Hey y’all, so I’ve decided to step away from the self insert character bit. And by that I mean I’ve given an actual name to the famous Y/N for better story writing.
So for clarity, I’m not writing a series when I use these names, they’re stand alone, self insert/readercharacter fics.
For out female reader inserts we have:
Ashton x Nova
Calum x Thea
Michael x Harley
Luke x Aurora
Lip x Haley
Sebastian x Maeve
Bucky x Gemma
And for male reader inserts we have:
Ashton x Dean
Calum x Jude
Michael x Wesley
Luke x Sylas
Sebastian x Chase
Bucky x Milo
Thank you guys for all your continued love and support. More fics coming your way soon!
Wesley wasn’t sure what to make of the pretty green eyed blond sitting next to him at the bar. All he knew was that he needed to make a mental note to thank his brother for it later. “You’re right, Ash. Plenty of pretty people out here in California,” he murmured to himself as he took a drink of his beer.
“Sorry?” the pretty man asked, his voice loud to be heard over all the noise, eyes locking onto Wesley.
For a moment Wesley thought about not responding. Or saying that he didn’t say anything. But that thought lasted not even a full second before he blurted, “I said I think you’re pretty!” He took another drink, shooting the man a wink as he did so, praying his genetic charm would work past his equally genetic awkwardness.
The man’s face flushed a dark shade of pink, which he tried to hide by lifting his own beer in a “Cheers” fashion. “Not so bad lookin’, yourself. I’m Michael.”
“Wesley,” he replied, clinking his beer against Michael’s. “Am I buying us another round, or are you gonna ask me to dance?”
~~~
Michael knew he should have kept his mouth shut. Getting involved with someone while half buzzed was historically a disaster for even the luckiest of people. And Michael, while lucky in some regards, was incredibly unlucky in other ways, balancing out to make him on the low end of the luck spectrum on a good day.
But there was something about the way Wesley’s lips were pulled up in a smirk, a dimple cratering his cheek, and the way he had called Michael pretty with such confidence, like stating a common every day fact. Michael had been called a lot of things before, but “pretty” rarely made the list as a stand alone characteristic.
Not giving himself time to overthink it, Michael chugged the rest of his beer, the glass rattling the bartop as he slammed it down. Then he grabbed Wesley’s hand, the sound of Wesley’s laughter ricocheting in Michael’s head as he happily let Michael lead him out to the floor.
It could have been mere seconds or hours that they danced together, hands leisurely exploring the other’s chest and back before Michael couldn’t resist temptation any longer. “Your place or mine?” he asked, mouth brushing against Wesley’s ear.
“I don’t have a place,” Wesley replied. “I’m from out of town. Staying at a hotel nearby.”
“Perfect! Your place, then. Mine has roommates.”
~~~
Welsey knew he should have said no. Inviting an unknown man into your hotel room was a Traveling Alone 101 big fat no. But with Michael’s mouth pressed right up under his ear while those large hands of his skimming teasingly at Wesley’s waistline, any concept of caution and common sense went by the wayside.
Common sense did however kick back in once Michael was in his hotel room standing in front of him shirtless. “Uh… Really hoping this doesn’t ruin whatever is about to happen right now. Cuz I really want this to happen,” Wesley said as Michael took a seat on the edge of the bed, green eyes entranced by Wesley’s every move. “But you should know I’m trans. I still have a… it doesn’t work… like there’s no risk of anything… but I never went through with getting a…”
The haze clouding Michael’s eyes cleared slightly as he nodded. “That’s erm… that’s okay. I’m still gonna wear a condom though if that’s cool. I— If you’re into that!”
Wesley smirked, crossing the room to close the distance between them, stopping when he was square between Michael’s legs. “Yeah. Yeah I’m good with that. Are you?” As he asked his question, he placed two fingers under Michael’s, guiding the man’s gaze up to him.
Wesley could feel Michael swallow thickly as he nodded. “If I told you exactly how badly I wanted this, you’d think I’d never gotten laid before.”
For some reason that made Wesley tilt his head back as he roared with laughter. Not at Michael. But at the fact that he had been worried about the same thing. “Finally,” he breathed, leaning his head back forward and resting his forehead against Michael, their eyes locking as Wesley’s fingers moved to grip Michael’s jaw firmly. “Someone who gets that desperate sex is the best sex.”
~~~
“You’re a lot more chipper than I recall,” Ashton said to Wesley as they hung out in the studio, waiting for everyone else to show up.
Wesley smiled slightly as he shook his head. “God forbid a man be in a good mood.”
Ashton laughed. “I didn’t say that. I’m glad for it. Is it the transition? Last time I saw you you were still in the process.”
