, and Lottie took it gingerly, reading the title. Ray watched her quietly. Nervously.
“Not Without Laughter,” she read it out, her voice soft as a dream. “Langston Hughes. Oh, Ray, this is —“
She ran a finger over the cover. A boy sitting at a dinner table, deep in thought. A black boy. “— this is so thoughtful of you.”
“Don’t worry about it —“
“No, I mean it.” Lottie pressed, and Ray saw her eyes were welling up again. “I’ve always wanted to read this book, my Pa told me about it — but we never could find anyone who sold it, it’s banned stuff, I… Ray, you’re riskin’ so much… what if you got caught? What if your Pa —“
“Lottie, I tell you, it’s really no big deal to me, I — are you crying?”
Lottie was crying. Silent, shaky sobs — her shoulders moved up and down as tears streamed down her face, a watery smile directed towards Ray.
“No one’s ever… not since… oh, Raymond, you’re ever so nice to me.” She said, wiping her tears with her sleeve. Ray fished for the other, spare handkerchief in his pocket, immediately at Lottie’s side.
“Here.” He offered, and Lottie let out a laugh. She felt crazy.
“You probably think I’m a hysterical lady now, huh?” She blew her nose, and Ray chuckled.
“A little.”
She rolled her eyes, pushing him gently. “Oh, shut up.”
“No, I don’t think you are,” Ray said, in between bouts of laughter. “Christ, Lottie, if you’re hysterical, I don’t know what the hell I am.”
“Very funny, Ray Garraty,” Lottie replied fairly.
“But I may have a faint idea,” Ray muttered, and Lottie noticed how close they were once more. She could see his eyelashes, count each freckle, look into his big brown eyes and glimpse his chipped tooth.
“I’m assuming this is the part where —“
Ray shut Lottie up by kissing her again, and she gripped his collar, pulling him closer. It was like a drug to the both of them, kissing and feeling like this, and Lottie wondered why something that felt so good could be deemed so sinful. Ray took charge this time, kissing her desperately and feverishly, sometimes not even on the mouth but the edge of it, like he could never ever get enough of Lottie — so much so that he had no direction, as fucking drunk as his dad would get on beer.
“I’m asking you,” he said in between kisses, and Lottie giggled, kissing him back. She was messing up his hair with her hands, those soft fucking hands. “I’m… fuck, Lottie, I’m asking…” he kissed her again, and she went from his hair to his cheeks, holding his face, straddling him — fuck, he’d get hard in two seconds. “…Lottie, Christ — will you —“
Lottie pulled back, her hair a little messy. She was grinning. “Will I what?”
Ray stared up at her, eyes shining a bit before clearing his throat. “May I… oh, shit. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face while Lottie laughed. “I can’t do this with you… looking at me like that, I — okay.”
Ray straightened up, looking Lottie straight in the eye. She was still straddling him, a hand on each shoulder. He cleared his throat. “Charlotte Green, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Raymond Garraty?” Lottie replied, teasingly. Ray chuckled, but quickly became mock - serious.
“May I be your man?” He asked sincerely, and Lottie smiled, not answering for a moment, and Ray got worried. “Boyfriend? Male escort? Bag - carrier? Anything? Please?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Lottie replied. “Yes, you may. And I’ll be your girl.”
Ray grinned up at their, pulling her in closer. “My lady.”
“Your lady.”
“Your man.”
“My man.” Lottie kissed his forehead, and he laughed. “Gosh, Max was right about us. We are corny, huh?”
“A little.” Ray shrugged. “But I don’t mind it.”
They ate a little more, watching the movie and talking a lot about nothing — Ray interrupted so many times with his fun facts that Lottie felt she had been on the set herself. They had finished their snacks, and Bonnie and Clyde were driving down a trail, ready to help a farmer by the roadside — the movie then cut to black.
“Oh, I was interested!” Lottie exclaimed, throwing her arms up in confusion. “Why’d it stop?”
“My dad managed to cut out the ending,” Ray replied, through a mouthful of sandwich. “Said it was too graphic for me. I can give you a description of it, though, if you like.”
“What happens, then?” Lottie asked. Ray swallowed his sandwich before answering.
“They both get shot to death, it’s really gruesome. Not a clean one shot too, it was multiple — they were turned into Swiss cheese, to put it plainly. It was so horrifying even my dad doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Lottie then fell quiet, feeling her hands get clammy. She was thinking about another shooting she had seen, once. It had been a long time ago, but she’d always remember it. The feeling.
The horror.
“Lottie, stay in your room. You don’t want to —“
“Lottie?” Ray asked, and she was snapped out of her reverie. “You okay?”
“What?” She blinked. “O - oh, yeah, I’m… I’m fine, jumper. I think — it’s gettin’ late, don’t you think we should go…?”
Ray checked his watch. It was 10:30 pm. “Oh, we definitely should go.” He said, slowly getting up. “It’ll be 11 in no time, and we’re far from home. My mom will be worried, an we don’t know if your dad has checked your room yet...”
Lottie nodded, getting up and helping Ray to pack their things — she was rolling up the picnic mat when she saw the apple cider bottle had rolled some ways away from where they were. She could leave it, but it wasn’t good to litter…
Lottie walked over to where the apple cider bottle was lying, not seeing the tree root sticking out in her path. With a silly sort of yelp, Lottie’s arms windmilled, and she fell over in a heap. Pain went shooting up her leg, and she heard Ray run over.
“…ow.” She winced.
“Lottie,” Ray asked tentatively, assessing her as she sat up. There were twigs stuck in her hair, and she blew some catkins away. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m —“ Lottie tried to get up, but winced — her ankle stung. “— I’m not so fine, jumper.”
