A pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her.
On this blog, you will primarily find: hockey (Pittsburgh Penguins and Seattle Kraken also occasionally the Colorado Avalanche), baseball (New York Yankees), Taylor Swift and various anecdotes about my day to day life.
I tag all live blogging with pens lb or kraken lb. Personal posts are tagged shut up tara.
Occasionally, I write things:
cowboy like me - Brandon Tanev cowboy!AU
‘tis the damn season - Nathan MacKinnon
The Last Time - Jack Abbot
Count on an existential crisis once a month.
Please feel free to message me- I love making friends, I’m just awkward and need to be adopted by an extrovert.
When your attending asks you to house sit while he’s away on a three-month sabbatical, your harmless crush slowly spirals into fantasies you can’t stop. Sleeping in his bed, eating at his table, and living in his space… none of it prepares you for his unexpected early return.
warnings/tags: smut & angst, minors DNI, porn with plot, suicidal ideation, depression, mention of death (from a child patient), mental health issues, complicated relationships, jealousy (hiii Noelle), emotional hurt, age gap (no specified), fingering, piv, no aftercare
You dragged the sleeve of your scrub across your forehead, wiping away a layer of sweat. The ED had been a war zone today, one brutal trauma after another, codes and families collapsing in the hallway. Six hours in and it still felt like the shift was nowhere near over. Your stomach let out a loud, embarrassing growl, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since before dawn. With a tired sigh, you slipped into the staff lounge, desperate for five minutes of peace and the slightly squashed turkey sandwich waiting at the bottom of your bag. The moment you dropped into one of the chairs, the door swung open behind you.
You didn’t need to turn around. The scent hit you first, unmistakably masculine, the cologne he always wore. Then came the familiar rhythm of his stride. Your body recognized him instantly, a traitorous flutter blooming in your stomach despite your best efforts to ignore it.
“Caught you,” Robby said. You glanced over your shoulder and found him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His eyes flicked to the half-eaten sandwich in your hand. “Eating on the run again?”
You swallowed quickly, offering him a sheepish smile. “Gotta fuel up somehow, Dr. Robby.”
He chuckled, stepping fully into the room. The lines on his face were deeper today, and you wondered if it had anything to do with his sabbatical and how much he needed to rest after years without taking any real time off. Three months away from the Pitt still felt surreal. He’d been your teacher ever since you began your residency two years ago, and with Robby not being here felt like the ED was losing its spine.
He watched you for a beat, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
You raise an eyebrow, setting the wrapper from your sandwich down. “Shoot.”
“As you already know, I’m heading out for my sabbatical soon. House is just gonna sit empty. Thought maybe you’d want to house-sit for me while I’m gone.”
The words hung there. You blinked, caught off guard. “Me? I thought you’d have someone else in mind. Abbot, maybe?”
Robby shook his head, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “I was gonna tell Abbot, yeah. But then I thought about you. You’ve been crashing with Santos, right? This could be a good way to save on rent for a few months. And you’re responsible. I trust you not to burn the place down or throw ragers.”
You let out a laugh. The offer felt too good, a quiet space, no Santos blasting music at 2 a.m, or worse, hearing her and García going at it for hours when you were trying to rest. You’d have actual privacy, at least for three months. But the offer also felt intimate in a way that made your pulse tick up.
House-sitting for Robby felt like crossing a line you could never uncross. He wasn’t just your boss or the attending who had mentored you through the worst shifts of your life, the patients you lost, the nights you thought you wouldn’t make it through. He was the man you’d been quietly, desperately in love with for the last two years. The man you had watched from a careful distance, with your heart aching in silence, convinced nothing would ever happen. You’d told yourself a thousand times that your feelings were one-sided, that your late-night fantasies would stay exactly that… fantasies.
“So… you want me to live there?” you asked, clarifying the offer. “Not just go there and water the plants and grab the mail?”
He shrugged casually, but his eyes met yours. “You can do what you want. Crash in the guest room, use the kitchen. I’ll give you the keys later and show you around after shift. Just a few rules: No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies. And if I don’t come back, you’ll have a swinging bachelor pad all for yourself. Deal?”
You froze mid-breath, “If I don’t come back.” Robby had said it so casually, the same way someone might say if it rains tomorrow or if the coffee’s cold. But you heard the weight behind it, like he’d already flirted with the ides more times than you wanted to count. Like part of him had already started rehearsing the absence. Your stomach twisted, you knew that tone, you’d heard it before. You were no stranger to Robby’s shadows, anyone who paid attention could see them if they looked close enough, but you… you studied him. Maybe too closely. The way his smiles never quite reached his eyes anymore, the way he rubbed at the back of his neck when the weight of the department felt like too much to hold.
All the classic signs were there, PTSD, burnout, the creeping depression he tried to outrun, but he hid them so well behind camouflaged jokes and not-so-innocent comments, that most people missed it. You never had, because you couldn’t stop noticing, couldn’t stop caring.
The question slipped out before you could stop it. “But you’re coming back, right?”
Robby paused, looked at the floor, and then he laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll find you after shift to hand over the keys and show you around. Sound good?”
You nodded. He didn’t bother answering your question, just pretended it never happened. But you didn’t push, you cared about him, deeply so, but you still didn’t know him enough to make him talk about something he clearly didn’t want to address. “Sounds good, Dr. Robby.”
He gave you one last look, almost fond, before heading back out into the chaos of the ED. The door swung shut behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Three months in his house. Just you, in his space, with whatever he was leaving behind.
You couldn’t help feeling special, it was almost embarrassing. Robby had thought of you. Not Abbot, the man who was basically his brother, not Dana, who he’d known for years, not any of the senior residents who’d been here longer. Not even Noelle, the case manager nurse you heard from whispers he’d been seeing for at least over a month. He thought of you.
By the time the shift finally ended, Robby found you in the parking lot like he’d promised, shrugging into his jacket. “Ready?” he asked.
You nodded, grabbing your bag. “Yeah. Lead the way, Dr. Robby.”
You trailed Robby through the quiet streets, your hands steady on the wheel as your headlights stayed steady on the taillight of his bike. You kept a careful distance, your heart beating a little faster every time he leaned into a turn. He never looked back, but you knew he was aware of you.
He signaled a turn onto a tree-lined avenue in a nicer part of the city. A few more blocks and he slowed, pulling into a private drive beside a modern building. You parked behind him, the condo complex rose three stories in glass and dark brick. It wasn’t flashy, but it was clearly well-appointed.
He swung a leg over the bike and pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his hair. He glanced over at you as you stepped out of the car.
“Home sweet home,” he said dryly. “For the next three months, anyway. It’s yours.”
You followed him inside. He held the door open for you without a word. The lobby was warm, with polished floors that gleamed under the light, and a long leather bench that sat against one wall. You followed him to the elevator, and the two of you stepped inside. As it rose to the third floor, the small space felt even smaller with him in it. The elevator opened onto a wide, carpeted hallway with only four doors. His was at the end, unit 302.
He unlocked the front door and held it open for you. You stepped inside, straight into a wide living room with high ceilings and hardwood floors. A big sectional couch faced a fireplace, bookshelves lining one wall crammed with books and framed photos you didn’t let yourself stare at too long, but you could catch a glimpse of a younger Robby in them.
“Kitchen’s through here,” he said, flipping on lights as he walked. The kitchen consisted of granite counters and stainless steel appliances that looked barely used. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge before it goes bad.”
Upstairs, he showed you the guest room, simple, with a queen bed, a dresser, and a window overlooking the city skyline. “This is yours if you want to stay here. Sheets are clean. You have a set of towels in the bathroom.”
The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, with a king bed, dark wood furniture, and a small balcony door leading out to a view of the street. You lingered in the doorway while he pointed out the thermostat, the tricky window locks, and the frequency with which you needed to water the plants.
Back downstairs, he dropped a set of keys into your palm. “Garage code is 1971. Wi-Fi password’s on the router. If anything breaks, text me. I might not answer right away… but I’ll leave you the building’s manager number too just in case.”
You closed your fingers around the keys. He was really leaving. This was goodbye. Three months on the road, on that stupid motorcycle, chasing whatever peace he thought he could find away from the Pitt. He headed for the door, grabbing a duffel bag he’d left by the entryway.
You follow him out to the building hallway. “Robby,” you said quietly as he called the elevator.
He paused, turning back to you. Those eyes, tired, carrying the weight of every person he’d lost, met yours. “Please drive safe,” you told him. “And wear the helmet. I mean it. I’ve seen what happens when people don’t.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. He nodded once. “I will.”
You swallowed hard, then added the rest before he could turn away again. “I’ll be here waiting until you return. The house will still be standing, promise.”
He stood there a moment longer, studying you like he was memorizing the scene, then he gave you a small, crooked smile. “Take care of the place,” he said. “And yourself.”
With that, he stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind him. You stood in the hallway long after he disappeared, the big empty apartment waiting behind you. Yours for three months, until he came back again.
The first night without Robby felt strangely monumental. You locked the door behind you, and for a long moment, you stood in the entryway, just breathing in the scent of his personal space. You chose the guest room because it felt like the respectful thing to do. You unpacked a few things and showered in the bathroom before crawling under the sheets. Sleep came eventually, but every unfamiliar creak of the house made you think of him, out there on the road, hopefully with his helmet on like you asked, chasing whatever demons he needed to outrun.
By the second night, curiosity won. You told yourself it was harmless. You were just… getting to know the space better. Making sure everything was in order. That was what a responsible house-sitter did, right? After another long shift, you stood at the threshold of the master bedroom, the door already ajar from when he showed you around. You pushed it open fully and flipped on the bedside lamp instead of the overhead light. The room felt more intimate in the warm glow, and it still smelled just like him. The king bed was neatly made, and you hesitated only a moment before sitting on the edge of the mattress.
Your crush on him had been simmering for months, maybe longer. Maybe from the first time he corrected your technique during a procedure, maybe because of the way he looked at you when you were presenting a case, like he was really listening. He was handsome in that lived-in, capable way. And what you loved the most was how brilliant he was, steady when the whole world was falling apart, like he was the one holding all the pieces together.
You stood up and started exploring. The dresser drawers were mostly organized, with socks, pants, and t-shirts folded neatly. In the top drawer, you found a small envelope of old photos: Robby much younger, laughing with friends, with a little kid and a woman, you supposed Jake and Janey. You put them back exactly as you found them.
The closet held a couple of dress shirts, a suit that looked rarely worn, and a leather jacket. You ran your fingers along the sleeve for just a second. Then you moved to the nightstand, the drawer slid open and revealed a couple of books, a spare pair of reading glasses, a small bottle of melatonin, and, tucked toward the back, a box of condoms. An opened box of condoms.
Your face heated instantly. You stared at them longer than you should, imagining things you immediately tried to push away. Robby, capable in every way, apparently.
The thought sent a guilty thrill through you,he’d trusted you with his place, and here you were, snooping through his personal items.
You sat back down on his bed, then lay back against his pillows. The mattress dipped under your weight in a way that felt welcoming, like you belonged there in his bed. You pulled the comforter over yourself, still fully clothed, and just breathed. It was just you, in Robby’s space, surrounded by pieces of the man you’d quietly wanted for so long.
That night, you slept in his bed for the first time. It became a habit faster than you expected. By the end of the first week, you’d moved most of your clothes into the guest room closet, but you were spending every night in the master. You told yourself it was because the bed was better, the room quieter, and the balcony door let in nice morning light. But the truth was undeniable, being here felt like being closer to him.
You woke slowly in Robby’s bed, stretching, your arms reaching across the wide empty space beside you, brushing cool fabric where another body should be. Where his body could be. Your mind, still hazy with sleep, slipped easily into the daydream that’d been growing stronger every night you’d spent here. It started innocent enough, but it never stayed that way for long. Not when it was about Robby.
You imagined him waking up first, he’d roll toward you, sliding one arm across your waist, pulling you back against his chest before you were fully awake. His beard would tickle the back of your neck as he pressed a lazy kiss there. “Morning,” he’d murmur softly, just for you.
You’d feel the solid heat of him all along your back, his hand splayed wide over your stomach, tracing idle circles. Tangled together like that, just the two of you in this big. You turned onto your side, hugging his pillow tighter, letting the fantasy unfold in vivid detail. In the daydream, you’d stay like that for long minutes, your bodies warm, your legs intertwined. Eventually, he’d kiss your shoulder, then your jaw, then your mouth, slow at first, then deeper, the kind of kiss that said he’d been thinking about you all night too. He’d slip his hand under the hem of whatever shirt you’d stolen from his drawer, and you’d arch into him, whispering his name, Michael, because in this version of your life, you got to call him that.
Then came the moment where you two would shower together. In your mind, steam filled the bathroom as he guided you under the spray. He’d wash your hair first, massaging your scalp with surprising gentleness. You’d return the favor, soaping his broad chest, tracing the lines of his soft muscles. His hands would wander down your back, over your hips, pulling you close so you could feel exactly how much he wanted you. The kiss under the water would turn heated as he lifted you just enough to press you against the cool tile, his mouth on your throat, your collarbone, and then lower.
Breakfast would come after, because Robby was the kind of man who made sure you ate. You imagined the two of you in his fancy kitchen, still damp from the shower, wearing nothing but robes. He’d stand at the stove flipping eggs or pancakes, competent here too. You’d lean against the island, stealing bites from his plate, and he’d pretend to be annoyed before pulling you in for another kiss. He’d ask about your patients from the day before, really listen when you vent about a difficult one or a missed diagnosis, offering advice without ever making you feel small. “You’re good at this,” he’d say, the same way he did in the pitt, but here it would mean something deeper. “I see how hard you work.”
The fantasy deepened as the day progressed in your mind. You pictured coming home together after a long shift. Both of you exhausted, walking through the front door at the same time. He’d drop his backpack in the foyer, pull you into a hug right there against the door, murmuring, “You did good today.” Then the two of you would unwind, maybe a glass of wine on the balcony if the weather was nice, or just collapsing on that big couch with takeout and whatever was on the TV.
He’d rub your feet without being asked, those clever hands working out the knots from hours on the floor. Conversation would flow easily, and he’d open up to you in ways he didn’t with anyone else, because you were the one he chose, the one he trusted. And at night… Your breath caught as the daydream turned explicitly intimate. You imagined him fucking you right here, in this very bed. In the fantasy, the room was dark except for the glow of the bedside lamp. Robby would be above you, shirtless, his body moving, kissing down your neck, your breasts, your stomach, murmuring praise against your skin. “That’s it… just like that.” His hands would grip your hips with strength, guiding you exactly where he wanted you. When he finally pushed inside, it would be deep, locking his eyes on yours so you could see every flicker of pleasure cross his face.
He’d talk you through it, telling you how good you felt, how long he’d wanted this, how perfect you were for him. The rhythm would build slowly, then faster, the headboard knocking softly against the wall as you both chased release. He’d make sure you came first, always, because that was who Robby was, attentive, making sure everyone in his care is taken care of. Afterward, he’d pull you against his chest, both of you sweaty and sated, stroking patterns down your spine with his fingers while he kissed your temple and whispered that he loved you.