“Part of it,” Wesley admitted. “Like it’s definitely helped my mental health over the last few years. But that’s not why I’m in a good mood.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Depends on how involved in my sex life you wanna be,” Wesley replied with a grin.
Ashton nodded in approval. “A one night stand your first night in town? Nice, nice. But please tell me you left the girl a note at the very least.”
“Man actually. And yeah I left him a note. With my number. I was a perfect gentleman.”
“Did you get his name?”
Wesley nodded. “Well first name anyway. Michael. Fuckin’ amazing sex.”
Ashton choked.
“Sorry. Too much information?”
“Nah. Well yes. But nah,” Ashton said, recovering. “It’s just a funny coincidence that one of my band members is named Michael. But it’s a common enough name I suppose.”
Wesley tilted his back and laughed. “Oh fuck! Dude, if I fucked your boy… Ash, I’m so sorry.”
Ashton raised his hands in surrender. “To each their own, man. I’m not in charge of either of your sex lives. Nor do I want to be. And again, what exactly are the chances that your Michael and my Michael are the same Michael?”
“I’m telling you, Cal, easily the best sex I’ve had in months. Possibly ever,” Michael’s voice sounded down the hallway. “You gotta come out to this bar with me, dude. Never fails to get me laid.”
“Yeah, but how many of those occurrences end up with just mediocre sex?” Calum questioned as they both crossed the threshold into the studio room. “Like if you’re promising the best sex of my life guaranteed, I’m in. But if you’re promising me I’ll always get laid, but it’s mid-tier, eh… Oh shit, hello.” Calum stopped abruptly as he took in Ashton and Wesley. “I’m Calum, you must be Ashton’s brother,” he said, offering out his hand to shake Wesley’s.
“Wesley,” Wesley replied, keeping his composure by focusing on shaking Calum’s hand and not on Michael’s shocked, perfect face. “Pleasure to finally meet you.” Then, instead of doing the thing Ashton expected, which would have been to turn to Michael and have a similar introduction, Wesley turned his gaze back to Ashton. “So Ash… about those chances about me fucking your boy…” he said, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck as Michael continued to just stand frozen in place with his deer in the headlights look.
Ashton and Calum looked from Michael and Wesley, then to each other, then burst into laughter.
“Ash… next time you mention you have a brother coming into town to help us with the album, could you maybe tell us his NAME?!” Michael finally spoke in a loud screech
“Oh shit!” Ashton gasped between laughs, doubling over as he fought for breath. “Holy fuckin’ shit!” He kept laughing as he straightened back up, wiping at the tears forming in his eyes as his body calmed down. “Oh, fuck, that’s… Well damn. Nice to know you and Michael are well acquainted.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know?! Ash, obviously I wouldn’t have if I’d known, you gotta believe me!”
“What the fuck?” Wesley asked, chipper mood evaporating to offense.
“Michael, I literally don’t give a fuck,” Ashton assured him. “What you and my brother choose to do is none of my business.”
“Yeah he’s not my fuckin’ keeper. I made the choice to sleep with you. A choice you were more than willing to make with me, I might add,” Wesley inputted, face hard.
“No, I didn’t—“ Michael sputtered, taking a deep calming breath before trying again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that like… Fuck, I don’t know what I mean. I’m just gonna shut up.”
“Good choice,” Wesley said with a roll of his eyes, not really understanding why he was so offended to begin with. Had he expected Michael to be anything more than a one night stand? No. And he definitely hadn’t planned on his one night stand being his brother’s bandmate who he was going to be working in close proximity with for God knew how long. But he still didn’t hold an ounce of regret. But the lack of regret didn’t seem to be mutual, no matter how enjoyable the sex had apparently been.
“Damn, you really are brothers. You got Ash’s attitude,” Calum murmured.
Michael got really interested in studying his shoes as Wesley stood there, arms crossed over his chest, muttering “Un-fuckin’-belivable…” on repeat, with Ashton and Calum coughing uncomfortably in between the pair.
“Jesus, who died?” a fifth voice asked as Luke filled the doorframe.
“Michael’s sex life,” Calum answered, clapping Luke on the shoulder.
“Damn, that’s rough, mate,” Luke offered brief condolences to a situation he didn’t understand before turning his attention to Wesley. “Hello, I’m Luke. You must be Ashton’s brother.”
“Wesley,” Wesley replied, stepping forward and offering his hand to Luke, shoving down his annoyance and creeping thoughts of self doubt, putting forth a demeanor of professionalism in its place. “Ash was in the middle of showing me what you guys already had for this album. Great sound, that raw energy. Is that the central focus you guys are planning to go with?”