“Is it your ankle?” Ray asked softly, and Lottie nodded, face still pained. Ray’s hands hovered around her foot, hesitant, before slipping off her right heel. “It’s this one, right?”
Lottie nodded again, and Ray sighed, knitting his brows in confusion. “Think it’s broken?”
“I doubt it,” Lottie shifted, trying to move her foot. Sharp pain. She winced again, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s too severe, just sprained, is all. I’ll probably limp on our way to the car, but I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Ray blinked in genuine confusion. “Who said you were walking…?”
“What?”
Ray rolled his sleeves — an action that made Lottie feel that sinful feeling below, and she shook her head.
“I’m fine, I can walk.”
“No, you can’t.” Ray said firmly. Lottie stared at his arms. Big. “I’m carrying you to the car.”
“It’s really no bother —“
“You’re my girl.” Ray replied simply, scooping Lottie into his arms. “It’s a bother to me if you walked on a sprained ankle.”
Lottie looked up at him, not replying. He stared back, as if daring her to challenge him. Then she smiled.
“Alright, then.”
Around twenty minutes later, Ray had placed Lottie in the passenger seat, put the hamper and mat in the backseat, and sat in the driver’s seat with a huff. It was extremely late, and they needed to get back home soon.
“Okay…” Ray muttered to himself, fishing out the car keys. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Corny.”
“Shut up.”
Lottie laughed as Ray tried to start the ignition — the car sputtered once, twice, and didn’t give in. Ray frowned, turning the key once more. It sputtered only once this time, and still didn’t start.
“What’s wrong? Lottie asked, nervous. “Are we out of gas?”
“No, uh…” Ray squinted at the meter. “No, my dad got plenty of gas before I left, so I don’t know what’s happening.” He turned the key one more time, and the car still didn’t start. “Oh, fuck. Lottie, I think we’ll have to walk home.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Ray nodded. “I know it’s late, but if we stay here, who knows what’ll happen? I’ll carry you to my house, my mom can help with your ankle, and if you’re up to it, I can help you back to yours after.”
“Ooo, I’m meeting your mom?”
“Stop it.” Ray laughed.
“So early?”
“Maybe.” Ray shrugged. “Maybe I’m proposing to you right now.”
“Shut up,” Lottie laughed. “Okay… what if Squads come around?”
“They’ll probably just tell us to hurry up. I don’t think they’ll get too pissed — then again, we shouldn’t take chances…” and Lottie knew what he meant. They wouldn’t take kindly to seeing a woman, let alone a Black woman, out this late. “We should hurry. I’ll come back for the other things and the car tomorrow.”
Lottie nodded, and Ray got out of the car, opening her door and taking her in his arms before she could protest.
“Ray!” She hissed, as he grinned a little. “You’ll get tired.”
“Oh, I’m capable.” Ray started walking, and Lottie rolled her eyes. They were on a dark, tree - lined street — they could only hear crickets and owls as they went. From time to time, the couple would make eye contact, smile, and look away from one another; Lottie was giddy as ever. She’d never had a boyfriend before, not a serious one, and she liked this boy very much.
“You sure I’m not too heavy?” Lottie asked, as Ray started to whistle. He shook his head, and Lottie huffed, looking away. “You really are strong, Garraty.”
“Thank you,” Ray replied, smiling. “But you’re not that heavy. Wouldn’t be a problem if you were heavier, but you’re not. So.”
Lottie smiled to herself, and they went on.
***
“You know,” Ray had said, after thirty minutes of silence. The two were sure they’d near Porterville soon. “I had a brother, too.”
Lottie, who’d been dozing off in Ray’s arms, looked up at him. He wasn’t looking back at her, a faraway expression on his face. “Really?”
Ray nodded. “His name was Jeff.”
“Was…?”
“He died of pneumonia when he was six.” Ray answered the unasked question, and Lottie thought she heard a sniffle.
“Oh, Ray.” She said softly, holding him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s not — It was a long time ago.” Ray explained. “I was only two years older than him, eight. Funny enough, I don’t remember much about him. Or maybe I don’t want to.”
Lottie didn’t say anything, wallowing in the silence with Ray. He spoke again.
“Y’know, in a fucked up, cruel sorta way — I was sort of relieved.”
“Relieved?”
“Listen, Lottie.” Ray swallowed, hitching her up so she was more comfortable. “It’s not a kind world we live in, we both know that. I didn’t want him to — I don't know how we'd've gotten along if he'd've lived, whether we could afford to — anyway.”
Lottie was quiet. “…why’re you tellin’ me this?”
Ray didn’t respond immediately, looking into the night sky, thoughtful.
“So you know you’re not alone.” He said finally, looking straight at Lottie. “At least, with the whole… brother thing. I don’t like thinking about Jeff either. We have that in common.“
Lottie didn’t reply, but her breath hitched, and she gripped Ray tighter. In response, he clutched her closer to him.
***
“I’m just surprised you picked me, you know.” Ray said, and Lottie gave him a look.
“Why?”
“Well, have you seen me?”
“More times than I can count.”
“And have you seen yourself?”
“Most definitely, jumper.”
“And you’re aware that you’re beautiful?”
Lottie laughed. “What’re you tryna get at, Ray?”
“I’m no movie star.” Ray explained simply. “But you… you look like Brenda Sykes.”
Lottie gave him another look, amused. “What do you know about Brenda Sykes, Garraty?”
“I did tell you I like film.”
“I’m beginning to think you have a certain type.” Lottie raised her eyebrows playfully, and Ray laughed. “But. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, Ray. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I’m honest.” Lottie shifted in his arms. “Look… let me ask you a question.”
“Anything.”
“How do you think your mama looked at you when you were first born? When she held you?” Lottie asked, after a long moment of silence.