You lay there in the quiet house, with your heart racing and your thighs pressed together as the fantasy lingered. It felt so real you could almost hear his laugh, almost feel the scrape of his beard against your inner thigh, almost taste the salt on his skin after a long day. In this imagined life, the pitt still existed, but it was not the only thing. There was balance. There was him waiting at home, there was someone who saw how hard you tried, who respected your mind and wanted your body, and chose you every single day.
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, a secret smile tugging at your lips. You know it was just a daydream. Robby was somewhere on the road, and he had his own complications: Noelle, the weight he carried from work, the reasons why he needed to leave. But God, it felt good to imagine. To pretend the capable, handsome man who taught you everything might one day love you back the way you already loved him.
As the days passed, they blurred together in Robby’s house. Mornings started with coffee in his kitchen, you watered the plants on the windowsill, collected the mail, and kept the place neat, exactly as a house-sitter should. And every few days, you texted him.
You: Plants are thriving. They all have new leaves out.
You: Got your mail sorted. It was mostly junk anyway
You: Shift was brutal today. I hope you’re having a better time than we are, lol
You: I stocked your fridge this morning. Took the liberty of throwing out your expired milk.
No replies, not a single one. The silence gnawed at you more than you wanted to admit. Every unanswered message tightened the knot in your chest. You started keeping your phone volume up at work, checking it obsessively between patients, but the screen stayed dark. By the end of week three, the worry had settled into something heavier, you needed to talk to someone before it ate you alive.
You texted Trinity on a rare mutual off-day: Hey, want to come over for dinner? Robby’s kitchen is actually decent. No ramen for you tonight.
Her reply came fast: Hell yes. Address?
She showed up at seven sharp, carrying a six-pack of beer and a suspicious look on her face.“Damn,” she whistled as she stepped inside, scanning the open living room and kitchen. “Robby’s got taste. This place is way nicer than our shoebox. You’re basically living the dream.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s temporary. Come on, I made pasta, Robby had this really expensive spaghetti.”
You both ate at the kitchen island while Trinity tore into the food like she hadn’t seen a meal that wasn’t cheap ramen in days. Between bites, she teased you mercilessly about the setup. “So,” she said, smirking as she twirled pasta on her fork, “how’s it feel sleeping in Robby’s bed every night? Bet you’ve got a little shrine to him in there. A picture of his face on the nightstand?”
Your face heated instantly. “I’m not… It’s just a better mattress.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned forward. “You’ve had a crush on Robby since like, week two. And now you’re living in his house, sleeping in his sheets… Have you gone through his drawers yet? Found anything interesting?”
You thought about the condoms in the nightstand and quickly shoved the image away. “Shut up.”
“Oh, I’m just starting.” Her grin turned wicked. “Be honest. Are you writing little fanfictions in your head every night? Chapter one: Dr. Robinavitch comes home early and finds you in his bed, wearing nothing but his scrubs. Chapter two: He teaches you a very hands-on lesson in anatomy.”
You laughed despite the heat flooding your face. “Shut up. It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh. So no wet dreams in the sacred chief bed? No imagining him coming back all rugged from the road, pulling you close and—”
“Trinity!” You threw a dish towel at her, which she caught one-handed with a cackle. “We are not doing this.” The teasing faded as you pushed your plate away and finally voiced what’d been weighing on you. “I’ve been texting him updates about the house,” you admitted quietly. “Little stuff. How the plants are doing, mail, and how work is. He hasn’t replied once. Not in three weeks. I’m starting to get worried. What if something happened?”
She waved a hand dismissively, cracking open another beer. “He’s on his magical self-discovery motorcycle trip, right? Riding across the country, finding inner peace, growing a long beard, all that crap. Guy probably hasn’t charged his phone in days. Or he’s in some dead zone in head-smashed-in-buffalo-whatever.”
You fidgeted with the label on your bottle. “Yeah, but… what if he crashed? Or worse? I keep thinking about how tired he looked before he left. He… he didn’t look like himself.”
Trinity leveled you with a steady gaze. “If something happened to him, we would’ve found out by now. Someone from the pitt would know. Abbot, or the hospital admin, someone would’ve called. Relax. He’s coming back. It’s only three months, remember?”
You nodded, but the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. Trinity watched you for a beat, then kicked your foot lightly under the island. “Hey. He trusts you enough to give you his keys. That’s not nothing. Just keep the place nice, water the damn plants, and stop spiraling. When he gets back, you can hand over the keys and go back to staring at him longingly like normal.”
You managed a small laugh. “Thanks for the reality check.”
“Anytime.” She clinked her bottle against yours. “Remember, he asked you because you’re reliable as hell and not a total disaster. Not because he wants daily check-ins. Give the man space. He’ll come back when he’s ready, probably with a new tattoo and some profound life lesson about not letting the pitt eat your soul.”
The conversation drifted back to work, to hospital gossip, to Garcia cancelling her last “date”. For a few hours, the big empty place felt less lonely. But later, after she left and you locked the door behind her, you climbed the stairs and slipped into Robby’s bed again. You pulled out your phone one last time.
You: Santos came over for dinner. No crazy parties, just pasta and a few beers. Miss having you around to keep us all in line.
You: Text me back when you see this. Just wanna know you’re safe.
Another week passed. It’d been a month now since you started living in Robby’s place. Every night you slid into his king bed, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts you “borrowed” from the closet and a pair of simple panties. The shirt was huge on you, soft from many washes, and you told yourself you wore them because it was just practical. Tonight was no different, you showered, pulled on his shirt, and crawled under the duvet.
Sleep came fast, deep, and dreamless for once. Until it didn’t. A soft sound pulled you out, floorboards creaking in the hallway, the click of the bedroom door opening wider. You snapped your eyes open in the darkness, your heart slamming into your ribs before your brain could catch up. A tall shadow moved near the doorway, someone was in the room.
You screamed instinctively and bolted upright in bed, clutching the duvet to your chest. The shadow froze, and a familiar voice cut through the dark.
“Shit—hey, it’s me. It’s Robby.” The scream died in your throat. He flicked the bedside lamp on a second later, bathing the room in a warm light. And there he was, standing just inside the doorway, his duffel bag dropped at his feet, his motorcycle jacket still zipped halfway, his dark hair tousled like he’d been riding for hours. His beard was a little longer and scruffier than when he left.
Your heart was still hammering inside your chest. “Robby?”
He raised both hands slowly with his palms out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you’d be staying in the guest room. I was just going to drop my bag and crash.”
You stared at him, your brain scrambling to catch up with all this new information. He was here. He was here early. The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, and it’d barely been one. “What are you doing here? It’s only been a month.”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, looking a little uncertain. “I know. I just… decided to come back early. The road was good for a while, but it turned out I missed the noise more than I thought I would.” He flicked his eyes around the room, taking in the book still on the nightstand where he left it, the slight disarray of clothes you’d left draped over the chair, the way the bed was clearly occupied. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”
You were suddenly painfully aware of how you looked. Sitting up in his bed, your hair messy from sleep, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt and a pair of black panties underneath. The hem of the shirt had ridden up your thighs. Heat flooded your face as you tug the duvet higher, clutching it like a shield. “I’m so sorry… I just… I liked this mattress better. The guest room one is fine, but this one is softer, and I sleep better after bad shifts and—I swear I was obviously gonna wash the sheets before you came back. I’m really sorry, I know I should’ve stuck to the guest room, I crossed a line—”
“Relax,” Robby said gently. He took a small step closer, then stopped, like he was giving you space. “It’s fine. It’s not such a big deal. You’ve been taking care of the place. The plants look good. It’s still standing. I appreciate it.” He glanced toward the hallway. “I’ll go stay in the guest room tonight. Give you some privacy to… go back to sleep.”
He started to turn, reaching for his duffel. “Wait,” you blurted out, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. The relief crashed over you so hard it stole your breath, because he was here, and he was safe. No wrecked motorcycle on some remote highway, no disappearing into the darkness he was carrying when he left. Just Robby, standing in his own bedroom, looking tired but whole. “I’m so glad you’re back. And you’re safe. I was really worried… You didn’t answer any of my texts. Not once. I thought maybe something happened, or the sabbatical was… I don’t know. I missed having you at the pitt. Everything felt a little off without you there.”
You pushed the duvet aside and climbed out of bed before your brain could talk you out of it. The shirt fell to mid-thigh, but it was obvious what you were wearing underneath. You crossed the room in three quick steps and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. It was awkward. God, it was so awkward. You’d never had any kind of physical interaction with Robby before, not beyond the occasional shoulder brush during a resuscitation or the professional pat on the back after a good save. He was your chief, your mentor, and also the man you’d been secretly fantasizing about while sleeping in his bed.
Your arms went around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest through the leather jacket, and you held on tighter than you probably should. His body was solid and warm under your hands, broader than you even imagined in all those daydreams. Robby stiffened for half a second with surprise. You felt his hands hovering uncertainly at your sides, not quite returning the hug but not pushing you away either. His breath caught just slightly when he registered exactly what you were wearing: his shirt, and the bare skin of your thighs brushing against his jeans.
He tried very hard not to react, you could tell his jaw was tight, his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder. But you didn’t let go. The relief of seeing him alive was too big, too overwhelming. He was back, safe and sound, with you. You buried your face a little deeper against his chest. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
You stayed wrapped around him in that awkward, desperate hug. This was it. The only real opportunity you’d ever had to be this close to Robby. Before you could talk yourself out of it, before the rational part of your brain could intervene, you tilted your head up, rose onto your toes, and kissed him.
Your lips met his softly at first, tentative but determined. Robby didn’t react immediately. His body stayed tense under your hands, his shoulders rigid and his arms still hovering uncertainly. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t exactly kiss you back either. His mouth remained still against yours, unresponsive, like he was processing the sudden shift to this unexpected intimacy.
You didn’t stop, this might be your only chance, so you pressed closer, sliding one hand up to the back of his neck, threading your fingers gently into his brown, slightly overgrown hair. Your lips moved against his with soft and slow kisses that begged him to respond.
You kissed the corner of his mouth, then full on again, pouring every unspoken “I’ve wanted this” into the contact. You could feel the internal war in the way his breath hitched, but he finally settled his hands lightly on your waist, resting there as if he was deciding what the hell to do with his resident currently kissing him in his own bedroom while wearing his clothes.
The silence between kisses felt deafening, broken only by the soft sound of your mouths meeting and your own quickened breathing. But you kept going, kissing him deeper, tilting your head, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips in a plea. Another kiss, slower this time, molding your body against his taller frame. The hug had dissolved into something else entirely, your chest was pressed to his, one of your legs shifting slightly between his as you tried to get even closer. The fantasy versions of this moment flooded your mind: his big and strong hands on you, his voice murmuring praises, the weight of him in this very bed. You wanted it so badly it ached.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Robby reacted. A rough sound escaped his throat, and his mouth finally moved against yours. He started kissing you back. Tentatively at first, then with growing certainty. He parted his lips, meeting your rhythm, the scrape of his beard intensifying as he angled his head to deepen the kiss. It wasn’t gentle anymore, it felt like pure hunger.
Robby tightened his hands on your waist, then slid them lower, one of them cupping your ass over the fabric of your panties, digging his fingers in with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. He massaged the soft flesh slowly, kneading it in circles that pulled you harder against him. The other hand joined soon after, both palms gripping and squeezing, lifting you slightly onto your toes as he explored the curve with appreciation.
His touch was confident, brushing the edge of your underwear, spreading your buttcheeks to claim more of you. Each squeeze sent heat straight between your legs, your body was responding instantly to the contrast between his rough hands and your soft skin. Robby kissed you harder now, sliding his tongue against yours in a stroke that made your knees weak. The kiss turned messy, heated, as he tilted your head back, taking control of your entire body.
Flushed against his body, you felt the growing hardness pressing through his jeans, and it made you moan softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by another deep kiss. You tugged his hair with your fingers, hard enough to draw another groan from him.
With surprising strength, he walked you backward a few steps toward the bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you tumbled down onto the rumpled sheets. Robby followed immediately, climbing over you with grace, his taller frame caging you in without crushing you. The weight of him above you was everything you’d fantasized about and more, it felt solid and warm, but most importantly, it was finally real.
He didn’t say a word, but his mouth found yours again in a deep, consuming kiss as he settled his hips between your parted thighs. The denim of his jeans pressed against your bare skin, and you arched up into him instinctively, sliding your hands under his jacket to grip the back of his shirt, but Robby was already moving, breaking the kiss only long enough to grip the hem of the t-shirt you’re wearing, and tugged it upward. You lifted your arms willingly as the fabric slid up your body and over your head.
The cool air hit your bare breasts, and he found your nipples already tight from how aroused his kisses had gotten you. Robby tossed the shirt aside without looking, dropping his now dark eyes to your chest with hunger. Still silent, he lowered his head, closing his mouth over one breast, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak before he sucked it deeply. The sensation made your back bow off the bed, a moan escaping you as he worked your nipple with pulls.
His free hand came up to the other side, cupping and massaging your flesh with his large palm, brushing his thumb back and forth over the hardened nipple, rolling it gently before pinching just enough to make you gasp. The contrast was overwhelming, on one side the wet heat of his mouth sucking and licking one breast, while on the other side, his rough hand working the peak in firm strokes.
Your hands flew to his hair, threading through the strands, holding him to you as waves of pleasure rolled through your body. This was Robby, your Robby, not the one from your perfect fantasies, but the real one, the one you’d been in love with for two long years, the one who’d taught you everything you knew, now devouring your tits with hunger.
He switched sides without pause, latching his mouth onto the neglected breast while he continued massaging the first, slick with his saliva. The suction was perfect, deep pulls that made your toes curl, then flicking his tongue rapidly over the bud before he sucking it again, harder. You were panting, soft cries falling from your lips as the ecstasy kept building. This was really happening. The man you’d fantasized about while sleeping in his bed, was finally touching you.
Robby’s free hand began a slow, inevitable descent. It trailed down your side, over the curve of your hip, hooking his fingers briefly under the waistband of your black panties before sliding lower. He cupped your pussy with his palm, over the fabric first, applying enough pressure that made you jerk your hips up into his touch. He rubbed you there in broad circles, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit while his fingers stroked along your covered folds. The fabric quickly grew more and more damp under his touch, and the friction became maddening, teasing, but never quite enough.
It was better than every daydream, every stolen fantasy while you wore his shirts and pretended to be his woman while lying in his sheets. Tears of pure overwhelming pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes as you moaned his name softly “Robby…” but he still didn’t speak.
He finally slipped his hand inside your panties. Two fingers gliding through your slick folds, parting them with care. He gathered the wetness there, spreading it upward to circle your swollen clit in strokes that got your thighs trembling. The pleasure was sharp, and it made you chase the contact right away, bucking your hips against his hand. Robby responded by pressing harder, rubbing tight circles around your clit before sliding lower again.