“I’m sorry,” Michael blurted, snapping out of his own downward spiral. “Wesley, could we talk for a minute? Privately?”
A muscle in Wesley’s jaw ticked. “Is now really the time?”
“Yes.”
Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. I guess we’re doing this now… Sorry,” he turned his attention to Ashton, Calum, and Luke. “Could you excuse us for a moment? Ash, maybe you could fill them in on the ideas I had?”
“I’m so fuckin’ confused…” Luke mumbled as Michael and Wesley left the room.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Michael started, once they found an empty studio room.
“Whether you meant to or not, you did,” Wesley replied flatly, keeping his face and tone as neutral as possible.
“And I apologize. I— Fuck, I’m not good at this shit, okay?” Michael said, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I had a great time last night. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I regretted it. Because I don’t.”
“Mmm, but on some level you do, because you admitted that if you’d known I was Ashton’s brother, last night wouldn’t have happened.”
“I more meant that on the side that like I wasn’t sleeping with you to fuck with him, if that makes sense. Like you and I were a random happenstance, not something that’s been going on behind his back.”
“And what difference would it have made if that was the case? This is between me and you, not you and Ash. Unless you want it to be, in which case I’d suggest sleeping with him instead.”
Michael’s face flushed bright red. “I— I don’t want to fuck Ash. That wasn’t what that was about. It was about him knowing I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I get where you’re coming from. But the intent is still way off because the bottom line is that it’s none of his goddamn business. I don’t answer to him. He’s not in charge of my life. I am.”
“No, yeah, I get that. That’s why I’m apologizing that it came across that way. Trying to apologize, anyway.”
“Well let me ask you this. Were you going to text me?”
“Were you going to reply if I did?” Michael countered.
Wesley gave a wry, short chuckle. “Touche… Uh, honestly? Yeah. Yeah, I would’ve replied. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered to leave my number.”
“Oh, so I should consider myself lucky I got a note left after you disappeared from your own hotel room before the sun?” Michael questioned, his tone teasingly playful despite the apparent heaviness of the words.
Wesley chuckled again. “Again, in the name of honesty, yeah. Not that luck has anything to do with it, or that I’m constantly sleeping around having one night stands with any pretty thing that bats their eyes my way. I just— Especially since the transition, one night stands have been… easier to manage. Less ways of getting hurt if you don’t let yourself get too involved in the aftermath of things, y’know?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Not in that same way, obviously. But I get that superficial sex for the sake of sex is a lot less messy than getting involved with someone.”
“Even if said superficial sex was the best sex you’ve had in months, possibly ever?”
Michael laughed despite himself. “That part I did mean. And I wish I cared about how stupidly desperate that makes me sound. But yeah. I dunno. I can’t explain it or fully wrap my head around what made sleeping with you different than any other sex I’ve had. It just felt like…”
“We knew each other somehow?” Wesley supplied.
“Yeah.”
“I get what you mean. At the risk of sounding stupidly desperate myself, I’ve never had sex like… like someone gave a shit. At least not since I transitioned. Like relationships I had before had that element of care embedded in sex. But I still felt wrong cuz like… obviously. And then after… if it wasn't the scars, it was the anatomy being wrong.”
“That’s… a lot to carry.”
“Yeah. But you didn’t make it carry it alone. Which I guess is why I left a note with my number. So if you did call, or text, or whatever, I’d be able to reply. And like… I want to make it clear, I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t need anything from you. But I knew I would regret not trying. Even if I’m not really sure what it is that I want. Like I’m fine with our night just being a single night. But the offer’s there if you maybe want more than a really good memory.”
“Yeah. That’s erm… yeah. So, are we cool?”
“Yeah, we’re cool. We should uh, probably get down to business now, huh?” Wesley asked, gesturing to the door.
“Yeah, I’ll catch up. Something I gotta do first.”
Wesley moved towards the door to leave, but paused in the open doorway when his phone started buzzing in his back pocket. He pulled it out, barely glancing at the number as he accepted the call. “This is Wes,” he answered, the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder.
“Hey Wes,” Michael’s voice came out both behind Wesley in real time and then slightly delayed through the phone’s speaker. “It’s Michael from last night. I was just wondering, would you maybe wanna do this again sometime?”
Ashton didn’t recognize the number lighting up his phone screen so he let it ring, hoping whatever spam robot caller would leave those annoying long voicemails with static and then piss off and bother someone else.
But there was only a brief pause in the ringing before his phone was ringing again from that same number, and text notifications also popped up.
“Answer the bloody phone, you fuck face!”