Ray didn’t reply. He’d walked past their family photo at home so many times — the one with Jeff was long forgotten somewhere in the basement. His father’s hand would be on his mother’s shoulder, as she tickled a tubby baby Ray, and he’d be laughing too, new eyes all squinty and tiny mouth all toothless.
He always hated looking at it, because Ben had always told him he looked like a blob. But he’d never stopped to look, really look, at how Ginnie had gazed down at her first baby boy, her husband looking over her shoulder to get a peek of Ray too. Like he was the most precious, fascinating thing to ever exist.
“She probably thought you were the most beautiful boy in the world,” Lottie continued, when Ray hadn’t said anything. “You need to have that same love for yourself.” She looked away from Ray, blushing. “Lord knows I do.”
A beat. “I really do love you, Lottie.”
“I love you too, Ray.” Lottie looked back, and Ray’s eyes looked to be shining with unshed tears. “Oh — I’m sorry. Ray, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“No, it’s fine.” Ray sniffled, grinning. “You’ve just got a way with words, writer.”
***
“In that fair city…”
“No, Lottie — it goes like this.” Ray cleared his throat, and Lottie giggled. “In Dublin’s fair city…”
“…where the girls are so pretty…” Lottie continued. Ray nodded.
“Now you’ve got the hang of it.”
“I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone.” Lottie sang clearly — Ray swayed, snorting, and Lottie let out a little yelp, holding on to him tighter. He laughed out loud, uninhibited.
“Why’d you do that, jumper?!” Lottie grumbled, and Ray laughed even more. “Could’ve fallen.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just —“ Ray kept laughing. “I love the way you say Molly Malone. It’s all funny - sounding.”
“How do I say it, then?” Lottie raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”
“You say it like Maw - lee Muh- loan.” Ray said, with a horrible southern accent. Lottie rolled her eyes as Ray burst into another fit of laughter.
“You’re a bully.” She muttered.
“No!” Ray laughed again. “I love it, it’s sweet. Maw - lee Muh - loan.”
“Maw - lee Muh - loan!” Lottie repeated loudly, and the couple giggled, Ray shushing her.
***
“You sure I won’t be bothering your parents?” Lottie asked, as Ray knocked on the door of his house. After Lottie had insisted for about a mile that he could put her down, Ray had decided to put Lottie down at his house’s doorstep. Lottie had never been to Ray’s house before, nor met his parents — she’d only seen glimpses of them around town, but never really said hi.
“No, I’m sure,” Ray replied, putting his hands on his hips after knocking a third time. “They’ll love you. They keep asking about you, actually.”
“Really?” Lottie asked, flustered — she tried to fix her hair, see if there were any twigs left behind. “How do they know about me?”
Ray’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I may have mentioned you once or twice.”
“What?”
Ray was saved from having to explain by the front door bursting open — it was William, Ray’s father. He didn’t see Lottie just yet, looking straight at Ray.
“Ray, son — it’s late. What happened ? Are you okay?”
“I know dad, but —“
“And where’s the car?” William looked behind Ray, only to see an empty driveway. “You didn’t have it towed by those ass - sucking Squads, did you — oh, hello!”
William had finally spotted Lottie, who was trying to make herself seem small. “This must be the little Green lady! My son’s been bothering you, I hear.” William grinned, and Ray pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Dad…” he groaned.
Lottie, uncertain, offered a handshake.
“I’m Charlotte Green, sir… nice to meet you.”
“Oh, don’t bother with all that — come in, come in!” William beckoned Lottie into the house, and she gave a small smile, stepping forward with a slight limp. Her ankle still hurt. William guided her with a hand on the shoulder, turning back to Ray.
“This one’s a keeper,” he whispered. Ray’s face turned red with embarrassment. “She’s very pretty.”
“Dad!” He hissed, before stepping in after them.
Lottie took in the Garraty home — the general layout wasn’t that different from her own house: a small foyer, some pictures of what she was sure to be distant family members on the wall, low, orange lighting — the wallpaper was a vintage, sweet sort of floral on a cream base. Lottie found herself stopping and staring at the one on the table, the one with baby Ray.
“Welcome to our humble abode, Charlotte.” William was saying, and Lottie heard someone moving about in the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Garraty.” She replied, staring at little Ray — Ginnie looked to be gazing at him, and Ray was laughing. He was wearing a baby blue onesie, red faced and tubby. The picture was the only colored one, and Lottie figured the Garratys had splurged a little on it. Colored pictures were more expensive. Not everybody could afford those.
“Oh, god,” Ray whispered, sidling up to stand beside Lottie. “You’ve found it.”
“You look so sweet.” Lottie cooed, and Ray huffed out a laugh. “Such a cute little baby.”
“I looked fat.”
“Babies are supposed to be fat, jumper.” Lottie shook her head, bumping Ray with her hip.
“I hear we have a guest tonight!” a high, sweet voice was heard, and Lottie turned as Ginnie Garraty, Ray’s mom, walked into the foyer — she obviously looked older than in the photo, but nonetheless beautiful and welcoming. “I’m Ginnie, Raymond’s mother!”
“Oh, I’m Charlotte Green —“
Lottie was about to shake Ginnie’s hand when the latter pulled her into a quick hug instead. Lottie gave a small gasp of surprise, before hugging her back slowly.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, sweetheart,” Ginnie drew back, taking in Lottie’s face. Lottie couldn’t keep eye contact, looking everywhere but at Ginnie. “My lord, Ray’s description of you didn’t do you enough justice. You are so beautiful!”
“Mom!” Ray threw his arms up, and Ginnie looked at him from behind Lottie’s Afro. “Can you stop embarrassing me?!”