One finger teased your entrance, circling it once, then twice, then slowly pushing inside you, stretching you open with a smooth thrust. You cried out in response, arching your entire body as his finger filled your hole. He curled it expertly, stroking that spot inside while his thumb continued working your clit in a steady rhythm. He added a second finger after a moment, stretching you further. Suddenly, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of your soaked pussy were filling the quiet bedroom.
His fingers were thrusting faster now, he was curling and scissoring them gently enough not to hurt you, but deep so you could feel every inch of them. You fisted your hands in his hair, rolling your hips desperately against his hand as moans spilled freely from your lips. You were so wet it was embarrassing, shaking, gasping, whimpering, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of finally having the man you loved touching you so intimately, so expertly. Tears slipped down your temples from the sheer intensity of it all.
“Oh my God, Robby…” you gasped before your voice broke as the pleasure coiled tighter in your core. “It feels so good… your fingers… fuck, they’re so deep. I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted you for so long…”
He didn’t answer with words, but his response was immediate. He curled his fingers deeper against that spongy spot inside you, stroking it with precision while he pressed the heel of his hand harder on your clit. His mouth switched to your other breast, sucking deeply, his teeth grazing just enough to send sparks shooting down your spine.
“I want you so much,” you moaned, tightening your fingers in his brown hair. “You’re so good… so fucking good at this. Please don’t stop… I’ve dreamed about you touching me like this… God, Robby, I’m so close—”
The pressure built until the point of unbearably, until it finally snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity. A broken cry tore from your throat as waves of ecstasy ripped through your body. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around his fingers, pulsing and fluttering as he kept stroking you through it, drawing out every last shudder out of your climaxing body. Your thighs were shaking violently around his hips, your toes curling, your vision whiting out for a few blissful seconds. It was this intense, and overwhelming bliss taking over you because it was Robby making you cum, it was finally him.
He didn’t stop until the last aftershocks faded, only then did he gradually slow his fingers, gentling their movements as your breathing evened out. Robby eased his hand from your panties, leaving you slick, pulsing, and utterly spent in the best way.
You watched him sitting back on his heels for a moment, looking down at you, flushed, bare-chested, panties askew, legs still trembling. Without a word, he reached for the zipper of his jacket and shrugged it off, tossing it toward the chair in the corner of his room. His shirt followed quickly, revealing the broad chest and arms you’ve only ever glimpsed under scrubs. His chest was dusted with a perfect scattering of silvery-gray hair that looked impossibly soft against his skin. Not too much, not too little, just enough to scream man in the most intoxicating way. Your fingers itched to touch it, to feel the texture of it beneath your palms, to press your face against the heat of him and breathe him in.
Your gaze drifted lower, and heat flooded your entire body. A soft, rounded belly curved gently over the waistband of his pants. God, the sight of it made your mouth go dry with want. You’d imagined this so many times, running your hands over that giving flesh, digging your fingers in just to feel how real he was, pulling him closer until that belly pressed flush against you, skin to skin. A dark, tempting happy trail started just below his navel and disappeared beneath his waistband, leading exactly where your mind had already gone.
Then his hands moved to his belt. He pushed his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, kicking them off the edge of the bed. His cock sprang free, looking thick and heavy, and already fully hard. It was huge, both in length and girth, the head flushed dark and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. The shaft was veined and perfectly proportioned, curving slightly upward in a way that made your mouth water and your freshly-orgasmed pussy clench with need. It was gorgeous. Intimidating and beautiful at the same time, exactly like the rest of him.
Your breath got caught at the sight, the heat flooded your face and core all over again as you stared, unable to look away. This was Robby’s cock, big, hard, and ready for you after all those lonely nights imagining it. He leaned toward the nightstand, the same one where you’d once nervously discovered the box of condoms, and opened the drawer. He pulled out a foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth in a quick motion. You almost wanted to beg him to skip it, to fuck you raw, to feel every inch of him skin-to-skin, filling you completely without any barrier.
The words hovered on your tongue, “Please, Robby, I want you bare… I want to feel all of you,” but they stayed trapped behind your lips as he rolled the condom down his impressive length with steady hands, sheathing himself completely. Once the condom was securely in place, Robby settled back between your thighs, one hand bracing beside your head while the other gripped the base of his cock. The thick head nudged against your slick entrance, teasing your folds with shallow strokes that made you twitch with anticipation.
He finally broke his silence, his voice gravelly from arousal. Robby locked his brown eyes onto yours. “Are you sure?”
You nodded quickly. “Yes… I’m sure. Please, Robby.”
That was all he needed. Robby pushed forward slowly, only the head of his cock parting your slick folds and sinking into you inch by inch. The stretch was intense, his girth filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent gasp. He was huge, and even with the latex barrier you felt every ridge and vein as he pressed deeper, until his hips were flush against your ass and he was buried to the hilt inside your pussy.
A rough groan escaped his throat, the first real sound he’d made since he started kissing you back. He dropped his eyes immediately to your breasts, watching them rise and fall with your quick breaths, the flesh still glistening from his mouth. He stayed there for a long moment, buried deep, letting you adjust to his size while his gaze stayed fixed on the way your tits moved every time you inhaled.
Then he started to move, his thrusts began slow and deep, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with force. The wet sound of your pussy taking his thick cock filled the room as each stroke dragged against that perfect spot inside you, making moans spill from your lips.
His grip tightened on your hips, his thrusts growing just a fraction harder. “It feels so good,” you whimpered, breathy and broken. “You’re so deep… so big… God, Robby, I’ve wanted you inside me for so long… You don’t know how many times I imagined this.”
He answered with another groan and a particularly deep thrust that made your toes curl. His pace stayed steady, with strong strokes that rocked the bed beneath you, making the headboard tap against the wall in time with his movements.
You craved his eyes on yours. In this raw, breathless moment, more than anything, you wanted Robby to see you. Not just your body, but the way he was unraveling you, the overwhelming pleasure flooding your veins, the terrifying depth of what this meant to you. You wanted to lock gazes with him while he moved inside you, to share this perfect, fragile second and know he felt even a fraction of what you did. But he wouldn’t give it to you. His eyes stayed glued to your chest, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced and jiggled with every deep thrust.
His jaw was tight, lips slightly parted, breath coming in grunts each time your bodies slammed together. Every so often, he dropped his gaze lower, fixated on the filthy sight of his thick cock sliding in and out of you, your slick, swollen lips stretching obscenely around his shaft, glistening with your arousal. The visual seemed to rip a primal sound from his throat almost involuntary.
The lack of eye contact stung even as it turned you on. It felt like he was hiding. Protecting himself. Keeping this physical, safe, compartmentalized, the same way he kept everything else. Without thinking, your hands flew up to his face. You cupped his bearded cheeks, your palms warm against his flushed skin, and you gently but firmly tilted his head up. For one devastating heartbeat, his eyes met yours. The connection hit like a spark, you saw the storm in him. Your own eyes were glassy, brimming with tears of overwhelming pleasure and emotion. In that single second, everything felt exposed.
Then his lashes fluttered, Robby squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face down again, breaking the connection. His hips never faltered, if anything, they drove into you harder, deeper, as if he could fuck away whatever had just passed between you. He dropped his forehead to rest against your shoulder, while locking his gaze once more onto the hypnotic bounce of your breasts and the joining of your bodies.
Robby suddenly pulled out, making you whine at the sudden emptiness you felt without his cock filling your insides, but before you could complain any more, he was already moving you. He used his strong hands to flip you onto your stomach, then gripped your hips and pulled your ass up so you were on your knees now, with your chest still pressed to the mattress. This new position left you completely exposed, with your ass raised, your back arched, and your used pussy dripping and ready for him.
He didn’t hesitate, just lined himself up and thrusted back in with one powerful stroke, burying himself even deeper than before. Like this, Robby could hit spots inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. A moan ripped from your throat as he bottomed out, pressing his hips flush against your ass, his cock was so deep it felt like he was reaching the deepest parts of you.
“Fuuuck—” he groaned. From behind, the fucking became even deeper. “Goddamn it,” the words were barely leaving his mouth as he drove into you harder.
Robby was gripping your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, until his pelvis met your ass in a punishing rhythm. Each stroke felt long and powerful, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making the tip of his cock drag perfectly against your g-spot over and over.
You were crying out with every thrust. “Robby—oh God, it’s so deep… you’re so deep like this… don’t stop—”
He groaned again, louder this time, and quickened his pace, snapping forward with more urgency. Robby pressd one hand between your shoulder blades to keep your chest down while he kept the other clamped on your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. He stayed mostly quiet, other than for his broken groans, and occasional curses
“Shit.” He let out when your pussy clenched around him particularly tightly. “Fuck.” The words escaped his lips, almost as if he didn’t mean to let them out.
His breathing grew ragged, the slap of his hips against your ass growing louder and faster. Robby kept staring down, at the way your tits were squished against the mattress and jiggling with every thrust, at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy, your ass rippling every time he bottomed out.
“I’m yours… I’ve always been yours,” you whispered breathlessly as he pounded into you. “Cum for me, please… I need to feel it. Cum inside me.”
“Fuck me…” He cursed under his breath as he lost his rhythm for a moment. This angle allowed the head of his cock to grind against that spot inside you until you were shaking.
The way you shook, the way your pussy fluttered and pulsed around him, it made his rhythm falter more and more, his thrusts were becoming shorter, harder, more desperate. Robby tightened his grip on your hips almost painfully as he drove into you again and again. With a final, deep groan, he finally came.
His hips stuttered and he pressed them flush against your ass, spilling inside the condom. His release was warm, and you could feel the pulses even through the latex. His cock throbbed deep inside you, shuddering as he rode out his orgasm with several shallow and grinding thrusts. Low sounds escaped his throat, groans and curses, while he kept you pinned in place, holding you tight as he emptied himself.
He stayed buried inside you for several long seconds afterward, breathing hard against your back. When he pulled out, the loss of him made you whimper softly, you felt empty once again. You heard the snap of latex as he pulled the used condom off, tying it quickly and tossing it into the trash bin beside the nightstand.
The mattress shifted as he climbed off the bed. His bare feet pad across the floor toward the master bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, but you still didn’t move. You stayed lying there on your stomach, with your cheek against his pillow. From the bathroom, you heard the steady stream as he peed. The faucet running. The rustle of paper towels or a cloth. The toilet flushing. He was cleaning himself up, wiping away the evidence of what you two had done, washing his hands, probably splashing water on his face.
You closed your eyes and let the reality settle over you. This had really happened. Robby came back, he kissed you back, and you two slept together.
The bathroom door opening again snapped you back into reality. Robby walked back into the bedroom completely naked, he didn’t look at you directly, his expression was unreadable… tired, maybe a little distant. He didn’t say anything, simply lifted the edge of the duvet on his side of the bed, and climbed in.
As he settled onto his back, Robbby rested one arm across his stomach, the other by his side. He stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, there was no reaching for you, no pulling you against his chest, no soft kiss to your shoulder or murmured “come here.” The space between your bodies stayed empty, with several inches of sheet separating you.
You stayed on your stomach, turned slightly toward him, watching him from the corner of your eye. Part of you wanted to scoot closer, to curl into his side, to feel his arm wrapped around you the way it did in all your daydreams. But you didn’t.
Robby’s voice finally broke the quiet, barely above a murmur. “You need anything? Water?”
You swallowed, feeling your throat dry from all the moaning and gasping earlier. “No… I’m okay. Thanks.”
He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. That was it. No further conversation, no questions about what this meant, no acknowledgment of the fact that you were sleeping in his bed, or that you just had intense sex in the middle of the night.
Robby exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting shut. Within minutes, his breathing evened out completely, and he fell asleep fast, just like that. One moment, he was awake beside you, the next his face had softened into sleep.
You lay there watching him for a long time. The king bed felt enormous with the two of you in it, but not touching, no cuddling, no spooning. Just the two of you sharing the same space after something that felt life-altering to you and… something else entirely to him. The fantasy had been so vivid: waking up tangled together, his arms around you, soft morning kisses. Reality was quieter, messier, more distant.
You woke the next morning, and for a disoriented second, the events of last night felt like one of your daydreams. The pleasant ache between your thighs and the faint soreness in your hips confirmed it was real. Very real. But the bed beside you was empty. The sheets on Robby’s side were rumpled but cool, no warm body, no arm draped anywhere near you.
Your clothes from last night were scattered. You found the black panties twisted near the foot of the bed and pulled them on, then located the t-shirt you’d been wearing and slipped it over your head. After running your fingers through your messy hair and splashing water on your face in the bathroom, you headed downstairs. Robby was standing at the island, back to you, dressed in jeans and a plain dark t-shirt, his hair still damp from a shower, and his beard looking a little neater than it did when he arrived last night.
He turned when he heard your footsteps. There was no awkward smile, no heated glance over your body in his shirt. Just a small nod of acknowledgment. “Morning,” he said. “House looks good. You took real good care of the place. Thanks for that. Appreciate it.”
The words were simple, professional, the same tone he used when you two were at the pitt. You stepped into the kitchen, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “You’re welcome. It was… nice, getting a little break from Trin… don’t tell her I said that.”
He nodded again, taking a sip of his coffee, leaning back against the counter. You gathered your courage. “Why did you come back so soon? Wasn’t your sabbatical supposed to be three months?”
Robby drifted his gaze to the window, overlooking the backyard for a long moment. He set the mug down, tapping his fingers once against the granite. “Just… wanted to end it.”
You blinked, processing his words. “You mean… the trip to end?”
He stayed quiet for a while, longer than felt natural. You watched the way his jaw clenched, like he was chewing on the words before deciding how much to give you. Finally, he said, simply, “Yeah.” The vagueness sat between you two.
The sabbatical was supposed to help with that heaviness you knew he was carrying, but he never named it outright. Coming back after only a month didn’t feel like success. You leaned against the opposite side of the island, trying to keep your voice light, but you sounded concerned anyway. “Are you gonna start working again? Back at the pitt?”
“Probably,” he answered, still not elaborating.
You nodded, pushing a little more. “Did you… find what you were looking for out there? On the road?”
Robby flicked his eyes to yours briefly, then away. He shrugged one shoulder, the movement tight. “Found some quiet. Some miles. That’s about it.”
The answers were so vague they felt like deflections. You could see the exhaustion lingering in the wrinkles around his eyes, the way his shoulders carried so much tension even in his own kitchen. The worry you’d been holding since his unanswered texts bubbled up.
You softened your voice. “Are you okay, Robby?”
He looked at you then, really looked, with those warm brown eyes that could undo you in just a second. A small, tired half-smile touches his mouth, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m here, right?”
You shook your head gently, not letting him off that easy. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”
For a second, something flickered across his face, maybe acknowledgment, maybe irritation at being pushed, but it smoothed out quickly. He picked up his mug again, taking a slow sip before setting it in the sink. “You should get going. You’re gonna be late for shift.”
The dismissal was polite, but clear. He didn’t want to have no deeper conversation, no processing last night. The distance he was putting between you two this morning, and his careful vagueness made everything feel unsteady. “Yeah… okay.” You paused, then added quietly, “I’ll pick up my stuff when I get back from shift.”