Ashton groaned, a wave of resentment he spent his adulthood burying building up inside him. Only one person in his life had ever called him “fuck face” like it was his birth name. And if he was calling, nothing good was on the other side of this phone call.
That apparently was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not as his phone rang for a third time, and the repeated message of “Answer the bloody phone, you fuck face!” continued to beep in a copy and pasted flurry.
“Oh, my God… WHAT?” Ashton barked the second the connection went through.
“Hello to you too, princess. Glad you’re not too above us common folk to have someone else answer your phone,” Rowan bit back.
“Fuck you. What do you want?”
“Jack’s dying.” The words were blunt, with no emotion behind them. Just clear cut facts.
“Shit,” was all Ashton could think to reply. His father— the only man he hated more than Rowan— was on his deathbed? And public enemy number 2 was calling to deliver the news? “Shit,” he repeated.
“Are you a fuckin’ parrot now, Mr. Hollywood? Jesus fuck… Look, I’ll keep it short so you can go back to snorting coke and whoring around, but sort your shit out and get on the earliest flight over here.”
“Fuck you! What now that I’m a big star you want me to foot the bill for that asshole? Neither one of you gave a single fuck about me, but now that I got the means to write a fat check, now you wanna be bothered to remember I exist?! Fuck you.”
“Fuck you, Ashton! You’re not the only one who made something of yourself, you self centered twat!” Rowan matched Ashton’s anger, each word holding as much bitterness and rage as it could. “But I—“ Rowan sighed, the anger in his voice transitioning to a grudging plea as he continued, “and trust me I’d rather jump off the nearest bridge than admit to this, let alone to you— I can’t do this alone, Ashton. It’s too much shit. I don’t have anybody else. And as much as we both hate it, we are brothers, so this is as much your burden to deal with as it is mine.”
“We’re not brothers. We’re just morons with the same scars.”
“How… poetic? Look. Just get here. Please?”
Ashton smirked despite himself. This was the closest to Rowan begging than he was ever likely to get. He didn’t want to miss a chance at watching the other man grovel. “Well, since you asked so nicely. Let me sort shit out and I’ll text you my flight details in a couple hours.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Rowan snorted, “Fuckin’ liar.”
~~~
Ashton had been six years old the first time he met his dad and older brother.
“You’re going to have so much fun, Ash, I promise,” his mom told him as they pulled into the driveway. “Your dad is really excited to start spending time with you.”
“But I don’t know them…” Ashton replied, his little voice scared. “Why can’t you stay with me?”
“A boy needs his father, Ash. And it’s just for one day. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up.”
A man stood on the porch outside of the house, a wide grin on his face as he waved. A boy stood next to him, identical to Ashton in almost every way except height. “Who’s that?” Ashton asked, pointing at the boy. “Why does he look like me?”
“That is your big brother. I think your dad said his name is Rowan. And he’s eight?” his mom guessed. “Your dad purposely wanted to spend time with you both so you’d each have someone to play with.”
Knowing his mother didn’t care how much he would protest, and would scold him about how he needed to be a nice and polite boy to his dad and brother, Ashton reluctantly got out of the back seat. His hand gripped his mother tightly as the pair walked up.
The boys stood awkwardly, staring at each other, Ashton’s face apprehensive, while Rowan scowled and the grown ups talked. Then finally the man spoke up, “Well, we’re happy to have him, aren’t we, Ro?” he asked, a large hand clapping down on Rowan’s shoulder, causing the eight year old to flinch, as he smiled down at Ashton.
“No,” Rowan muttered.
The hand tightened, the man’s face hardened as Rowan winced in his grasp. Then the man seemed to realize he was being watched and laughed heartily. “Oh, boys… what are ya gonna do? Run along and go play now.”
“No,” Rowan repeated, a bit stronger this time. “I don’t feel like it.”
The man chuckled some more as he leaned down to be eye level with Rowan, the hand tightening again. “Go show your brother the back yard, Ro. Now.”
The stubbornness in Rowan’s eyes flickered with specks of fear, understanding something in the man’s tone that Ashton didn’t. “Yes, sir,” Rowan replied, before yanking Ashton by the hand. “Say bye to your mummy, and let’s go.”
Ashton bid his mother farewell with promises of seeing her tomorrow before following Rowan around the house to the back yard. Once out of sight and earshot of the adults, Rowan turned to Ashton, hands on his hips, face hard as stone. “Look. Let’s get one thing straight right now. I don’t like you. And I’m not gonna play with you. But if he asks if I did, you better say yes, you understand me?”