“Oh hush, Raymond,” Ginnie looked back at Lottie. “I ought to tell her the truth. She really is very beautiful — I hope you’ve been telling her that, too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Garraty —“
“Nonsense,” Ginnie waved away the formality. “Call me Ginnie.”
“…thank you, Ginnie.” Lottie said uncertainly, face burning.
“Now,” Ginnie smiled at Lottie. “Do you want to see the photo album of Ray as a baby?”
Lottie’s eyes lit up, and she covered her mouth, giggling.
“Mom!” Ray close to yelled, his voice cracking. “Can you — “
“There’s a whole theme,” Ginnie continued. “We really did spend almost all our savings on the little outfits, but it was worth it.”
“There’s a theme?!” Lottie repeated, in disbelief — Ray wanted to die.
“Oh yes,” Ginnie nodded. “Sailor boy, he had the most adorable little hat — William even fixed a tiny wooden boat, and then I sewed a little mitt for the baseball player part, all very professional.”
“Mom!” Ray exclaimed. “Mom, I brought Lottie here so you could help her, not fucking —“
“Language!” William warned from the living room. “And Ray, why haven’t you brought a chair for the lady to sit on? That’s no way to treat a woman.”
“I’m working on it!” Ray called back, sighing. “Mom, Lottie sprained her ankle.”
“What?” Ginnie immediately started to steer Lottie towards the living room. “Ray, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried to, but — Mom, be careful —“
Lottie squeaked as Ginnie firmly set her down on a chair — she then hurried off, muttering to herself. Lottie looked out the corner of her eye, and saw William Garraty sitting in the sofa opposite her, looking back. A rerun of one of the Major’s speeches was playing on the TV, but the volume was low.
“So, Charlotte.” He started, sitting up as Ray bickered with his mother in the kitchen. “Ray says you’re a writer.”
“He does?”
“He does.” William nodded. “What do you write about, little lady?”
“Well…” Lottie fumbled, nervous — William’s eyes were similar to Ray’s, she noticed. “I do write romance, but I also write about my… thoughts.”
“Your thoughts, you say?” William shifted forward in his seat, intrigued. “Do any of these thoughts go against the oppressive regime we live under?”
“Excuse me?” Lottie replied stupidly — William laughed, slapping his knee.
“Come on, Charlotte — Ray says you read a lot, and any person that reads that much must be smart. Any person that’s smart…” he leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Would see how oppressive this system is. Not whisper and gossip about the ‘misbehaved ones.’”
“Dad?” Ray called from the kitchen, and William rolled his eyes, making Lottie laugh. “Dad, where’s the —“
“The gauze is under the cereal cabinet, son — you keep leaving it there.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Ray called back. A beat. “I hope you’re not interrogating Lottie.”
“I would never do such a thing,” William replied, winking at Lottie — she grinned. “Hurry up, son, we need to treat her.”
“I do write… like that, sometimes.” Lottie said, when Ray and Ginnie had started talking again. William nodded, listening. “It’s freeing, especially with… everything.”
William nodded, getting what Lottie meant. “It must be hard.”
Lottie shrugged, looking at the floor. “You may encounter many defeats…”
“…but you must not be defeated.” William completed, nodding. Lottie grinned. “Maya Angelou. I was right. You are smart, young lady. I’m glad you chose my son.”
“Dad,” Ray sighed, coming into the living room. “You’re talking like we’re married already, you’re going to scare her away.”
“So you two are courting?” Ginnie asked brightly, and Ray groaned even more. She looked to Lottie, before sitting on a chair next to her, lifting her sprained foot into her lap and assessing it. Lottie’s face burned. “Ray’s never had a lady - friend.”
“Mom, please stop, holy shit.” Ray muttered into his palms, as Ginnie got a pack of ice and pressed it on Lottie’s foot gently. Lottie winced, but then felt relief — Ginnie snapped her fingers at Ray, who was still partially mortified.
“Baby, go get me some painkillers, the ones in the bathroom cabinet.”
Ray wordlessly got up, half - jogging to the bathroom, somewhere else in the house.
“So, sweetheart,” Ginnie started softly, massaging Lottie’s foot, checking where it hurt the most. “Where did you move here from?”
“Louisiana.” Lottie replied, sucking in air through her teeth when Ginnie got to a particular area of her foot. Ginnie, noticing this, moved away from it.
“You lived in Baton Rouge?” William asked, trying to distract Lottie from the pain.
“Oh no, we didn’t live in the capital, just an area some miles from it,” Lottie elaborated, Ginnie still quietly working on her foot. “Lived there since I was born.”
“Right, right.” William nodded. “And do you plan on staying in this old town for the rest of your life, then?”
“William!” Ginnie scolded.
“What?” He asked, as Lottie laughed. “It’s a valid question, she’s a smart little lady.”
“Well…” Lottie trailed off. “I’ve always dreamed of getting a house somewhere else, somewhere quiet. With two floors, and a study where I can write. After university, of course, if I could save up and afford it.”
Ray had reappeared with the painkillers, but he hovered at the doorway — listening.
“And I’d probably want it to be out in the country, a little isolated.” Lottie went on, dreamlike. “And I’d start my own little farm, be self - sufficient. And publish, too. Yeah. I’d like that.”
The living room was quiet, and Lottie realized she’d said too much, and the Garratys were probably staring at her. Her face became flushed as she avoided everyone’s eyes. “…sorry.”
“Oh, don’t you dare apologize, sweetheart,” Ginnie said softly, pressing the ice into her foot. “That’s a lovely dream to have, so sweet.”
“You’re a dear little lady, Charlotte, a dear little lady.” William nodded.