“Thank you again for taking such good care of the place. I appreciate it more than you know.” Robby paused, like he was remembering something. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small object, a simple metal keychain with a little buffalo charm attached. “Wait,” he said, holding it out to you. “Got you something.”
You took the keychain, turning it over in your palm. It was surprisingly thoughtful, it meant Robby thought of you enough to pick this up somewhere along the road and bring it back. He brought you a gift. You felt special once again, the way you did the night he first asked you to stay here. “Thank you,” you said softly, closing your fingers around it. “I really like it.”
He gave you a small shrug, almost dismissive, but there was a faint softening around his eyes. “Least I could do.”
You clutched the keychain a little tighter, gathering the courage to say more. “I’m really glad you’re back, Robby. The pitt needed you. It felt… different without you there. We all missed having you around.”
Robby leaned against the island. “I’m sure the place still stood. It’s bigger than just me. You all did fine.”
“Maybe,” you replied, stepping a little closer. “But we still missed you. The place feels steadier when you’re there. I missed you. I was worried when you didn’t answer any of my texts.. I thought maybe something happened on the road. I kept checking my phone like an idiot.”
Robby exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah… sorry about that. Wasn’t really in the headspace for replying. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”
You nodded, accepting the half-apology even though it didn’t fully ease the knot in your chest. “Well… I should leave for work,” you said finally, gesturing toward the door. “Give you the house back. Let you settle in.”
You slipped the keychain onto your own keys, the little buffalo charm dangling beside your apartment key. It felt special, proof that he thought of you while he was gone, but the lack of any reference to the intimacy you shared last night left an empty ache in its place. “Take care of yourself, Robby. If you need anything… I’m around.”
He gave you another small nod. The house felt both familiar after a month living there, but suddenly foreign again. You turned and headed back upstairs to change into your clothes for the day. Last night had felt like a crack in the wall he kept so carefully maintained, but this morning, that wall was back in place.
A week had passed since you’d slept with Robby, and your mind still wouldn’t let you rest. Every quiet moment replayed it like a fever dream you couldn’t shake. The weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. The rough hunger in his hands as they roamed over your skin, like a man who’d been starving for a month on the road and finally found relief. You could still feel the scrape of his beard, the heat of his breath, the way his fingers had dug into your hips hard enough to leave faint bruises you’d traced alone in the shower the next morning. But the memory that hurt the most was the way he’d refused to look at you. Even buried deep inside you, moving with that rhythm that had you crying out his name, Robby never once met your gaze. And when you’d forced him to, just for that fleeting second… he’d shut down. Closed his eyes, and turned you away.
Then came the cold shoulder afterward. The way he’d rolled off you, cleaned up in silence, and acted the very next morning like nothing had happened. Polite but distant. As if the night had been nothing more than a physical release. Now seven days had gone by with no sign of him at work. No one seemed to know he was even back in town, only you and Trinity. The absence gnawed at you constantly, an anxious hum beneath your ribs that made it hard to breathe.
You’d picked up your phone at least a dozen times, your thumb hovering over his contact. What could you even say? “Hey Robby, how are you? You coming back to work anytime soon? Do you still remember the way you fucked me until I cried… because I can’t stop replaying every second of it?”
Every draft felt wrong. Pushy, pathetic, and desperate. If he wanted to talk about that night, about anything, he would have reached out already. You knew him too well. The same man who deflected every question about his month away, who shrugged and changed the subject the moment you tried to ask how he was really doing… that man didn’t want to be reached. He was avoiding you the same way he avoided everything else that mattered.
You arrived early for your shift today, swiping your badge and pushing through the glass doors. You’d barely slept, Robby had invaded your thoughts all night long. You told yourself to focus, you were a second-year, you had patients to see, people whose lives depended on you. You could do this. But the moment you stepped into the ED, you felt the change.. Robby was already there.
He was back in his element like he’d never left, standing at the nurse station, reviewing a chart on one of the computers, giving instructions about an incoming transfer. You kept your distance at first, throwing yourself into your assigned cases, but every time you glanced over your shoulder, Robby was there. It should’ve felt good to finally have him back, to know he was okay. Instead, the memories of your night together twisted something painful in your chest.
Around mid-morning, during a brief lull between patients, you were charting when you heard their voices. Robby and Noelle. They were standing just outside the glass doors of the trauma room, partially hidden from the main floor but close enough that you could hear their conversation if you paid attention.
Noelle was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, a playful smile on her face as she talked to him. “I knew you weren’t gonna last the full three months,” she said teasingly. “Motorcycle, open road, ‘finding yourself’, please. You made it what, five weeks? I should’ve put money on it.”
Robby let out a low chuckle, leaning one shoulder against the wall opposite her, his arms crossed in a mirror of her posture. “What can I say? Figured the pitt would fall apart without me.”
Noelle lauged softly, reaching out to lightly play with the collar of his scrubs. The gesture was casual, intimate in its smallness. She looked comfortable around him, familiarized, like two people who shared history. So different from the way you acted around him. “You should’ve told me you were back. I would’ve brought over dinner or something. Saved you from whatever sad frozen meals you’ve been eating.”
The flirting was effortless, and Robby didn’t pull away from the touch. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Dinner sounds better than the leftovers I found in the freezer. But I’m still catching up after a month away. I haven’t finished unpacking, needed a while to get settled.”
Your heart squeezed painfully. You remembered the way his hands felt on your bare skin, the way he touched you while kissing you, the deep thrusts that had you moaning into his pillow. And now he was standing here joking and flirting with Noelle like none of it happened.
Her smile widened. “Well, if you’re free tonight… my place? I’ve got that bottle of red you like. We can catch up properly.”
Robby paused for half a second, then shook his head with a small and regretful smile. “Can’t tonight. Still need to get settled at home. But Saturday… Saturday I’m free.”
Noelle’s eyes lighted up, clearly pleased. “Saturday it is. My place. I’ll text you the time.”
“Sounds good,” Robby replied, lingering his gaze on her a moment longer than necessary. They shared one more quiet laugh before Noelle pushed off the wall and headed back upstairs.
He waas going back to her. The sex between you meant nothing to him. Not enough to mention, not enough to change anything. He’d fucked you, and then he went right back to his comfortable situationship with Noelle like it was the most natural thing in the world. No awkward conversation, no “we should talk”, no acknowledgment that he’d had his cock buried inside you less than a week ago. He gave you a silly little keychain as thanks for house-sitting, and now he was making Saturday plans with the woman everyone knows he’d been seeing.
The sadness hit you like a wave, suffocating. Your eyes burned, making you blink hard to force the tears back before anyone could see. This is what you got for letting the fantasy run wild while you slept in his bed. For believing, even for a moment, that the way he kissed you back, the way he touched you, the way he fucked you meant something more than a momentary lapse after a long, lonely ride home.
Hours later, you stepped through the door of the cramped apartment you shared with Trinity. You’d kept your head down, done your job, and somehow made it through without breaking in front of anyone. But the moment you pulled into the parking lot outside your building, the tears you’d been swallowing all day started leaking out again. You kicked off your shoes in the tiny entryway and dropped your backpack with a thud.
Trinity was sprawled on the couch in the living room, where she had been since you left, enjoying her day off from work with shitty reality shows in the TV she claimed to hate. She glanced up when she heard you, narrowing her eyes immediately. “Whoa. What the hell happened to you?” she asked, sitting up a little. “You look like you’ve been crying. You killed someone today or what?”
You hesitated in the doorway. Trinity was the closest you had to a friend, and right now, you needed someone to vent. “If I tell you,” you said quietly, “you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul. Promise me.”
Trinity raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting from concern to skepticism. “Look, if you’re gonna be all dramatic and make me swear on my future fellowship or whatever, then maybe just don’t tell me. I don’t do secrets that come with conditions. Either spill or don’t. I’m not a priest.”
You stood there for a long moment, part of you wanted to retreat to your room and cry into your pillow alone. The other part, the part that’d been carrying this alone since last week, needed to say it out loud to someone. You walked over and sank onto the opposite end of the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest.
“I slept with Robby.”
Trinity stared at you. Then she let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, right. Funny. Try again.”
“I’m serious,” you insisted, meeting her eyes. “I slept with Robby. For real.”
She studied your face, her smirk slowly fading as she registered how wrecked you look. “Wait… you’re actually serious? Like, with Robby? Our Robby?”
You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. The words started spilling out slowly, the pace of the night replaying in your mind as you spoke. “The night he came back… I was already asleep in his bed. He walked in late, scared the shit out of me. I screamed, he apologized, we talked for a minute. Then I hugged him because I was so relieved he was safe. And… I don’t know what came over me. I kissed him. He didn’t kiss me back at first. He just stood there, but then he started kissing me and… we… we did it.”
You left out the explicit details, you didn’t need to paint the full picture. Her eyes were wide now, finally catching up on what you were telling her. “Holy shit. You actually slept with Robby.”
You nodded again, feeling the tears threatening to spill again. “Yeah. And the next morning he acted like nothing happened. He thanked me for taking care of the house, gave me this stupid little keychain he picked up on his trip as a thank-you gift, and that was it. No mention of the sex. Not a word. Then today at work… I saw him talking to Noelle.” Your voice cracked on the last part. “They were flirting… laughing, made plans together for this weekend. He’s going back to her,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes. “Like what happened between us meant absolutely nothing. He pretended it never happened, and now he’s making plans with Noelle like everything’s normal.”
Trinity was quiet for a long beat, then she leaned back against the couch, letting out a slow breath. Her tone was blunt, the way it always was when she was being brutally honest, no matter how much it might hurt you. “Okay. Real talk? He obviously regrets sleeping with you.”
The words landed on you like a slap. You flinched visibly, but she continued, not softening the truth behind her words. “Think about it. He comes back from a month on the road, probably horny as hell after being alone with his motorcycle in the middle of Canada. You’re there, in his house, in his literal bed. You basically offered him your pussy on a silver plate. Men are weak. They can’t say no to that, especially not when they’ve been away for weeks. It was a moment of weakness. He took it. And then in the morning he realized it was a mistake. That’s why he didn’t mention it. That’s why he’s acting like it never happened. He’s going back to Noelle because she’s the safe, familiar option.”
You stared at her, fresh tears spilling over. The sarcastic edge slipped out before you could stop it. “Wow. You’re a great friend, Trinity. Really uplifting.”
She shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m honest. You know it’s true. I’m not gonna sit here and feed you some romantic bullshit just because you’re crying. You wanted the truth.”
You pulled your knees tighter to your chest, your voice breaking. “I thought it had been amazing. I felt… great. I thought he did too. The way he kissed me back, the way he touched me… it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt real.”
Trinity gave you a long, almost pitying look. “He has a penis, of course it felt good for him. Men are simple creatures, you put a warm hole in front of them and they’ll take it every single time. That doesn’t mean it meant anything deep. It was just an easy fuck. He’s an older guy, been around the block dozens of times. He’s probably had plenty of good fucks in his life. This one happened to be convenient because you were literally living in his house. Doesn’t make it special.”
The tears came faster now, and you found yourself incapable of holding them back anymore. They rolled down your cheeks as the weight of her words sank in, mixing with your own exhaustion and the ache in your chest that’d been growing since that night.
“I really love him,” you whispered. “I’ve loved him for so long. Not just the sex. Him. The way he teaches, the way he looks out for everyone, how steady he is even when everything’s falling apart…”
Trinity groaned softly, running a hand over her face. “Are you seriously crying over Robby? Come on. He’s our boss. He’s emotionally unavailable, and clearly still tangled up with Noelle. You slept with him once, and now you’re devastated because he didn’t suddenly fall in love with you? That’s not how this works.”
She didn’t move to hug you, she just sat there, watching you cry. You buried your face in your knees, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Trinity sighed after a long minute, softening her voice just a fraction. “Look… you’re gonna be okay. It sucks right now. But crying over Robby isn’t going to change the fact that he went right back to Noelle. You need to decide if you’re going to keep pining after him or if you’re going to pull it together and focus on not tanking your residency because your feelings got hurt.”
You shook your head slowly. “I can’t just let it go now. We slept together, Trinity. It wasn’t some random thing. It was… it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. The way he touched me, the way he looked at me… I felt like he saw me. Really saw me. Robby’s it for me. I’ve been in love with him for over a year, and now that it actually happened, I can’t pretend it didn’t.”
Trinity stared at you for a long beat, her expression unchanging. She let the silence stretch, and when she finally spoke, it was as if she was explaining a difficult diagnosis to a patient who didn’t want to hear it. “Robby’s just a guy,” she said. “That’s the part you’re forgetting. He’s not some tortured romantic lead in whatever fanfic you’ve been writing in your head. Your brain is doing that thing where it confuses really intense emotions with really good sex. You built this whole fantasy while you were living in his house, sleeping in his bed, sniffing his cologne or whatever. Reality was just a quick fuck. Your hormones are lying to you right now.”
You felt the sting of her words like a slow burn spreading across your chest. “It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t convenient. It felt… real. I thought he felt it too.”
Trinity gave you a small, almost pitying shrug. “That’s the crush talking. You’re romanticizing it because you’ve wanted him for so long. But it was just a convenient nut for him. You really thought sleeping with him once after you basically ambushed him with a kiss was gonna change anything?”
You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. “So… he wants nothing to do with me?”
She snorted. “Obviously not. If he did, he would’ve said something that morning instead of handing you a touristy keychain. Let’s be real, he’s probably relieved you didn’t make it weird at work. And it’s kind of a miracle he’s lasted this long with Noelle anyway. The man has the emotional availability of a brick wall. You’re better off pretending it never happened and moving on before you make it awkward for both of you.”
You stared at the floor, tears slipping down your cheeks again, slower now but steady. After a long minute, you lifted your head again. “What does Noelle have that I don’t?”
Trinity let out a dry laugh. “Where should I start?” She shifted on the couch, turning more toward you, clearly settling in for the full list, like she was ticking off boxes one by one. “First off, she’s insanely pretty, put-together in a way we’re not. Noelle shows up at work in actual suits and high heels. She does her makeup, and she has that stupid ponytail with every single little hair in place. We roll in all sweaty and looking like we just ran a marathon and haven’t had a good night of sleep in ages.”
You swallowed hard, wiping at your face again, but you didn’t interrupt. Trinity kept going, her tone matter-of-fact. “She has a good job. She’s closer in age to him, too. He wouldn’t want to deal with the drama of dating someone way younger who’s also his resident. Noelle gives him what he wants without any of the emotional baggage, that’s why he keeps coming back to her. She doesn’t look at him with puppy-dog eyes; meanwhile, you text him worried little updates about his house plants.” Trinity paused before she delivered the final blow. “You? You’re a complication. A big one. You’re emotionally involved. Like, deeply. Noelle is safe. You’re not. He’s not going to choose the complication. He’s going back to easy.”