The apprehension and fear that had been gripping Ashton since he got out of the car turned into confusion. Why was this boy— his brother— so mean? Why did he have to stay here? He’d been doing fine not having a dad or a brother. And he would be fine to continue on not having either, especially if this one was so determined to be mean to him. “What?” Ashton asked slowly.
Rowan rolled his eyes. “Just find something to do and leave me alone.” Before Rowan stalked off he punched Ashton’s arm.
Ashton stood there dumbly, rubbing his arm as tears filled his eyes, heart aching for his mum to come back.
After a tense but uneventful rest of the day, Ashton’s father dismissed him to get ready for bed. He quietly listened, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. The moment he was down the hall, the shouting started. The walls swallowed up most of the sound, but Ashton clamped his hands over his ears anyway as he crawled into one of the twin beds in the small bedroom where his backpack was.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, huddled under the covers, hands pressed to his ears, feeling so small and alone before Rowan walked into the room, a red hand print on his face, his expression pinched as he tried to keep from crying. “Are you okay?” Ashton asked quietly, sitting up in bed, hands dropping to his sides.
“No!” Rowan huffed, but his words had no bite to them as his face continued to crumble. “I hate him!” he whispered, before pointing a finger at Ashton, “And I hate you, too!”
“Why do you hate him?”
Rowan pointed at his face like that was all the proof he needed. “He’s mean! He was mean to my mum, and now he’s mean to me. And he’s gonna be mean to you too. But you probably deserve it.”
“My mum says no one deserves to have people be mean to them.”
“Well your mum and him are the reason my mum got hurt. You know he used to live with us. And he used to be nice…”
“Oh… What happened?”
“You…”
Ashton didn’t know what that meant, but he said “oh…” anyway.
Rowan sniffed, wiping at his face gingerly. “I don’t like you. I’m never going to like you. But you’re gonna be here whether we like it or not. So I can teach you how to make it not so bad. If you want.”
Ashton nodded. Then, “Rowan? I want my mum.”
“I want my mum, too…”
~~~
Ashton replayed memories he’d long ago buried along with the resentment, as he flew back home.
They were hard memories. Memories that had started well before he understood the gravity of everything. And all he knew he was certain of was that he had hated his father with more hatred than he ever held toward anyone else. In fact, he put all his hate into his father so he never had to hate anyone else, including Rowan. His feelings towards Rowan were a much weirder thing to come to terms with. Somewhere between indifference and an unrelenting need to be acknowledged.
Through summers spent with his father, and Rowan by consequence, he had learned where the older boy’s disdain towards him had come from. Their father had cheated on Rowan’s mother with Ashton’s and Ashton was that painful reminder of why Rowan’s family had fallen apart. Why Jack— who by Rowan’s retellings, had once been a kind and loving man— was the way he was. Rejected by both women and kept from his sons, he took out his frustration on the only thing he had on hand. Which usually was Rowan.
But Rowan had done his best to keep his eight year old promise he made to Ashton that first night. He taught Ashton how to fly under Jack’s radar. And, for a reason Ashton still didn’t understand twenty-six years later, Rowan had done what he could to protect Jack’s wrath from affecting Ashton, taking the blame for the trouble both boys played roles in. Ashton couldn’t say what the bond between him and Rowan was exactly— it certainly wasn’t brotherhood— but there was something about surviving something so horrible together. And clearly it was strong enough for Rowan to call Ashton after fifteen years of silence, and for Ashton to answer that call.
Ashton raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he reached for his glasses, a sharp whistle catching his attention. He turned to the sound, and found the source: Rowan, leaning against a truck, one of his arms raised. He was still identical to Ashton, from the hair and the eyes, to the stubborn set of their jaws. The years had even made them similar to each other in height. Each of them a perfect replica of the man who sired them in every way but personality.
“Hey, Rowan,” Ashton greeted as he approached. “You didn’t have to pick me up, I could have rented a car.”
“Just get in the truck,” Rowan replied before walking around to the driver’s side and climbing in.
Ashton noted that Rowan’s voice didn’t hold the usual bite to it that he remembered. Whether that was a product of growing up and away from the man they shared DNA with or mere exhaustion at bearing the brunt of whatever health issues Jack was facing that resulted in this reunion, Ashton couldn’t say. So he kept quiet as he tossed his bag in the backseat, and climbed into the passenger. “Car seat, huh?” Ashton asked, jerking a thumb at the booster seat in the back where his bag was. “You have kids?”
“Just the one. Nora. She’s six,” was the reply as Rowan started up the truck and began driving. Again, Ashton noted the lack of malice in Rowan’s tone.