“You want a two - story house?” Ray repeated, still standing in the doorway. He was clutching the painkillers. Lottie looked up at him.
“Maybe.” She said quietly. “But forget I said anythin’.”
Ray kept staring at her, face unreadable until Ginnie beckoned to him for the painkillers. “Oh. Right. Sorry, Mom.” He sat down on the sofa beside his father, deep in thought, while Lottie found herself interested in the floorboards. William and Ginnie shared a knowing look, smiling.
***
“Are you sure you can walk home alone?”
“Mhm.”
“Can’t I at least —“
“Ray, my house is five minutes from this point. You’ve carried me enough, I can handle it.” Lottie assured Ray, smiling — he was half holding her up. Her house wasn’t too far from the couple, and they spoke in whispers. After another hour of fussing from Ginnie and some teasing from William, Lottie had left the Garraty home with a bag of cookies, a ‘please visit again soon,’ and Ginnie reminding Lottie, (much to Ray’s embarrassment), that she was a good wedding planner.
“How will you get back into your room?” Ray said now, still worried. Your ankle —“
“I can handle it, I promise.” Lottie said, raising her eyebrows.
“But —“ Lottie cut Ray off with a kiss, and he quieted, kissing her back before she broke it off.
“Stop worrying, jumper.” She whispered. “I love you. Goodnight.”
Ray grinned down at her. “As you like it, Lottie. I love you better. Goodnight.” Lottie disentangled from Ray and started to walk again, still with a very slight limp. Ray watched her until she got to the side of her house. She turned around, seeing him and waving him away. Reluctantly, Ray waved back, turned around, and started walking back to his house.
Lottie heaved herself, with a wince, up to her windowsill — with a quiet yelp, she tumbled through the open window and into the darkness of her room, landing on her bed. Pain shot up her ankle.
“…ow.” She whispered, getting up and limping towards the light switch — she fumbled in the dark for half a second before locating it. She flicked her finger, turning on the light, and —
“Pity that you’re joinin’ us so late.” A familiar voice said.
Lottie screamed, falling over — her father, her brother Robert, and her mother had been waiting silently in the corner of her room, sentinel. Marie, her mother, looked stern — Robert, her brother, shook his head slowly, a pajama top on for once — and Atticus, her father, simply took a drag from his cigar.
It was over.
It was completely over.
Lottie lay spread - eagled on the floor, staring at her family as they stared down at her.
“Pa —“
“I’m going to ask you one question.” Atticus said slowly, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “And I want you to answer truthfully.”
“Lottie, get up.” Robert urged, his arms crossed. Lottie sighed, standing and dusting off her dress.
“Where were you?” Atticus asked. “‘Cause it certainly don’t look like you were at a prayer meetin’.”
“Pa, I’m sorry —“
“Save the apologies,” Marie held up a hand, and Lottie shut up. “And answer the question. Where were you?”
“I have an idea,” Robert started, and Lottie scowled at him. “Starts with ‘white’ and ends with ‘boy.’”
“Shut up, Robbie.” Lottie snapped.
“Hey.” Atticus snapped his fingers, before pointing at at Lottie. “Answer the question.”
Lottie hung her head. “Iwasonadate.”
“What?” Robert held a hand to his ear, leaning in. “Wha’choo say, dear old Lottie?”
“I said,” Lottie repeated, teeth gritted. “I was on a date.”
“With whom?” Marie asked. Lottie fiddled with her fingers. “Charlotte. With whom?”
“Ooo, you are going to get it now.” Robert whistled.
“Robert Edward Green, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will sew it shut for you,” Atticus said firmly. Robert, though twenty, promptly snapped his mouth shut.
“Now,” Atticus turned to Lottie. “Who was the boy?”
Lottie started to sweat. If she didn’t tell her Pa, he’d probably go around town, asking any boy around her age if they’d been canoodling with her. It’d be horrible, and Ben Miller would have a field day. And if he got to Ray — Ray, who definitely wouldn’t lie about it — he’d probably get chased away by a rifle.
“I’m waitin’, Charlotte.” He took another drag of his cigar, while Lottie’s mom pinched the bridge of her nose, in despair. Robert simply shook his head again in disappointment.
“Pa, please don’t shoot him.” Lottie whispered.
“Tell me, Lottie.” Atticus replied simply, and Lottie gulped.
“You know that boy, the one who Robert was teasin’ about when we first moved in…”
“Called it!” Robert yelled suddenly, pumping his fist — a swift hit on the top of the head from his mother shut him up. “…ow.”
“The Garraty boy?” Atticus asked. Lottie sighed, nodding.
“Yes, Pa. Raymond Garraty, from a couple houses over.” She fiddled with her hands, trying to read Atticus’s expression. She couldn’t.
“There’s another detail, Pa.” Robert mock - whispered, and Lottie rolled her eyes. “Garraty’s white. W-H-I-T-E. Caucasian. Maybe he’s got a little Irish in ‘im, but —“
“Robert.” Atticus said firmly, and Robert shut up once more. He then turned back to his daughter. “And you didn’t think to —“
“Tell you?” Lottie completed, incredulous. “Pa, when we came here, I didn’t think — I had no idea — “ Lottie sighed, looking away for a moment. “When you warned me about Ray, when you said his sort go and sign up for the Walk and get shot, I didn’t know him then, not properly. But Pa, he’s such a sweet boy, you just got to get to know him, I promise. He reads books, he laughs with me, he hung out with me despite everybody else at school steerin’ clear. Well, not everybody, but that’s a whole different story — he’s such a gentleman, he makes me laugh, he’s fun! He hates the Walk. And I know you’ll say everybody does, but Ray really does, I promise — he’d never sign up, not in a million years, he’d never leave his family or me, I know. I… I love him, Pa. I really do. That’s why I went against you. Just to see him. I rarely disobey you, Pa, you know this. But I did. For him. And it shouldn’t matter that we’re different, but it does, and I know we’ll face gossip, but I don’t care, Pa. I really don’t. I’ll persevere through it, we both will, and you’ve seen me persevere before.”