The words hang in the air between you, each one landing heavier than the last. Your eyes burned again, but this time the tears fell silently, tracking down your cheeks without the full sobs from earlier. Part of you wanted to argue… to insist that the sex was more than that, that the way Robby gripped you and kissed you back meant something, but the exhaustion and the heartbreak made it hard to find the words. So you stayed quiet.
She reached over and patted your knee, a half-comfort gesture, the closest of comfort you could get. “That’s the truth,” she said simply. “Whether you want to hear it or not.”
You felt suddenly exposed and foolish. Robby was back at the pitt. He was making plans with Noelle. And you… You were just the stupid resident who thought one night could change everything.
The next day at the pitt feels like walking through a minefield. Your eyes were still a little puffy from last night’s conversation with Trinity, but you’d done your best with concealer and cold water. You kept repeating her words in your head like a mantra: focus on residency, stop the stupid crush, he’s just a guy. It didn’t help much. Every time you blinked, you still saw flashes of his body over yours.
Robby glanced up as you approached, offering you a small, professional nod. Nothing more. He stood there completely unaffected, while you were quietly falling apart, knowing the sex meant nothing to him.
After working on a patient together, you and Robby were left alone for a moment while the trauma room cleared. You couldn’t stop the words from slipping out, trying to sound normal even though your chest ached with every heartbeat. “How have you been settling back in? It’s… really good to have you back here. The pitt feels different when you’re around.”
“It’s been okay. Still catching up on meetings. It feels weird… being back after a month away.” He offered you a polite smile before turning away, ready to leave the room.
Your heart hammered against your ribs so hard you were sure he could feel it. This was it, now or never. Robby was standing right there in front of you, close enough to touch, if you didn’t speak now, you knew you never would. The words would rot inside you, unspoken, until they poisoned everything.
“I was meaning to ask you… Do you have a minute to talk? In private?”
He stopped, turning to face you. His expression was calm, for a split second, you thought you saw something flicker there, recognition, maybe wariness, but it was gone before you could be sure. “Is it about work?” he asked. You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not really.”
Robby exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m really busy right now. If it’s not work-related, it’s going to have to wait. We’ve got three pending admits and a full board. Only work stuff today, okay?”
The dismissal was polite but firm, it landed like a door closing in your face. You felt the sting spread through your chest, he wouldn’t even give you five minutes. Not after everything. You nodded once, forcing your expression to stay neutral even as your throat tightened. “Yeah. Okay.”
You made it through the first half of the shift on autopilot, but that was before the worst part hit. A six-year-old boy, MVC passenger, ejected from the back seat. He came in unresponsive, CPR already in progress from EMS. You threw everything at him, intubated him yourself, pushed epi, called every medication, every intervention. For forty-three minutes, you fought alongside the team. But he didn’t make it.
When Robby finally called time of death, the room went quiet except for the flatline tone that seemed to go on forever. You stood there frozen for a second before you ripped your gloves off and walked outside of the trauma room. You made your way behind the ambulance bay, leaning against the cold brick wall. Your breathing came in short, ugly gasps. Tears streaming down your face, no matter how hard you tried to wipe them away. You just needed a minute. One minute to fall apart before you had to go back inside and pretend you were fine.
You were crying for the boy you couldn’t save, for the innocent life that had slipped through your fingers, no matter how fast you moved, how hard you pressed, how desperately you begged him to stay. But you were also crying for yourself, because everything in your life felt like it was crumbling at the seams. You couldn’t fix the boy. You couldn’t fix the growing distance with Robby. You couldn’t fix the ache in your chest that had only gotten worse since the night he’d touched you like you mattered and then pretended you didn’t. No matter what you did, no matter how much you cared, some things simply refused to be saved. And right now, it felt like you were one of them.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind you. Once again, you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Leave me alone,” you choked out before he could speak.
Robby stopped a few feet away. “It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could. I watched the whole code. You ran it clean.”
“I said leave me alone.” The words came out sharper this time. You kept your back to him, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you could hold all the pieces together. “Don’t talk to me. Just go.”
He didn’t leave. “You did good in there,” he said quietly. “Kid had injuries we couldn’t fix. Massive head bleed, internal bleeding… you kept him alive longer than most residents could have. That matters.”
The kindness in his voice, that low tone he used when he was teaching or comforting a family, only made it worse. You spun around suddenly, tears running down your face. “I don’t want you here!” you shouted, your voice breaking on the last words. “Just leave me alone! Don’t talk to me, don’t comfort me, don’t do anything! Go back inside!”
Robby furrowed his brows. He took one careful step closer, searching for your face. “What’s wrong with you? What happened? This isn’t just about the kid.”
You laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that turned into a sob halfway through. “You happened!” The words exploded out of you, it was a mix of two years of longing and the last few days of humiliation pouring out all at once. “You came back early. You walked into your own bedroom and I kissed you and you let me and then we had sex and it was the best night of my fucking life and I thought, I actually thought, it meant something to you. Because why else would you ask me to house-sit instead of Abbot or Noelle or anyone else? I took care of your house, I slept in your bed, I watered your stupid plants, and then you fucked me and the next morning you acted like nothing happened. You gave me a keychain and ignored me after it!”
You were crying harder now, your chest heaving as the words tumbled over each other. “I saw you with Noelle the other day. You two looked fine. Like nothing had changed. You don’t care. You never cared. I was just convenient. I was there, in your bed, throwing myself at you, and you took what was easy. And now I can’t even look at you without remembering how good it felt and how little it meant to you.” Your voice cracked completely on the last sentence. You were shaking, tears dripping off your chin.
Robby stood there, completely still. He opened his mouth once, then closed it. For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant wail of another ambulance approaching. Finally, he rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar gesture you’d seen a thousand times. “Look… I gotta go back in there. They need me on the floor. We’ve got another incoming.”
He took one step back, then another, his eyes still on you like he was not sure whether to stay or leave. You didn’t say anything else, just turned your face away, pressing your forehead against the cold brick as your shoulders shook with silent sobs. Robby lingered for another few seconds, then he turned and walked back toward the sliding doors, leaving you alone with the sound of your own broken heart, somehow still beating.
Three hours later, the shift finally ended. You clocked out mechanically, and headed toward the locker room to change. You were almost at the doors when a familiar voice stopped you.
“Hey. Wait a second.” Robby said. After everything you screamed at him outside earlier, you expected him to avoid you. Instead, here he was, blocking your path to the parking lot. “Look,” he started saying, like he was delivering bad news to a family. “I’m sorry if I was confusing. Or if you misinterpreted anything that happened that night.”
You stared at him. The apology sounded practiced, he was being gentle, but it still landed like a punch. He continued, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was uncomfortable. “I was tired. Really tired. That’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I should’ve said no when you kissed me. I didn’t. That happened, and I’m sorry if it gave you the wrong idea. Or if asking you to house-sit made you think there was more to it. You’re an extraordinary physician. You’re smart, you’re capable, you care deeply. But that’s all there is. I’m not looking for anything right now. I couldn’t even mentally handle anything resembling a relationship.”
The words hang between you, sounding final. You felt your eyes sting again. The grief from the lost patient mixed with the humiliation you were feeling until it was hard to breathe. “Except for Noelle,” you said quietly, the bitterness slipping out before you could stop it. “You seem to handle that just fine.”
Robby let out a surprised laugh. He shook his head. “Noelle and I are not together. At all. We never were. It’s… casual. Very casual. She understands exactly what it is and she’s okay with that.”
“But you still see each other on the daily. You slept with me and didn’t even address it the next morning. You gave me a keychain and talked about the plants like nothing happened. Why is it one way with her and another with me? Why does she get the easy understanding and I get… this? I get nothing.”
He exhaled slowly, looking older than his years. “Look… Noelle knows how this works. She’s not looking for more, and neither am I. What we have is simple. I’m sorry I let things get too far with you. That was my bad. I should’ve stopped it before it started. You’re a resident. I’m your attending. It was a mistake on my part to let it go that far. I take responsibility for that.”
His tone was steady, almost kind, but every word felt like another layer of distance between the two of you. You stood there, watching the man who had you pinned to his mattress, who made you come so hard you cried, now apologizing for “letting things get too far” like it was a procedural error.
Tears pricked at your eyes again, but you blinked them back fiercely. “So that’s it?” Your voice was small. “I was just a mistake because I was convenient?”
Robby’s expression softened just a fraction, but he didn’t reach for you, he kept his hands in his coat pockets. “I’m not saying you’re a mistake. You’re not. But I’m in no place to give anyone what they deserve right now. My head’s not right. Hasn’t been for a while. The sabbatical didn’t fix it the way I hoped. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of that. You’re a great girl. You are. You’re smart, you’re responsible, you work hard… you’re going to find someone. But that person isn’t me.”
“Yeah,” you said, above a whisper, the hurt turning into something bitter. “I was just convenient. I was there, in your house, threw myself at you, and you took it. That’s all it was.”
Robby looked away for a long moment, then back at you. “It wasn’t… look, I’m barely keeping my head above water right now. The pitt, the department, everything that sent me on that sabbatical in the first place… I’m drowning. I came back early because the quiet out there was worse than the noise here. I can’t deal with this shit on top of everything else. I can’t.” The silence that followed was long and painful. He glanced toward his bike, then back at you. “I gotta head out. Try to get some rest. And… if you need to talk about the kid from today, my door’s open. As your attending.”
The professional offer felt like throwing salt in the wound, but you nodded once, unable to trust your voice. Robby gave you one last look, tired, a little regretful, but final, and then turned and walked away.
Trinity appeared at your side almost immediately, as if she’d been just a few feet away, quietly waiting for the conversation between Robby and you to end. She was unusually quiet for once. “You okay?” she asked, surprisingly soft.
You shook your head, your eyes burning as you watched Robby disappear on his bike around the corner. “No,” you whispered. “Not even a little.”
A/N: Your support genuinely means so much to me. Nothing makes me happier than reading your comments and thoughts about my fics, and if you don’t feel like writing anything, just know that a reblog takes one second and helps writers so much🩷
I’ve had this idea sitting in my brain for such a long time. I thought about it a lot and had so many scenes already fully pictured in my head, and I finally managed to put it into words.
I know the ending might feel a little underwhelming. I’m not really used to writing endings that aren’t happy😭 I honestly don’t know if I’ll write a second part or not, but just know that even when I don’t write sequels, my stories always get a happy ending in my head… because if you’re not happy, then it’s not really the end. I hope you enjoyed the angst, it’s been a while since I last wrote something like this.
I know all of you love unprotected sex and creampies, and trust me, I do too. I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic where the characters use a condom (sue me lol). But in this case, it felt necessary. I wanted the sex between them to feel colder, more distant, more emotionally detached. Using a literal barrier that prevented full skin-to-skin contact just felt perfect for what I was trying to convey. I wanted people to feel some of the same frustration reader was feeling, wanting to feel Robby fully, wanting that closeness, but not being able to have it.
But also. Omg🥺 read this!!! Seriously do yourself a favor bc the angst is perfect, there’s SO much emotion and made me feel so many things. Ugh. So good!!
Headed North HURTS bc all i can think of is my late sister when I hear “it’s gone to shit without you, it was shit before but at least i had you” and “if i see one more cyber truck i swear im gonna floor it, i need somebody to talk me out of things i can’t undo” bc my big sister was my voice of reason and yeah it really has gone to shit without her
The Pitt has yet to give us a Jack Abbot backstory, so I did it myself.
I don’t know if this is any good, I just know I enjoyed writing it, and the fact that I was actually able to finish a fic again is huge. Go easy on me.
word count: 10,159
warnings: some language, mention of military injury, not beta read and very poorly edited
The envelope felt like a mistake in Jack’s hands: too real, too deliberate, like the world had forgotten nobody sends mail like this anymore. He hadn’t received an actual letter in years, maybe not since his time in the service, back when waiting for a reply meant something. It was a dying art, quietly replaced by text messages and constant connection. Just mentioning it shows his age.
But it wasn’t the envelope itself that unsettled him. It was his name, inked in careful, familiar script.
~
August 2002
Jack’s nearly buzzing with excitement as the truck rumbles down the old dirt road. He can’t sit still - legs bouncing, hands fidgeting. His buddy Luke had picked him up early at the airport, just as the sun broke over the horizon. He’s only got twenty four hours at home after finishing basic training, and he wants to make the most of them.
“Figured you’d come back much buffer,” Luke teases.
Jack just shakes his head. “Bigger than you,” he says gruffly. He’s laser focused staring out of the windshield, anticipation thrumming in his veins.
“Sure, Jack,” he laughs. “Thought the Army would have you living in reality.”
Jack shoots him a dirty look, eyes narrowed, but there’s no real heat behind it. It’s typical banter between lifelong friends, ones you survived the awkward teen years with and somehow made it out the other side.
“How’s it been around here?” he murmurs. It’s a strategic question, asked carefully: how has she been? He’s already heard the highlights: who had a summer fling, who’s already left for school. He has every single letter he got stored in the pocket of his backpack - read them over and over each night until they were committed to memory. But Luke was a good friend, the only one he really trusted to look after her while he was gone, and he knows he’ll tell him the truth.
“Quiet, mostly,” he drawls. “She was working a lot to save money. She missed you.”
He knew all this, but it makes his chest tighten all the same. Ten weeks was a long time to be apart, but this was just the beginning. The road ahead of them is long, lonely. He lets out a deep sigh, rakes his fingers through his short curls. “Yeah, I missed her too.”
Luke flashes him a soft smile. “Well, you’ve got today, brother.” He pulls the truck off the main road, into an empty driveway, but leaves the engine running. “It was good seeing you, even for just a little while.”
Jack nods. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Antyime. Say hi for me.” Luke waves as Jack hops out of the truck, slings his bag over his shoulder and starts up the stone pathway. His boots crunch on the loose gravel, his stride quick and assured. He’s at the front door in just a few steps, and knocks three short times. The moments he waits are agonizing, nerves swirling around inside him. But then the door swings open, and there’s his girl: hair a mess, barefoot and beautiful.
Jack hardly has time to drop his bag before she launches herself at him, her arms winding around his neck in a hug. “You’re here!” She cries, her head buried against his neck. He tugs her against him, holding her just as tightly, savoring the moment.
“Hey, babe,” he breathes. He doesn’t pull away first, just lets her cling to him as long as she needs. He memorizes the way her body fits against his, the smell of her floral perfume, her eyelashes fluttering against the base of his neck.
“Hi,” she beams, finally stepping back half an inch to look up at him. “You’re here.” He knows she’s trying to prove to herself this is real.
He nods. “I am.”
That smile widens even more, and she scrambles back to him for another hug. “Okay. Come inside! Or, do you want to sit outside? It’s kind of warm, I don’t-”
“I’m comfortable anywhere you are,” he promises.
She takes his hand, laces her fingers through his and tugs him across the threshold. He pauses just to slide his boots off by the door, then they’re moving again: through the living room and to the couch. She drops down first, tucking her legs up under her as she ushers Jack to settle into the corner. He leans back, and she’s against him within seconds, letting out a contented sigh. “God, I’m so happy to see you,” she murmurs. “Feels like it’s been forever.”