“Congrats. Some of my own friends have kids. Way younger than six. But they’re pretty cool. Watching them grow up and shit.”
“Mhm…” Rowan muttered, then, “Look, we don’t have to do this.” he waved a finger between them. “Make small talk and shit. I’m not interested in rehashing the past, or pretending like we give a shit about how the other has been. I have a spare room at my place you can stay in while you’re here, and I already set up meetings with a lawyer regarding Jack’s will and a funeral place for handling his remains.”
“Oh… Got it. Uh… thanks? For picking me up, letting me crash, and setting up the meetings. I could’ve helped. I thought that’s why you called.”
“I did call so you can help. Help me convince this asshole that we’re better off pulling the plug. And I wouldn’t thank me. My wife was the one who told me to do this. Something about how it doesn’t matter our differences, we can set them aside for a few days to handle our dad.”
“Sounds like a smart wife.”
“She is. Disrespect her, and I’ll bury you with him.”
Ashton held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling despite himself. “Alright, damn. Not that I would disrespect any woman. I’m not like that.”
“You’re an Irwin. Of course you’re like that.”
“You are too,” Ashton pointed out the hypocrisy. “And you spent more time around him than me.”
Rowan chuckled softly at that. Then, “I’m sorry, Ashton. You deserved better.”
“I’m sorry, too. We both did.”
~~~
The house Rowan pulled up to a modest looking house. “Nice place,” Ashton commented offhandedly. “Very… homey.”
“Thanks. I know it’s probably nothing fancy like you’re used to, but hey, we got indoor plumbing!” Rowan bragged sarcastically.
“I have a normal sized house, too. Asshole.”
Rowan snorted. “You act like I know your life.”
“You sure seem to want to comment on it like you do.”
“Alright, I’ll back off. Geez, I forgot how sensitive you are.”
“I’m not,” Ashton started, feeling his temper flare and his voice rise. “I’m not,” he repeated again, his voice softer. “It’s like you said earlier, let’s just handle this shit and we can go back to forgetting the other exists. Forget I said anything. Silence makes me feel uneasy.”
“Sorry…” Rowan apologized. He paused like he was going to keep on talking. Like despite all his bluster and spiteful words he was going to say something profound to mend a bridge whose foundation had been broken well before they crossed it. But before he could, a little girl came running out of the house, and Ashton felt a little foolish for what he hoped Rowan might have said.
“Daddy!” Nora screamed, coming to a halt by the truck door, small hands tugging on the handle.
“Baby!” Rowan matched her enthusiasm, the normally sullen and broody man Ashton knew replaced instantly by this family man persona. In a flash he was out of the truck, picking up his daughter and flinging her up in the air, her childlike shrieks of delight rattling in Ashton’s ears. He caught her as she came down, giving her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek and placing her on her feet. “Where’s your momma?”
“Inside,” she chirped, then leaned around her dad, hazel eyes wide with wonder as she zeroed in on Ashton. “Who’s that man, Daddy?” she whispered.
Rowan chuckled nervously, rubbing at his neck. “He’s… uh…”
“An old friend of your dad’s,” Ashton chimed in. “Very old friend.”
“Okay!” she chirped, before skipping off towards the house. “Momma said we’re having pizza!”
“Mmm, our favorite!” Rowan beamed, walking off after his daughter. He was at the porch before he realized Ashton hadn’t followed. “Well? C’mon. You heard the girl. It’s pizza night!”
~~~
Pizza night turned out to be sitting in the backyard around a firepit that doubled as a pizza oven.
“This is great, Ava,” Ashton thanked Rowan’s wife as they roasted marshmallows, the pizza devoured hours ago. “Kinda reminds me of when we were kids, huh Rowan? The good parts at least.”
Rowan smiled slightly as he sucked melted chocolate off his thumb. “Yeah. That firepit was probably the only good thing at Jack’s.”
“Oh!” Ava said suddenly, jumping to her feet. “That reminds me. I found something when we were cleaning up his place,” she murmured, before dashing inside the house. She emerged a few moments later, a picture in her hands. “It seemed like a happy memory. Which is so rare for Rowan. He was such a sullen child. I can make a copy if you want to take one home, Ashton.” As she spoke, she handed over the photograph.
Both boys were wearing wide grins, their arms flung around each other’s shoulders like they were the closest of brothers. Based on how Ashton had caught up in height to Rowan, it appeared to have been taken one of the last summers Ashton had spent at Jack’s, so he guessed it had to have been Rowan’s last summer before he went to university, placing them at about fifteen and seventeen years old.
Rowan scoffed as he waved a dismissive hand at the picture. “He can take the original, love. That picture is a joke.”