Lottie finished then, her chest heaving, her face flushed and emotional and raw. Atticus stared at her. She stared back, a silent question in her eyes.
“… I’m assuming you see yourself marryin’ this boy one day, then.” Atticus finally said, after a long moment.
Lottie huffed. “Yes, Pa.”
The clock on Lottie’s bedside ticked. It was 1 am. Atticus stubbed out his cigar.
“Well.” Atticus said, standing. He’d always be tall and imposing, but Lottie met his eyes head - on. “As you like it. I’ll have to meet this boy.”
“What?” Robert said, his voice cracking. “Pa, what if —“
“That’s my decision, Robbie.” Atticus said firmly. “I want to see him. See what his intentions are. I know you’re protective of your sister, but she’s gettin’ older.”
Lottie grinned as Atticus and Marie made their way to her door, her mother giving her a look.
“This don’t mean I wholly approve, Charlotte.” Atticus said suddenly, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m just seein’ if I should chase him away or not. No unworthy man is to wed my daughter.”
Lottie nodded quietly, and Robert sighed — he followed Marie and their father out, closing Lottie’s door with a click. As soon as they all left, Lottie let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, falling back onto her bed.
It was official. More so than it’d been before.
They were courting. Dating. Whatever. He was Lottie’s man, and she was Garraty’s girl.
Lottie clutched a pillow to her chest, sighing — with a giggle, she flicked her bedroom light off.
***
Author’s Note: I feel like this chapter is boring, I don’t know. But it is needed! Yes, the door test part is a reference to A Bronx Tale, yes, it is happening soon. See you next time, and sorry for taking so long to post.
Girl, you my paintin', you my art installation Gonna fuck you, put you on the wall
All I wanna do is show you off, I want to put you on Why would I ever blow you off?
Right now, let's go get lost
warnings: vanilla smut, smoking, swearing,
a/n: Skin by Mac Miller came own during my smoking session and I was inspired:))
The cold yet humid Jacksonville night air slapped Tyriq in the face the second he stepped outta the rental. Sticky, thick air – the kind that made your clothes cling to you. Jasmine and honeysuckle, the same damn scent that always reminded him of her and her momma's garden.
He adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, that nervous little tic of his. Felt surreal, man, pullin' up to this house again after all the red carpets and bullshit. This was still home, kinda.
The porch light flickered on as he reached the steps, cuttin' a sharp outline of [Y/N] in the doorway. Even in the dim light, he could see the way her shape filled out them soft-ass shorts and tank top. A far cry from that cheerleader uniform she used to rock. Motherhood did somethin' to her, alright. Somethin' that twisted his gut in a way that made him wanna get her pregnant her all over again.
"Hey," she said, quiet.
"What's up?" he replied, tryin' to keep it cool.
He held out the bag. "Got some things for TJ, new shoes, games, some clothes for the winter, you know the basics."
"I appreciate it , Ty. He needs it. I’ve been working nights so I can get him the basketball stuff he wanted but he told not too. Must’ve been waitin' on his daddy to come through." She said chuckling
"It's nothin' he’s my son," he mumbled, feelin' kinda shy. "He with your momma?
[Y/N] nodded, gesturin' him inside. "Yeah, she took him to bible study. They ain't gonna be back for a minute, you can wait if you want ." She said casually
His heart damn near stopped. A minute alone with her?
"Yeah, I can chill."
The house was just as he remembered, comfy, lived-in. The smell of patchouly oil hung in the air, mixed with the leftover scent of dinner and wood from the fireplace.
He followed [Y/N] down the hall to her old room. Straight-up time capsule. Posters of old school rappers, makeup all over her vanity, and her corkboard. That damn corkboard.
He couldn't help but walk over to it, a smile twitchin' at the corner of his lips. There they were, frozen in time: photos from homecoming, that whack-ass prom photo, and a grip of maternity shots. [Y/N] had that glow back then, the kinda fierce protectiveness a new momma got. He remembered how proud he was, scared shitless, and deep in love. Still is, if he was being honest .
[Y/N] sat at the top of her bed, rollin' a vanilla backwood with a pro's touch. "So, how's the fame treatin' you, Mr. Hollywood?"
He chuckled, sitting at the bottom of her bed, he back and head leanin' against the wall .
"It's a trip, man. But I love it, miss this shit sometimes though , ya know? The quiet. Not havin' cameras in my face every two seconds."
She lit the blunt, takin' a deep drag before offerin' it to him. "I understand , I saw the movie though . You killed that role Ty. Seriously, I was so proud of you ." She said genuinely, looking into his eyes deeply.
"Thanks, [nickname]. That means a lot." He took the blunt, inhallin' that familiar vanilla tobacco.
"And I saw you mentionin' me on that podcast," she teased, a playful light in her eyes. "Sayin' how much you admire me. How any girl who’s gonna be in your life has to understand I come first no matter what?" She chuckled, batting her lashes jokingly
He playfully rolled his eyes. "I’m an actor, I get paid to lie." He laughed looking at her. She bust out laughin', throwin' her head back, her color 30 boho braids flowin' down her shoulders.
The laughin' died down, leavin' a comfortable silence. He noticed how close they were, her bare soft legs draped over his clothed ones.
"You still got a thing for me, don't you?" she asked, a teasing tone but a soft and real expression.
He didn't deny it. "I think it might be the other way around sweetheart" He teased her, nudgin' her leg playfully.