Jack squeezes her shoulder, lips brushing against her temple. His gut twists. “I’ve only got twenty four hours,” he says softly. “More like nineteen now, but-“ She tilts her head, catching his gaze. He can see the sadness in her eyes, dulling that usual sparkle that always makes his chest feel lighter. “But I had to see you.”
Her answering smile is forced, and he can’t resist reaching up, smoothing his thumb over the creases on her forehead. It’s incredible to him how much he feels at once: the unadulterated joy of getting to see her, hold her, and the devastation that will come when he has to leave again. Thankfully, she’s helped his heart grow big enough to contain both.
Jack feels his cheeks warm under her gaze. She takes her time looking at him, taking in every last part of his face. It’s like she’s seeing him for the first time, and in a way, she is. Her fingers trail up his jaw softly, over his cheek before brushing through his hair. “It’s so short,” she says, nails gently scratching over his scalp.
“Yeah…”
“I like it. You look very handsome.” Quietly, she slides closer to him on the couch, drops her free hand to his chest. She traces a nail over the ABBOT embroidered on his name tape. “Very… mature."
Jack huffs out a laugh. “Mature?”
“Mhmm,” she grins, and god, it’s like sunshine. On instinct, he lifts her chin with a single finger, raises his eyebrows. “What?” She giggles.
“Nothing. Missed you.” His voice drops an octave. She’s quiet for a moment, that finger drifting to the opening of his jacket. His breath catches as she tugs the neckline of his shirt down slightly. “Baby-“
“My parents aren’t home,” she whispers. His stomach flips. He recognizes the suggestion in her tone, his breath falters when her cheeks flush. It’s new territory for both of them, something they’ve talked about but felt mythical. But now, she leans in to kiss him, slides her tongue along the seam of his lips and his hands clench into fists at his sides.
“We don’t have to-“ he gasps as he breaks away, but she’s persistent, his girl. She drags her lips up his throat, climbs into his lap.
“ I want to,” she insists. “I have for a while, but now… I don’t know if you’ll-“
“Hey,” he cuts in. He cups both of her cheeks, cradles her face gently. “I will always come home to you.”
She bites her lip. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
___
After, they’re laying in her small, twin sized bed. She’s draped over him, tracing the freckles on his shoulders. “Where do you go next?”
“San Antonio,” he sighs. He lays his head back against her pillow, hand pressed against her bare lower back. “I start my combat medic training.”
“How long is this one?”
“Sixteen weeks.”
He knows she’s doing the math in her head. After a beat, she pushes herself up on her elbows, hovering over him. “So, you could come home for Christmas?” The hope in her expression breaks his heart. He doesn't want to take that from her, but he also has to be honest, try to mitigate her disappointment.
“Maybe.” He tucks her hair behind her ear, skims the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “But I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. I’ll write to you as soon as I know.”
She dips her chin, sighing. “Okay.” It’s resigned, not defeated, which Jack takes for the win that it is. He isn’t under the impression that this is easy for her.
He winds his arms around her, tugs her down into his chest until she’s nearly flat on top of him. “Are you getting excited about school?” He asks. “You move in soon, right?”
“Two weeks.” Her voice is muffled against his collarbone. “I’m terrified.” Her vulnerability is disarming- so unlike her, yet so humanizing. It’s a side of her he’s only ever seen when they’re together. Maybe it’s a level of comfort, maybe she just trusts him, but whatever it is, Jack is determined to pick her back up when she needs it.
“Of what?” He asks softly.
She tries to shrug. “I’m just- nervous I guess. Everything is so different. What if I don’t make any friends?”
“You?” Jack widens his eyes. “Impossible.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I. You’re great.” He shakes his head. “Yeah it’s scary, but it’ll get easier once you get used to it. Everyone will love you.”
She chuckles. “When’d you get so wise?”
“Must be the Army talking,” he jokes.
“No,” she murmurs. “That’s all you, Jack.”
***
Anticipation keeps his feet planted there at the mailbox. Briefly he wonders if he should go inside for this, sit down and make himself comfortable. But his body moves on autopilot. He traces his thumb over the neat cursive: Dr. Jack Abbot written in that familiar scrawl. He hasn’t seen it in years, not since it carried so much more than updates and information.
~
December 2002
The chill in the air has Jack’s shoulders hunched, his hands buried inside his pockets. Part of him marvels at how quickly his body has grown accustomed to heat: nineteen years of harsh winters all negated by four short months spent in the San Antonio humidity. He’s not built for this anymore. Still, he pushes up the sidewalk dusted in snow, the string lights illuminating his path. When he reaches the front door, he removes his hand from his pocket just long enough to knock three times. Then, he’s shoving it back into his pocket, cursing under his breath.
Blessed warmth seeps out onto the porch when the door creeks open. “Oh god it’s freezing out there,” she says as she peers around the door.
“You’re telling me,” Jack grins.
At the sound of his voice, she’s reaching for his shoulders and yanking him inside. His body collides with hers in a bear hug, one that keeps his arms locked at his sides as she squeezes him.
“Baby,” he chuckles, “let me-“
She lets out a satisfied little noise, making warmth bloom in his chest. “Hi welcome home I missed you so much oh god I’m so glad you’re here-“ she rushes, no time to stop and take a breath. Eventually, she loosens her grip enough for him to free his hands. They instantly fall to her hips, holding her close and steady.
“I missed you too,” he whispers.
Seconds later she’s pushing up onto her tip toes, kissing him deeply right there in the foyer. The Christmas tree glows warm in the corner, and Jack briefly registers sound carrying in from the kitchen before he melts into her. A dopey smile crawls across his face when she pulls away, smoothing her hands over the lapels of his jacket.
“Honey, who was- oh, Jack.” He glances over her shoulder, spots her mom standing in the doorway. Her expression is soft. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”
He grins. “Thanks. It’s great to see you, ma’am.”
“Are you joining us for dinner?”
“Yes he is,” she answers for him, kissing his cheek and lacing their fingers. Helplessly, he shrugs, and they follow behind her chuckling mother into the kitchen.
Immediately, they’re met with delectable aromas: roasted meat, potatoes, grilled vegetables. His stomach starts growling and he throws his free hand over it, as if to muffle it.
“They feeding you out there, Jack?” Her dad asks as he stands from the table. Jack shakes his hand when it’s extended, ears turning pink.
“Nothing this good, sir.”
He takes a seat beside her at the table, waits for everyone else to settle in before he lets his shoulders relax. Conversation flows easily between them all: stories about her first semester in college, the friends she’s made, the classes she enjoyed and ones she’s thrilled are over. He’s read about it all in her letters, traced his finger over her neat penmanship imagining the very smile he sees on her face now. It’s better in person, of course, but it makes it all feel real, so it feels like he’s hearing it for the first time. He can see the subtle change in her, the easy confidence of someone with a bit of experience under their belt.
“So, you’re a combat medic now?” Her dad asks, shifting the conversation as he turns in his seat to face Jack.
“Yes, sir,” he nods.
Jack watches as he cocks his head to the side, humming. “I’ve been following the news. They think that we’re getting closer to shipping troops out.” He’s not asking, but Jack nods anyway. He himself was only home for ten days, then it was on to Fort Campbell to train with his unit. It wasn’t a matter of if anymore, but when. “Any idea of when you’re going?”
“I head to unit training after my leave. It could be any time after that.”
“And you’re out there on the front lines?”
Jack feels her tense beside him. He lets his hand drop below the table, rests it on her knee with a gentle squeeze. “I’ll mostly be treating injuries,” he says softly. He hesitates, “staying behind the lines.” It’s not entirely true, but he isn’t about to make this even harder on her.
“You’ve been in Texas, right Jack?” Her mom asks. It’s an obvious deflection, but he’s grateful for it.
“Yes, ma’am. Fort Sam.” He takes a slow sip from his water glass. “A lot of trauma training. Field work.”
“Trauma,” her dad echos. “So they’ll call you when things go sideways.”
Jack tries to force a smile. “Me, and some others, yeah.”
“And you think it's going to?” The question is sharp, cuts straight through the bullshit he tries to pass off.
“I think,” Jack says carefully, “that’s a sad reality of war. And I’ll do my best to help as many people as I can.”
He’s quiet for a beat, leans back in his chair., keeping his eyes on Jack. “Do you support all this?”
“Dad-“
“It’s okay,” Jack says quickly. He squeezes her knee again, reassuring. “I believe in doing my part to help. Taking care of the guy next to me.”
“‘S not really what I asked,” he points out.
Jack shrugs. “I know. But that’s the best I can do right now.”
He nods, seems to concede the point. Beside him, Jack hears her relieved sigh. Her mom picks up the conversation, asks her dad about some new project at work, and it lets Jack off the hook. He smiles shyly when she looks at him, an apology in her eyes. He just shakes his head. War’s a contentious topic, especially this war. He’s not here to step on any toes, just spend time with his girl before he has to go again.
___
Christmas comes and goes, and Jack does his best to enjoy the holiday. It’s cheerful and cozy, the most taxing part of his day being helping to shovel a few driveways after a small snowstorm. It’s pretty, adds to the atmosphere, but he certainly didn’t miss it while he was away.
New Year’s Eve creeps up on him quickly, and with it, the end of his leave. He’s set to head out to Fort Campbell on the second, so he commits to making the most of his dwindling time. That roughly translates to getting coffee with his girl, and taking her to a party thrown by one of their old classmates that evening. It’s nice to catch up with those they haven’t seen in a while, though he mostly sticks by her and Luke.
When 11:30 rolls around, Jack slides an arm around her waist, and presses his lips to the shell of her ear. “You wanna get out of here?”
She tilts her head, puzzled. “It’s almost midnight. Don’t you want to watch the ball drop?”
He gives her a shy little smile. “I’ve got a better idea.”
He doesn’t pressure her, doesn’t insist they go if she really has her heart set on staying. But as it is, things have quieted down: they've retired to a more secluded corner of the living room and Jack’s pretty sure no one will miss them if they duck out.
After a moment, she nods. “Okay. Lead the way.”
Ten minutes later finds them pulling off the main road into an empty parking lot. Jack’s strategic about how he parks the truck, faces the bed of it toward the rivers. As he kills the engine, she looks over at him in curiosity. “Your better idea was an abandoned commuter lot?”
He chuckles. “Just trust me, yeah?” He hops out of the truck, rounds the front to get her door and help her step down. Then, he guides her to the back, and drops the tailgate down. “C’mon, up you go.” He rests his hands on her waist, helps lift her until she can climb the rest of the way. “Check that storage box,” he says as he hops in after her. She pushes the lid back, revealing pillows and blankets he’d stashed in there, specifically for a night like this one.
“Jack Abbot,” she grins, pulling everything out and arranging it in the truck bed. “Did you have us leave a party early so you could take me stargazing?”
His cheeks flame, and he reaches a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I know you like quiet, and I figured…” he shrugs, “well, it’s just a nice way to spend time together.”
Dread floods through him when he sees her shake her head, thinking he’d missed the mark on this entirely. But then she lets the blankets drop beside her, and launches herself into his arms. A quiet ‘oof’ leaves his lips. “It’s okay?” He whispers.
“Better than,” she assures. He feels her grip tighten a fraction, then she drops her arms. Wordlessly, she gets back to setting up the blankets and pillows, smiling warmly at him when she finally crawls beneath them. “You just gonna sit there and stare?”
“Was thinking about it,” he teases. He slides in beside her, maneuvering so he can get an arm around her shoulders and rest his chin on the top of her head. She pulls the blanket up over them, tucks it in close to fight the cold.
It’s a beautiful, clear night. They’re far enough from downtown to limit the light pollution, which gives them a decent view of the stars overhead. Mostly, Jack’s just appreciating getting to hold her like this, provide some body-heat to fight off the cold. He extricates his arm, points overhead. “That’s Orion there,” he murmurs. “The three in a row, see? It’s his belt.” She hums, melting further into his embrace. “That’s the extent of my astronomy knowledge,” he admits. “That one’s easy to spot.”
“You know more than I do,” she chuckles. “Mom used to try to show me, but I can never make out the shapes.”
A comfortable silence settles over them, just the soft sounds of distant wildlife, and the wind whistling off old snowbanks. “I hate that you’re already going again,” she whispers.
“I know.” He swallows around the lump in his throat, closing his eyes.
“Are you scared?”
He doesn’t lie to her, can’t. “Yeah, a little.”
“I am too.”
Instinctively, he hugs her closer, settles when she nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck. He presses his cheek against her hair, breathes her sweet smelling shampoo: roses. So soft, so distinctly her. “It’s not really the going that scares me,” he admits.
“No?” She tilts her head just enough to catch his gaze, enough that her eyes glimmer in the starlight.
“I’m scared of coming back completely different.” It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, let alone allowed himself to really feel it, but the truth of it almost bowls him over. All the chatter about what war does to a person, how it can harden them and make them cynical. How guys come back are always looking over their shoulder, waiting for the next disaster. He doesn't want that, doesn’t want to turn into someone she can’t recognize.
“You won’t,” she says quickly. Part of him wonders if she’s trying to convince him, or herself. “You promised you’d always come back to me, and you will. Whatever that looks like.”
Rather than argue the point, he nudges her chin up gently, brushes his lips against hers. It buys him a bit of time to steady his voice. “I don’t want you to worry.”
She lets out a humorless chuckle. “Jack, that ship has sailed.”
He nods. “I know it has but- don’t put your life on pause for me.”
“Hey,” she says firmly. “Nothing’s on pause.” She takes in a slow, deep breath. “We do what we need to do apart before we come together again.”
His lips part like he wants to challenge her, but he sees in her eyes she really means it. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she echos. A sharp gust of wind cuts through them. She shivers, and Jack pulls her even closer.
A hollow thump reaches them suddenly, softened by distance - like someone knocking on a heavy door a few rooms away. Grinning, Jack lifts his chin to the open space ahead of them, the glittering lights of the city and the bridges. A few more pops sound on a slight delay, then, the sky fills with light. Shimmering fireworks spread out through the expanse of darkness, and her pleased gasp tells Jack this was all worth it: this moment he’d been trying to curate.
“Jack,” she grins. She drops her head down onto his chest, and for a brief moment, comfort settles over them.
“Happy New Year,” he murmurs.
***
He slides his finger beneath the flap on the back of the envelope, tears it cleanly across from the corner. He expects to find a folded letter when he digs inside, but there’s a glossy card instead.
He knows without flipping it over what he holds in his hands. It was only ever a matter of time, but logic and reason mean so little when emotions are involved. Strong ones; ones he’s too afraid to give a name to because it’ll consume him.
He has half a mind to tear it, throw it in the trash on his way back inside, pretend it never arrived, that it’s not real. But he can’t.
~
May 2004
The door opens on the third knock, something he could set his watch to. She’s there in the doorway, same as she’s always been, but somehow different. Jack just stares for a moment, frozen. He’s dreamt of this moment: on long nights and even longer days- let it carry him through what he wasn’t sure he could survive.