Ashton gingerly accepted the photograph, taking a closer look at it. True to Rowan’s word, while both of them were grinning, their eyes were dead. “Yeah if I remember correctly, I think that was the same night I got this scar after you stabbed me with the fire poker,” he recalled, flexing his hand that still bore the scar.
Ava’s eyes went wide, as Rowan tilted his head back and let out a roar of laughter, startling everyone. “Okay, okay. If you’re gonna tell the story, at least tell it right. I didn’t stab you on purpose. And I stabbed myself afterwards with it.”
Ashton chuckled, the faded memory becoming clearer in his own mind.
~~~
“Oh would you two quit bitchin’ and take the fuckin’ picture already?!” Jack grumbled from behind the camera he held poised to capture what was supposed to be a brotherly moment to share with their mothers. Evidence of another great time with dad, even if it was staged.
“I would if he wasn’t strangling me,” Ashton complained, pulling at Rowan’s arm pressing uncomfortably into his neck.
“I wouldn’t be strangling you if you stopped slouching, fuck face.”
“ENOUGH!” Jack barked, the teenagers flinching at the sound as Jack stomped over to them. He roughly shoved them shoulder to shoulder. “Now put your fuckin’ arms around each other and smile! It’s not that fuckin’ hard, surely you two morons can follow basic fuckin’ directions!”
Neither boy dared so much as breath as Jack took the picture, continuing to berate them. “See? Not that fuckin’ hard. I swear to God the two of you sometimes! How hard is it to fuckin’ get along for two fuckin’ seconds?! Fuckin’ morons, both of you! Useless fuckin’ morons…”
Jack stomped off back into the house, but the brothers stayed frozen in place for a solid minute afterwards just in case. When they figured the coast was clear, Rowan shoved Ashton hard enough to make him stumble back a step with an angry “Get the fuck off of me!”
Ashton gritted his teeth before he launched himself at Rowan, tackling him into the grass. After nine years of dealing with Rowan’s animosity he was tired of taking shit for a wrong he didn’t do. He’d been tired of it by the end of that first summer. The difference was now Ashton was big enough to fight back, Jack’s consequences be damned.
The boys rolled in the grass, a weird mind game of seeing who could gain the upper hand by being on top of the other, but enough of their mothers’ restraint to hold back on exchanging actual blows.
At some point in the rolling, Rowan’s hands gripped around something thin and without thinking he raised it in defense, stabbing Ashton in the back of the hand with it. Ashton yelped in pain, immediately jumping to his feet as he cradled his hand to his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rowan started to panic, dropping what he had accidentally used. An iron fire poker that was still red hot at the tip. “Shh! Fuck! Lemme see how bad it is!” he continued to panic as Ashton tried to tamper down his cries of pain at the small red blister forming.
“You fuckin’ stabbed me!” Ashton whisper shouted before clamping his good hand over his mouth. “And you made me cuss!”
“Oh, don’t be such a fuckin’ baby,” Rowan shot back with an eye roll. “You fuckin’ started it. But shit, would you hold fuckin’ still so I can look at it?”
“It hurts, dude. Like really really bad,” Ashton said, wincing through his teeth as Rowan gently turned Ashton’s hand over to closely examine the blister.
“Go get the hose. Make sure the water runs cold before you stick your hand under it,” Rowan instructed, and for once Ashton listened without questioning him. “Fuck…” Rowan continued to mutter repeatedly.
The cold water hitting the blister made Ashton sigh in relief. “Oh that feels so much better. Now what?”
“Now nothing. Keep it under there for a little bit longer. And then treat it like any other blister. Leave it alone. It’ll heal. Hopefully it won’t scar.”
“That’s it? You stab me with something that was on fire and all I get is ‘hopefully it won’t scar’??? You’re such a jerk, you know that? Like every time I think maybe you’re not all Jack, you prove me wrong. Frickin’ jerk…”
“I’m nothing like Jack,” Rowan said, his teeth gritted, face set hard as stone. “Here, I’ll prove it.” And without a second thought, Rowan picked up the poker, stuck it in the smoldering coals of the fire, and pressed it to the back of his hand. He clamped down his own yelp as he dropped the poker, shoving his own hand next to Ashton’s under the running water. “See? I’m nothing like him.”
It was single-handedly the most moronic thing Ashton had ever seen, and against his better judgement, he broke out into laughter. Rowan stared at him like he’d lost his mind before the hilarity of the situation hit him, and he too burst into laughter. “C’mon,” he said, shutting off the hose. “You ever smoke before? I know where we can without getting caught.”