She leaned up and shoved him. "Boy, please you wish I wanted your ass."
But her smile gave her away.
Their eyes locked, and the air got thick. Years of unspoken shit, needs, complicated feelings. "Promise me somethin', Tyriq," she whispered, lookin' him dead in the eye. "Promise me you won’t let the fame interfere with our relationship, if I didn’t have you in my life I don’t know what I’d do. So promise me, please?."
He kissed his teeth. "Why the hell would I let fame make me forget you, [Y/N]? You stuck with me for life. You know that, right? You the mother of my son. You ain’t going nowhere that I won’t follow."
A slow-ass smile spread across her face. "I don't mind bein' stuck with you." She said in almost a whisper but loud enough for him to hear it.
He admire her face before he leaned in close, his breath warm on her cheek. She met him halfway, her lips partin' a little. The kiss started slow, hestitatin', like testin' the waters. Then, they allowed themselves to fully give in.
Years of holdin' back, yearing', everything came pourin' out in that kiss. It tasted like vanilla, shared memories, and a love that just wouldn't die.
His hands cupped her face, deepenin' the kiss. Her fingers rub the back of his freshly shaved buzz, pullin' him closer. He couldn't get enough.
He broke the kiss, his forehead touchin' hers. "You sure you wanna do this?." He asked breathlessly.
"I missed you, Ty," she breathed, her voice shaky.
That’s all he had to hear, his fingers fumbled with the hem of her tank top, slowly pullin' it up and over her head. Her breasts, heavy as hell, brown nipples peeking through the lace material, puffy from the breeze that slipped in from the window behind them. He swallowed hard, his eyes all over her.
She reached for his black crew neck , her hands shakin' as she raised it over his arms . He threw it off to the side, his toned golden chest on full display, definitely a change from the last time she seen him.
He kissed her again, his hands movin' down her body, gettin' under the waistband of her shorts. She helped him out, kickin' them off her legs. He leaned back for a second, takin' it all in – her thick thighs, her curves, her chocolate skin shinin' in the dim light, the stretch marks that reminded him of how beautiful she looked while carrying their son.
She noticed his stare and subconsciously covered herself, not fully comfortable with her mom bod yet, even all these years later.
“Nah don’t hide, let me see you baby” he said in a low husky voice, gently moving her arms to her sides. He knelt in front of her, positioning himself between her legs, lookin' her dead in the eye."You're so fucking beautiful, [Y/N]. Damn near perfect."
He slid inside her slow, her heat and wetness surroundin' him instantly . She gasped, her nails diggin' into his back.
"Tyriq," she moaned, voice low and tight.
He started movin', slow at first, then harder, faster. Their bodies workin' together, a familiar rhythm full of longin'.
"God damn it’s been so long" he whispered in her ear.
"Way too long " she said, breathin' hard.
Tyriq could feel his orgasm building, not even caring if he came too fast, he knew she was close too. He could tell by the way she tightened around him and her words became less and less coherent.
They came together, a mess of moans and groans. Tyriq didn’t even bother to pull out, lowkey hoping he’d get a call in few weeks telling him she was late.
He gently fell pulled out of her, her body shakin' as the cold air hit her puffy pussy.
He laid there beside her for a long time, catchin' his breath, all tangled up.
He kissed the top of her head. "I ain’t goin' nowhere [Y/N], I’m here. Always.” He said as he slowly drifted off to sleep, the scent of shea butter and marijuana in his nose, [Y/N] in his arms. Finally felt like he was home.
Summary: Cameron’s back home, making time to see his girl and play a little ball with her.
⸻
Cameron’s back home, making time to see his girl and play a little ball with her
The stadium was quiet now, but Cameron Cade still stood at midfield, sweat soaking through his grey practice shirt. The ball spun lazily from his hand to the air and back again, the same rhythm that had carried him all season. The papers called him the future, the next big thing. “Cade’s got next.” “The franchise QB.” He didn’t say much about it. He didn’t have to
He heard it from everyone. Scouts, coaches, fans. Everyone said he was gonna be the next big thing. And while he’d smile and shrug it off, inside there was that spark that quiet, confident fire that burned whenever his fingers brushed the laces.
Then there was her.
Asha stepped through the gate, the last light of the sun kissing her skin gold. She was all effortless cool red tank top hugging her curves, oversized denim Tommy Hilfiger overalls hanging just right, one strap loose, the other snug over her shoulder. Her hair was slicked back smooth, edges laid. A pair of small black sunglasses sat low on her nose.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Cameron called out, smirking as he spun the ball in his hand.
“I told you I’d come help,” she said, walking closer, the brick wall behind her fading into the golden glow. “You think I’d miss watching the next big thing in action?” she teased, her voice sweet and just a little mocking.
He chuckled, brushing his forearm across his forehead. “You been reading them headlines huh?”
Please.” She took off her shades, clipped them on her overalls. “Why would I read the headlines when I’m in the room with the headline himself?” Stepping up to him and pressed a soft peck to his lips.
That made him grin that slow, boyish grin that always reached his eyes before his mouth. “Oh, that’s how we playin’ today?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, hands on her hips. “Let’s see if all that talk is real. Show me what all the hype’s about.”
He stepped closer, tossing her the ball. “How about you show me what you got first, baby?”
She caught it barely the ball wobbling in her hands. “Okay… okay wait, I got this.” She adjusted her stance, fingers gripping the laces awkwardly. Her tongue peeked out slightly in concentration as she squinted downfield.
Cameron crossed his arms, biting his lip to hide a smile. “You lookin’ real serious right now.”
“Shut up, Cam,” she laughed, winding her arm back and letting it fly.