But he has, and now he’s standing on her porch again, safe, home. A place that felt too far away to return to.
“Hey,” she says softly. She blinks, like she isn’t convinced this is real. Then, she steps forward and wraps her arms around him.
Jack hugs her back automatically, though his body stays rigid, alert. Her floral shampoo fills his nostrils when she dips her head, cheek against his chest. He doesn’t curl around her like he used to.
She pulls back just enough to look up at him, her eyebrows knitting together. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Just tired.” It’s true enough, but not the entirety of it. He doesn’t know how to explain the weight on his shoulders, the unease that’s taken up permanent residency in his gut. “Let’s sit,” he insists, forcing a small smile.
He follows her inside after closing the door, settling down onto the couch beside her. He can feel her eyes the whole way, never leaving him, observing, considering. “I missed you,” she says after a moment.
“Missed you too,” he responds, automatic. He softens it by taking her hand, brushes his thumb over the inside of her wrist. He clears his throat, tries to calm his suddenly racing heart. “How’s school? Just two more years now, right?”
“Just finished sophomore year,” she grins. “Longest year ever, but it also flew by.”
Jack catches the way she immediately bites her lip, like she’s wishing she hadn’t said that. He hates the uncertainty in her expression, this distance between them he can’t bridge. “It’s going fast,” he agrees, free hand moving to rub the back of his neck.
“I declared my major. And my advisor thinks I should do an honors thesis.” Her smile is tentative, and doesn't reach her eyes.
Jack squeezes her hand, tries to provide the comfort she’s obviously looking for. “That’s really great.”
“It’ll be mostly trauma focused,” she says carefully. “PTSD. I did some volunteering at the VA last semester.”
Something in his chest tightens. Too close. He looks away, eyes trailing over the window on the opposite wall.
“Jack-“
“No, that’s good,” he nods, like he’s convincing himself. “That’s important work.”
“It is,” she agrees. “I want to help people -“
“People like me.” He finishes for her. It surprises even him, and he blinks in surprise, but he doesn’t backtrack. His thumb stills on her wrist. It’s hard not to feel like this is pointed; he knows that her heart’s in the right place and she’s certainly built to help others, but this speciality? It has to be this one?
“That’s not why-“
“It’s fine,” he insists. And he will be. He’s just- not himself right now. But the fog in his head will clear and he’ll react the way she wants him to, support her the way she deserves.
“Jack, please-“
“I get it.”
“You don’t,” she shakes her head. “I was always going to do psych. I always wanted to help people. Don’t make this something it isn’t.”
He purses his lips. “I just got back. Can we not-“ he clenches his jaw, “do this right now?”
“I’m not trying to fight with you. I’m just… I’m trying to meet you where you are.”
“I’m here,” he snaps. He feels her tense under his grip. “I’m here,” he says again, softer this time. He catches her gaze, his brow furrowing.
She studies him for a moment. “I don’t know if you are.” Jack goes still. For a moment, you could hear a pin drop.
He drags his hand down his face, palm lingering over his mouth. “I want to be. I-I’m trying to be.”
“Hey,” she coos. She waits until he looks up at her, her eyes full of understanding he isn’t sure he deserves. “You just got back. You’ll find your footing.” She hesitates for just a second before she grips his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Leaning in, her lips brush his shoulder, and Jack feels his chest loosen, just a little. “We’ll figure it out.”
Jack nods, but his eyes drift back to the window.
***
The cardstock is thick between his fingers, intentional. The kind you painstakingly select with the knowledge that no one will even notice. Except Jack does. His thumb brushes over raised letters, embossed delicately, over the soft floral border.
He’s seen cards like this before: pinned to fridges, tucked into memory boxes. Never addressed to him, but now-
His grip tightens. Unease, anticipation, maybe both, flicker in his chest. He swallows, lets the weight of it settle in his palm.
~
December 2005
Stepping onto her porch feels like letting go after holding your breath for too long. The burning in his lungs eases, his head a little less heavy on his shoulders. The multicolored string lights are hung and glistening again, a promise of cheer, comfort, home.
He barely has time to get a third knock in before her front door is tugged open. “Hi Jack,” she greets. Her voice is soft, face illuminated in a soft glow. He just watches her for a second, taking her in. Her hair’s longer, curling slightly where it hangs over her shoulders. But those eyes still pierce him the same way, still make his breath hitch.
She steps forward, winds her arms around his neck and hugs him close. “Welcome home.”
His eyes close as he holds her close, trying to let his brain turn off for just a moment.
“Mom made Italian,” she says as she pulls away. “Twenty years of eating ham on Christmas, and she decides this is the year to make lasagne.” She gives him a knowing look, shaking her head in amusement. “Please tell her it’s wonderful even if it sucks.”
Jack manages a small smile. “I’m sure it will be.”
They head into the kitchen, Jack returning hugs and well wishes before he slides into a seat at the table. Around him, the conversation flows naturally. He doesn’t really eat much, just pushes the food around his plate. He tries his hardest to be present, to participate, but every unknown sound has his eyes scanning the room.
He feels her pat his hand gently, expression expectant when he glances up at her. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
Her dad sighs deeply across from them. “I asked how you're acclimating. Can’t be easy.”
“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m doing okay,” he says. “The quiet is... different.” Unsettling is probably a better word for it, but he’s not going down that road. He isn’t going to share with his girlfriend’s father that he feels on edge without the chaos, like there’s another shoe about to drop and he can’t prepare for it because the typical signs aren’t there.
“Big change, I’m sure,” her dad mumbles into his water glass. The room goes silent for a second, just the hum of the refrigerator cutting through. “And you’re heading out again soon?”
“Yes sir,” he nods. “Training next month. Possible deployment in five.”
Her dad’s eyes flicker between the two of them. “And that’ll be another year?” Jack nods. He sees the look on his face, the concern there, the quiet protectiveness. “That’s a lot of time away.” It’s not cruel, not accusatory, but Jack recognizes the statement for what it is. Beside him, she’s quiet, looking down at the table cloth.
“Comes with the job,” he confirms.
“I just want something solid for her,” he says. “Consistent. You understand.” And he does. The thought has crossed his mind more and more these days: when he read her letters talking about applications for grad school, when she debated staying close to home or heading off to a new city just because she can. He wants to be what she needs, but right now, he’s just trying to make sure he’s still what she wants.
Once the dishes are cleared and her parents have retired in front of the television, Jack helps her slide her coat on. He takes her hand, leading the way outside into the brisk evening. They fall into step, admiring the lights and decorations as they walk around her neighborhood. Her dad’s comments hang between them, the elephant in the room they’re both afraid to address.
“If you feel like-” Jacks starts.
“You know I love you,” she says at the same time.
He pauses, gently tugging her back when she continues walking. He swallows hard. “But?”
She shakes her head. “No, no but. I love you, and that’s enough for me for right now.” She reaches up, brushes her fingers along his jaw. “My dad-”
“He wants what’s best for you,” Jack says quietly.
Her nod is immediate. “Yeah, but he also doesn’t get to decide that. You’re the only consistent thing in my life.”
He inhales slowly. “Maybe. But I don’t know what will happen in the future.”
“No one does,” she assures. He doesn’t push it any further, doesn’t want to push his insecurities on to her. But in the back of his mind, it's hard not to wonder: is it really enough, or just what she’s willing to accept?
***
Suddenly, he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, shoves the envelope into the billfold. The quick glance he got at the left corner confirms his suspicions: same old place. Too close.
After sliding it away again, he trudges up the front walk to his door. He keeps his grip tight on the card, not daring to look at it until he’s made his way up the stairs and to his closet. There, he tugs a worn shoe box from the top, corner shelf and carries it out into his bedroom. When he sets it down on the bed and tips the lid off, the past hits him square in the chest. Nestled inside are dozens of letters, every single one he’s received over the years; all carefully folded, stacked on top of each other in chronological order - a tangible timeline.
~
May 2006
He didn’t want to show up in greens. In his head, he’d pictured having enough time to stop off somewhere, buy a less conspicuous outfit. A pair of slacks and a button down, maybe, but that all went out the window when his bus was delayed. Then delayed a second time. He was counting his lucky stars that he’d managed to make it at all, let alone on time for the ceremony.
The open lawn is crowded with folding chairs and excited family members. It’s a beautiful day, a picturesque blue sky and warm sunshine. Jack stands in the back, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but still eager to have a decent view. Even then, he gets the inevitable smiles, the “thanks for your service” he politely nods to in that uncomfortable, ‘I’m not sure how to respond to this’ way.
He looks out over the sea of students in black caps and gowns, imagining the excitement that’s coursing through her. She’s probably bouncing her leg at her seat, anxious. It’d be a strong contrast to the beaming smile he knows will be on her face. It isn’t often she lets herself feel accomplished, or even proud of herself, but he knows this is different. Just from the tone in her letters, he could tell how thrilled she was for this day to come. And rightfully so; she deserved every second of this.
The brim of his hat stays low as the ceremony gets started, eyes fixed to the screen while various presenters share their congratulations, their well wishes, and words of wisdom. He shuffles from foot to foot through the speeches, interest only piqued again when they start to read names. It's a fairly quick process; since her school isn’t very big, they go in alphabetical order, a win for him. It’ll be much easier to identify where the cheers come from when she finally crosses the stage, and he can make his way over and wait with her family once he does.
Anxiously, he lingers behind the last row of chairs when they reach the middle of the alphabet. His heart is pounding in his chest, squinting to watch the small screen. She’s just in the camera's view now, adjusting her cap on her head as she climbs the stairs and waits by the podium. When her name is finally called, roaring applause breaks out. From her family, yes- which he thankfully spots just a few rows ahead of him- but amongst the students too. It's clear to him how much of an impact she’s made on this community. He cheers right alongside them, watching her every move as she makes her way across the stage and collects her diploma.
The names continue to be called as she makes her way back to her chair. Jack’s eyes never leave her, the wide smile on his face starting to make his cheeks hurt. She looks older, much more like a person ready to face the unknown laid out in front of her. Finally, she retakes her seat, and he walks to the row her parents are sitting in. He watches the rest of the ceremony from the side, keeping his head mostly down and staying out of the way. He doesn’t really hear any of it over the rushing in his ears, anticipation coiling under his ribs. What if this was the wrong move? Should he have called someone?
It isn’t until the conclusion, after caps have been thrown and diplomas conferred, that her mom spots him. Immediately she rushes over, pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh Jack,” she sighs. “She’ll be so thrilled to see you.”
Her dad approaches next, gives a short nod of approval. “Good to see you son,” he says, holding out his hand to shake.
While they wait for the crowd to disperse and for her to find her way over, they speak casually about the ceremony, the weather. No one addresses the magnitude of the situation, or the reality that awaits at the end of the visit. They just exist.
Jack stands behind her parents when they see her approaching. Partly to maintain the surprise, but mostly because he wants her to be able to have this moment to herself. Just getting to see her glowing would be enough for him. But when he shuffles forward, and realization crosses her features, he knows every second of preparation for this was worth it. Her diploma falls from her hands and clatters to the ground, cap nearly flying off her head as she races into his arms. “Jack,” she croaks. He can hear the emotion in her voice, and immediately feels her tears against his neck. “You’re here.”
He cradles her tightly against his chest, letting his head drop to her shoulder. “I would never miss this,” he breathes.
They break away after a moment, and she looks at him like he put the stars in the sky, just for her. “I knew you’d find a way,” she whispers.
He means to say something, congratulations, maybe, or tell her how proud he is of her, but she’s already tugging him down, and the words die in his throat.
***
Jack slides the first letter out of the pile, smooth and worn at the edges. He runs a finger over the crease as he lays it down, careful to keep it intact. One-by-one he takes the rest out, arranges them in neat rows.
He’s read them all so many times, could probably recite them. As he brushes over each one, the memories come flooding back: the nerves during basic training, the light-hearted jokes that kept him afloat during his first tour, the uncertainty during massive milestones. His throat tightens, vision blurring as his eyes well.
As he gets to the edge of the row, he puts the card down. He still can’t bring himself to look at it, setting it slightly apart from the rest. It's his own way of drawing the line, keeping his past separate from the future he isn’t ready to face.
~
September 2007
Jack’s grip on his crutches is tight enough to turn his knuckles white. His joints ache from it, but it’s the only way he can think to steady himself on her porch. The familiarity is jarring, like realizing you’re in a dream before your body wakes you up.
He should’ve written to her; he knows this. Should’ve warned her, but how do you put this in a letter? Pain, fear, surgery, grief… all things he couldn’t condense down and fold neatly into an envelope.
His knock is softer than normal, but he doesn’t want to linger on one crutch for too long. The door opens, and he sees the various emotions cross her face: surprise, concern, a flicker of sadness. “Jack-”
“Hey,” he breathes. Tension mounts in his chest as she steps closer, lifts a hand and lets it hang between them like she isn’t sure.
“I-” she trails off, biting her lip harshly. “What happened?”
He swallows, all the words he didn’t know how to write down catching in his throat. “Can I come in?” He asks instead. Immediately, she’s rushing: nodding quickly, pushing the door open wider. She hovers as he moves inside, lingering at his side when he stands beside the couch. As he begins to lower himself, she grabs his arm.
“Stop.” he snaps, louder than he intended. She winces, and his expression softens with guilt. “Just stop. I’ve got it,” he amends. He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. She just wants to help, and he’s not angry with her. He’s mad at the war, at what’s missing, at the world, really, but she’s close enough to be collateral damage.
“I had to be airlifted out of Kandahar in August,” he begins, stacking his crutches and leaning them against the arm of the couch. “There was an IED, threw me ten feet..” He lets her piece together the rest.
She’s quiet for a long time, keeps her gaze on his face, like she’s trying to get a read on him. “A month ago? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What was I supposed to do? Write to you and say ‘I should be home soon and by the way I got my fucking leg blown off?’” He looks away, scowling. He takes in a slow breath, then blows it out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to- to just write that down and send it off.”
“I understand,” she says, soft and patient. The room falls silent again, air thick with unease. “Do you know what comes next?”
“Physical therapy. Prosthetic fitting.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Learning to walk again.”
Carefully, she sits down beside him on the couch. “Okay. Is that- do you have to be at a military hospital?" He hears the question beneath it: are you going away again?
“No, I’ll be home. There’s doctors around here they referred me to.”
“That’s good.” She tries to force a smile. “I think- maybe I could take a leave from my program. I can be here, help you…”
“No,” he cuts her off, voice cracking in anger. “No you are not doing that.”
She blinks at him, mouth slightly open. “I just want to be there for you. I can help with the prosthetic, with-”
“No,” he says again. “I don’t want you doing that. I’m not going to let you.”
She sighs. “Jack, I love you. I want to be here to support you.”
“I know,” he mutters. “I know you do. But you said nothing would be put on pause. I can’t-” he shakes his head. “I can’t let you put your life on pause. No.”
Her voice is small when it reaches him, timid. “I just want to help.”
He closes his eyes for a second, just breathes. He should apologize – wants to apologize, but the words don’t come. Instead, he inches his hand across the couch cushion, brushing against her leg. She doesn’t pull away, just stays quiet and steady.
***
Jack doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he finds it. Briefly, he’s moving on autopilot, smoothing out edges, nudging corners into alignment. It's comforting to see the same ink, the same neat handwriting, spread out, cataloging years of his life. He follows the timeline with his gaze, but his eyes linger on one letter toward the end of the row. There isn’t anything alarmingly different about it. In fact, it’s identical to the others.
But something makes Jack pick it up. That’s when he notices: the crease is sharp, like it hasn’t been unfolded very often. There’s no smudges, no wrinkling. It's as pristine as the day he slid it out of the envelope.
Jack swallows. He doesn’t actually decide to open it, but suddenly he’s unfolding, eyes skimming over the lines.
…I know you don’t like asking for help…… I’ve seen the progress you’ve been making……I love you, Jack and I’m not going anywhere…
His eyes burn, and his fingers tighten around the paper. He forces himself to relax his grip, fold it back along the crease and set it down before he damages it. Something had shifted after this. He can clearly see it in the way the letters start to taper off, only a few more before the card he’d laid at the end of the row.
The card.
He just stares at it, unable to get his hand to move to pick it up. It feels ridiculous; it’s just a card: names, a date… but he can’t. He can’t pick it up and face it. Not yet.
~
March 2009
It’s a rare quiet morning, one without deadlines, PT, or another doctor’s appointment. Jack ambles into the living room - he’s getting better on the prosthetic alone now, but he still relies on the crutches at home - finds her on the couch with her legs curled under her. She has a book open on the coffee table in front of her, a notebook in her lap she’s continuously scribbling in.
He doesn’t say anything as he sits beside her, mirrors her smile when she finally looks up.
“You’re moving pretty good,” she says casually.
“Yeah.”
He smoothes his hands over his thighs, watches as she reads from a paragraph, then makes notes of the more important points. She’s told him about her comprehensive exams coming up; they’re critical to starting her practicum and internships, and she’s dedicating every free moment she has to studying for them.
“I got accepted into EMDP2. I start in September,” he says suddenly, words tumbling out before he can stop them.
Her pen stops moving, and the air shifts. “You.. what?”
“EMDP2,” he says. “Medical degree prep. I got in. I start in September. In Maryland.”
Silence greets him. He glances over at her, watches as she shuts her notebook carefully, like it’ll explode if she moves too fast. “In six months,” she says slowly. “You’re just moving to Maryland in six months? We never talked about this.”
Jack’s jaw tightens. “I already decided.”
She turns to face him fully, her eyebrows raised. “You just, decided? Without talking to me? I didn’t even know you were applying.”
“I didn’t think I had-”
“To tell me?” She snaps. “No, you don’t have to. I just thought you’d want to.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “Jack, you just got back,” her tone is soft. “You’re still healing.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
He grits his teeth, anger burning inside him. “I can’t just sit here anymore. I need to do something.”
“You are!” She insists. “You’re recovering.” Jack scoffs. “Why- there’s no reason to barrel head first into the next thing.”
“Why can’t you just support me in this?” His hands clench at his sides.
“I do. Of course I do.” She tries to reach out for him, but he shifts. It’s slight, but it’s enough. “I just miss you Jack.”
“I’ve been home for over a year.” His tone is flat now, eyes unblinking as he stares at her.
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
Silence. It stretches between them, neither sure how to, or if they should, break it.
After a second, she nods to herself. “Okay. It’ll be fine. I can look at programs in Maryland for my internship. It isn’t that far and there’s plenty of VAs there-”
“No.” It comes out too fast, and he watches her face fall. “You can’t do that,” he says softly. “You’re established here. You have plans, contacts…”
“I can make new ones.” She says, like it’s not a big deal, and he’s already shaking his head. “Why can’t you let me do this?”
“Because you can’t uproot everything for me.”
“I can. I’m choosing to. I want to.”
“And I’m telling you no.” He hears her breath hitch, catches the way she turns her head to try to hide the welling. “I need you to have your own life,” he says carefully. “I need you to keep going. To-” he stops himself, breaths shaky. “You don’t have to keep waiting for me.”
This stops her in her tracks. Her eyes trail over his face, like she’s taking everything in, committing it to memory. “Okay,” she says finally. Not in agreement, just nothing left to say.
Her notebook is still closed in her lap, fingers gripping it to the point of bending. She exhales softly, and reaches to flip her textbook shut. Stacking the notebook on top, she stands. “I should get back to this,” she says.
He watches her, processing. “Yeah.”
He grabs his crutches, rearranging them before he clears his throat. “I should-” He stops himself, trailing off, wistful.
She moves around the coffee table, avoids brushing against him as she collects the rest of her things. “I’m going to the library.”
“Okay,” he says. That same word again.
She slides her things into her bag, then swings it over her shoulder. She doesn’t look back as she pushes the door open. Jack is left sitting there, staring at the closed door, the silence in the room too big to hold.
___
Jack’s groggy when he wakes, vision still slightly blurry. He rubs his eyes, then reaches for his phone where he’d left it on the nightstand. When the screen comes to life, he sees the missed call notification. Just her name, a timestamp. “Fuck,” he groans. He sits up in bed, clicking over to the phone icon.
No voicemail, not this time.
His thumb hovers over the green callback button for only a second before he clicks it. The phone rings twice, before the line clicks over: “Your call has been forwarded-”
He ends the call before the greeting can finish. With a sigh, he pulls up their message thread instead, stares at the increasingly short exchanges.
Made it. Getting my stuff moved in
That’s great. Send pictures
Sorry, advisor meeting, call you soon
In class. Talk later
In between sessions. Just saying hi.
He moves his fingers quickly over the keyboard, drafting a message he’s been debating sending for three days.
Miss you. Can we talk soon?
He holds his thumb over the back arrow, until it's fully deleted. He stares at the screen until it goes dark, turns his phone face down and doesn't look at it again.
***
Maybe he has a penchant for suffering. Or at least it’s become so familiar to him he leans into it subconsciously. Jack knows he’s only drawing out his own pain the longer he puts this off. It’s just a card, he thinks, one he probably should be surprised even arrived for him, but it's not a big deal. He tells himself this a few times, tries to believe it, then reaches for it at the edge of the bed. His eyes sweep over it quickly at first, searching for what he knows will be there. Two names. A Date. A picture that glows as much as the soft sunlight it was captured in.
Save the date. Her save the date. A declaration of her moving forward without him being consulted. He lost that privilege a long time ago.
His chest feels tight. There’s a slight tremor in his hand, though he clutches the card so hard it wrinkles. He forces a slow exhale through his nose, counts the seconds before inhaling again. His eyes flick down to the date again, reading it carefully this time.
With a final nod, he sets it down again, back in line. Suddenly, her letters don’t feel like a timeline anymore. They feel like a countdown.
April 2019
Jack’s jaw tightens as he drags his hand through his hair. His fingers curl around the back of his neck, squeezing it gently before letting his arm fall away. He runs his gaze over his bed, the dresser, like he’s looking for some guidance on what to do with the weight in his chest. But there isn’t any.
He bends over the bed, gathers all of the letters and shuffles them into a pile. He’s not worried about being neat anymore or keeping them in order. It doesn’t matter the state they’re in. All that matters is the card peaking out of the pile.
He drops them back into the shoe box and leaves them behind, then reaches for the railing as he lumbers down the stairs. He’s climbing into his truck before he even realizes he grabbed the keys, jamming his finger against the button to start the engine. Curling his fingers around the wheel, he stares out his windshield, though his mind is out of focus. Right now, he’s years in the past: fireworks, her laugh, how’d reach for him without thinking. With a shake of his head, it’s gone.
He throws the truck into reverse and pulls out of his driveway, one destination in mind. He doesn’t need the GPS for this, has driven the exact route so many times he could do it blindfolded. He keeps the radio off as he drives, one hand gripping the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh.
It doesn’t take him long at all to pull into the driveway. There’s a lone SUV sitting there, and he parks the truck behind it. Once his seat belt’s off and he’s gripping his keys, he takes a beat. This is crazy, reckless. He has no business showing up like this, barging in after all these years. It's selfish of him, but he spent too long doing nothing. So he steps out of his truck, walks himself up that familiar pathway and plants his boots firmly on her doormat. Beige, far too similar to the old standard issue ones he’s left by this very door over and over again. He was steady in them when he’d tied them this morning. Back before he had to find the courage to swallow seventeen years of pride and just… knock.
Jack’s hand freezes mid air. He clenches his fist, swallowing hard.
He hears the occasional car rush down the street, the cicadas buzzing out in the overgrown grass, all blending together to drown out the ringing in his ears. His heart is pounding, eyes zeroed in on the wreath she’d hung over her door. Magnolias. The side of his mouth lifts in a tiny grin.
“Come on,” he whispers to himself. “Just do it.”
He squares his shoulders, takes in a slow breath. Then, he knocks. Three times.
The seconds he waits are agonizing, but he digs in his heels. He’s not leaving now.
The door opens slowly, and then he sees her. Older, of course, hair shorter and he watches the shock spread across her face.
“Jack.” It comes out on a breath, wraps directly around his heart. “You’re… here. I didn’t think-“ she cuts herself off. “Well. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”
He dips his chin, “yeah.”
She keeps her grip on the door, but doesn’t open it any wider. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he answers automatically. He gives it a second, then seems to think better of it. “I’m okay, I just- I got your save the date.” Her face changes again, eyes giving her away her sorrow. They were always so expressive. “I’m not here to-“ he stops, inhales slowly. “I needed to see you.”
She runs her tongue over her teeth, considering. Her fingers grip the door tighter, and she gives a small shake of her head. “After ten years.”
“I know.”
“You told me not to wait for you,” she reminds him.
“I know that too.” His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He did say it, but he thinks maybe the communication lines were crossed. He doesn’t ask how she interpreted it then- he has the last ten years to answer that.
“So… what?”
“I don’t know,” he says honestly, no hesitation. He didn’t prepare some heart melting monologue, and had no expectations. He showed up for all the times he didn’t before, for all the tiny breaks he overlooked.
She steps back slightly, lets the door open a little further. It’s not an invitation, not really, but it’s an inch. Her free hand comes up to brush her hair back, and his eyes are drawn to the ring. Not shining or dramatic, just there. He looks away quickly, but not fast enough.
Her thumb moves over it once, absently, then stops.
Jack clears his throat. He shifts his weight to take some of the pressure off his prosthetic. “Is he good to you?”
She hesitates; not long, but enough for him to notice. “Yeah, he is.”
He nods just once. “Good. That’s important.”
She looks him over, takes in his stance, his arms at his sides. “I hate that you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” His brow furrows.
“Like…” she sighs, “like you’re trying to figure out where you fit.”
He lets out an amused huff. “I think I was doing that for a while.”
It’s enough to break the tension. Her expression softens: not completely, not into a full smile but it’s something familiar. She steps back fully from the door, finally lets it open. “Come in.”
They end up in the living room, him in the corner of the couch, her on the arm chair opposite it. “Why’d you come here, Jack?” She asks eventually. It’s not accusatory, and he hears the apprehension in her tone.
He leans forward slightly, rests his forearms on his knees. He keeps his eyes on the floor as he tries to work out an answer that’s long overdue.
“Why did you need to see me?”
“Because-“ he begins, voice hoarse. “I was so focused on making sure you lived your life that I missed everything you were trying to tell me.”
She pauses, her breath catching. “I would’ve waited. I wanted to. I didn’t because I-“ her voice cracks. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Jack takes in a slow breath. “I got scared. When I lost my leg, all I could focus on was what was gone. Everything I couldn’t do anymore, couldn’t have. I didn’t want to drag you there with me.”
“It wasn’t the end, Jack,” she whispers.
This makes him stop, drag his eyes up to look at her. “I know that now.”
A deep sigh leaves her lips, and she shifts slightly in her seat, crossing then uncrossing her legs. Jack waits, giving her the space to process that she clearly needs. Though the silence stretches, it’s not uncomfortable. After a few moments, there’s a shift. Anticipation hangs in the air.
“He’s a good man,” she says finally.
Jack nods. “Of course he is.” It’s not sarcastic, and he surprises himself with how much he means it. But really, he’d expect her to find nothing less.
She bites her lip. “But-“
“But?” He fights to keep the hopeful tone from his voice, but it creeps in all the same.
“He’s not you.”
He doesn’t react immediately, doesn’t want to push and tip the delicate balance. Instead, he lets the words settle just as much for her as for himself. “I didn’t come to tear apart what you built.”
“I know,” she assures.
“I respect that you have a life. That you found something good,” he continues.
It’s maybe the most honest he’s been with her. Even if it hurts, it’s the truth and she deserves to hear it. All he’s ever wanted was for her to be happy, and if that happiness isn’t with him, he’ll adjust.
“I was angry with you for a long time,” she admits. “For leaving. For just deciding on your own. But I still missed you every single day.” Her thumb and pointer finger grip the ring, sliding it from side to side before she tugs it off, sets it on the coffee table. It’s a quiet move, not a full statement, but it says enough. “I never stopped.”
Jack hears the blood rush in his ears. Hope blooms in his chest, warm and dangerous. He says her name, low and shaky.
“You can’t leave again,” she says. “Not without talking to me.” He nods quickly. “I mean it, Jack. This is the last time I let you in that door.”
“Okay,” he surrenders.
“Okay,” she repeats.
It’s not forgiveness; not yet. But it is the start of something fragile. Something beginning. There’s so much to figure out, threads to unravel and trust to build, but when she reaches for his hand, Jack breathes easier for the first time in years. Everything feels better.
American Cars is for the youngest children no one ever had to worry about who have to hold the entire family together with zero consideration for their needs 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
Excuse how terrible I look, but I just met Trevor Daley at Epcot! I was super awkward about the whole thing, naturally. He was originally walking behind me, and I turned to let my dad catch up and saw him taking a picture of me. I didn’t recognize him at first, so I was like, uh why is this guy creeping? Then it dawned on me, and I even more awkwardly followed him into the Japan pavilion before I had the courage to ask for a photo. When I did, he said “yeah, I actually just sent a photo of your back to Phil” (since I’m wearing my Kessel shirt). He was so nice and I’m still freaking out 😂
You want to control me. You want all the power to yourself. You do. You always do. Look at me, Grace. Grace, look at me! I want you to see this, Grace. I want you to see this! Grace! I want you to see who I am. I want you to see that I am not a man who can be controlled. You mentioned the rules. There's nothing in the rules about killing a family member.
SHAWN HATOSY as TITUS DANFORTH
in READY OR NOT 2: HERE I COME (2026)
dir. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, Tyler Gillett
All accidentally entering online fan spaces of the Pitt has show me is that so many people: 1) have zero media literacy, 2) pretend to care about mental health until someone they don’t like is actively and obviously in crisis, 3) don’t understand that people are nuanced and biased and THAT is what makes them human