The ball sailed about five feet before plopping sadly into the grass.
He whistled. “That’s impressive. It almost made it outta your shadow.”
“Boy, don’t play with me!” she said, marching over to grab it again. Her overalls swayed with each step, one strap slipping lower as she moved. “I’m just warming up.”
“Sure you are, baby,” he teased, drawing out the word.
She threw it again slightly better — but it still veered off to the side. He jogged to grab it, calling back, “You tryin’ to hit the goalpost or scare it?”
Asha folded her arms. “Maybe if you stopped talkin’ so much, I’d—”
“—actually throw straight?” he finished, coming up behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her shoulder. He slid his arms around her waist, adjusting her grip on the ball. “Like this, boo. Elbow up, wrist loose.”
She tried to focus, but his voice was low, warm against her ear. The kind that made her pulse skip a beat.
“Stop tryin’ to distract me,” she murmured, half laughing, half serious.
“Can’t help it,” he said, smirking. “You cute when you try.”
“Boy, I been cute. Don’t act brand new just ‘cause people say you the next big thing.”
“Oh, so you have been readin’ about me,” he teased, biting his lip again, that subtle, fake cocky move he did that always made her blush.
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe. Just a little..
“Just a little?” he teased
“ Okay, fine, maybe more than a little. But I was curious!”
He smirked, leaning back. “Curious, huh? About what? How perfect I am?”
“Don’t get cocky,” she shot back, nudging his shoulder. “But actually… one of them said you’re, like, too pretty. Said you should’ve switched to acting or something.”
Cameron laughed, shaking his head. “Too pretty? And here I thought my talent alone was intimidating enough.”
Asha leaned closer, teasing, “Well… maybe you’re intimidating and distracting. Just saying.”
He chuckled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “So basically, I can’t win with anyone, huh?”
“Not if you’re going to look that good doing it,” she said with a grin, giving him a soft peck on the cheek.
Before she could say anything else, he nudged her forward. “Alright, let’s see that arm one more time.”
This time, she actually got it The ball flew downfield, wobbly but long enough to count. She gasped, running after it, laughing as it rolled toward the end zone. “Touchdown!” she shouted, spinning around to face him, hands up.
She started dancing , hips swaying wildly, shoulders rolling to absolutely no rhythm. “Ayy! Look at me! MVP right here!” she giggled.
Cameron laughed, jogging up behind her. “You look ridiculous.”
“And?” she said, swirling her hips even harder.
He caught her by the overall buckles, pulling her back into him, arms wrapping tight around her waist. “You’re lucky you cute.”
“Lucky? Boo I been cute. Don’t act brand new.”she teased, turning her head to face him. “You need to be thanking me for making you look good out here.”
“Please,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You ain’t even know how to hold the ball ten minutes ago.”
“But I made a touchdown, didn’t I?”
He smiled, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. “Yeah… you did, baby.”
They stood there for a moment her back against his chest, the field bathed in gold, the world slowing down around them. The faint smell of cut grass mixed with the salt of his sweat and her sweet perfume. His hands stayed at her waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over the denim seams.
“You ever think about what it’s gonna be like?” she asked quietly. “When you really make it?”
He hesitated, the question hanging in the air like the fading sunlight. “Sometimes. But right now?” He tightened his arms around her. “All I’m thinkin’ about is you.”
Before she could answer, a shout broke the moment.
“Cade!”
Coach Jenkins was standing by the gate, keys in hand, grinning like he’d seen this before. “I’m headin’ out, son. You lock up when you’re done playin’ superstar, yeah?”
Cameron nodded, still holding her. “Got it, Coach.”
The coach tossed him the keys , they jingled in the air before landing neatly in Cameron’s free hand.
Asha looked up at him, smiling. “Guess that means we got the field to ourselves.”
He smirked, spinning the keys once on his finger. “Guess it does.”
She grinned back. “Good. ‘Cause I wasn’t done celebrating my touchdown.”
“Oh Lord,” he groaned playfully, pulling her closer again. “Here we go.”
And as the last of the sunlight slipped behind the bleachers, the two of them stayed there on that field , laughing, dancing, wrapped up in the kind of love that only ever feels like summer, no matter the season.
⸻
Authors Note: I was a little nervous about posting this one, but I’ve been feeling really inspired lately—and I’ve got so many more Cameron Cade ideas I can’t wait to share. Thank you for reading and supporting my stories! 💛
why not make reader not black? no offence at all but the point of x reader is so that everyone could feel included not excluded. some of us are asian, mexican, or arab. not everyone on tumblr is black, please be mindful of that!! i love ur stories but it doesn’t feel like x reader to those who don’t share those traits! ;((
im going to say this with all due respect: i don't care if you don't feel included with my black readers. black women are constantly overlooked in fandoms. the majority of x reader fanfics are written with white readers in mind, which is why we read "you blushed" or "he ran his hand through your hair" in them.
black readers are not a majority at all. there are plenty of fanfics for non-black people, so i don't understand why you're coming to my inbox crying.
you sound like you're forced to read my work. if that bothers you, you can make your own fanfics with asian/latina/arab readers or read someone else's work. im not going to censor myself for a stranger.
we can do whatever we want with readers! plus-size, black, shy, baddie... just because one person doesn't like it, i'm not going to stop. if i hadn't specified that it was a black reader, i would have understood that it bothered you, but it's stated at the beginning of the fanfic.
black women deserve their safe place too. we wouldn't have needed to create black readers if white people didn't think they were the center of the universe and forgot everyone else when they wrote.
not everyone is black, so not everybody needs to read my fics. so no, i will not "be mindful" of that, like you said. stop forcing writers to suit your tastes and look for writers who suit you, thank you.