~~~
Ashton tried to be quiet as he opened a cupboard in search of coffee mugs, the house still asleep.
“You’re not gonna find any booze, if that’s what you’re after,” Rowan’s voice said from behind, causing Ashton to jump. “Sorry. But I don’t keep that shit in the house.”
“Was looking for a coffee mug, actually. Not much of a drinker myself, considering.”
“Mmm,” Rowan murmured, nodding his head at a shelf. “Left one, middle row. Did the guest bed suck that badly, or are you always up this early?” he asked as he focused on getting a pot of coffee brewing for them.
“No, the bed was fine. Thank you, again. I know me being around doesn’t make you feel comfortable.”
“Wasn’t my choice. It was Ava’s.”
“Right,” Ashton remembered. “But still. You never struck me as the type who listened to others unless he wanted to.”
Silence lapsed around them as coffee dripped into the pot. Ashton did his best to try not to make small talk, but once there was enough coffee to fill up their mugs, he asked “Uh, is there a place I can smoke?”
Rowan’s eyebrows shot up, lips quivering in a smirk. “Won’t drink, but you kept that bad habit, eh? C’mon, I’ll show you a spot.”
A few moments later at the furthest edge of Rowan’s yard, Ashton pulled out a joint and a lighter. The first inhale calmed his jitters. The second cleared his foggy mind. “Want a hit?” he offered.
Rowan glanced around before shrugging. “Fuck it,” he said taking a hit. “Fuck, that’s good weed.”
“Mmm. Helps with the anxiety.”
“You? Anxious?” Rowan teased. “Never would have guessed.”
“Ha-ha,” Ashton deadpanned back. And it might have been the weed, or the morning coffee, or the nice view of the sun rising up in the sky, but for a brief moment Ashton felt at ease next to his brother. “Y’know,” he said. “I know you said we don’t have to rehash the past, and make small talk, and shit. But, I gotta say, you seem a lot nicer than I remember.”
“I was always nice, f— Ashton. I just wasn’t always nice to you.”
“Way to make a guy feel special.”
“Ha-ha… But I suppose you’re right in some ways. It took me leaving to realize that I had spent so many years being mad at the wrong person. Like… I was mad at Jack. Hated him. Still do, if I’m being completely honest with myself. But… it’s hard to hate a man when you’re five years old in a way that means anything to the man, you know?
“You were eight when I first met you and Jack.”
“Yeah, but by then he and my mom had been split for three years. I still don’t really remember all of it. I just know at some point he got really interested in you and then he split. And my mum… she did her best I think. But she had me convinced he left us for you. And that’s what I wanted to believe. You know the weekend we met was the same weekend I finally started having to see him? I got there first, and he already had our room set up. And I dunno, my brain just wanted me to think that you lived there too. That I was just gonna have to play house with my dad and his new family and better son. It wasn’t until after that I realized that he had left your mom too, and you were also just forced to visit. But by then… I dunno man… I didn’t know how to cope, so I took it out on you.”
“I get it. I watched my siblings go through what we did but with their dad. The difference is their dad is actually a halfway decent guy. Man, my mum sure knew how to pick ‘em.”
“Mmm… I didn’t realize you had other siblings.”
“Yeah I’m the oldest. Spent a lot of time trying to protect them from the damage as a result. Must have learned it from you somewhere along the line.”
Rowan stiffened slightly, not sure how to take the apparent compliment. “I tried, you know. Definitely not my best and not every time. But… part of me wanted to care for you. Wanted a brother. I just… was too fuckin’ angry, man. Even now. Like… My friends have kids who are older than Nora. She’s one of the youngest out of those ‘cousins’. Because I was so scared for so long that I’d end up like him. That the angry kid I was would turn into the angry adult he was.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you ended up like him at all. You’re a great dad. A great husband, too. You did well for yourself, all things considered.”
“Thanks. And I am sorry. For any part I played in adding to your own bullshit. I— I’m not a recluse, y’know. I keep up with most mainstream shit. I’ve watched how your band has grown and shit. And I know I’ve given you shit about it since I called. But it’s not jealousy or hatred, okay? It’s… I dunno. I want to say that it’s me trying to tease you like normal brothers do. But I’m aware that it comes across as me being a dick for the sake of being a dick. Honestly, I haven’t ever been really good at the whole brother thing.”
“You did alright. Better than you thought you did, at least. Like… my life at my mum’s wasn’t a whole lot better. The difference was that there I had to be the one looking out for my younger siblings. And whether you tried your best or not, it was nice to know that at least when I was at Jack’s I had someone looking out for me rather than the other way around.”
Rowan sniffed, rubbing at his face with his hand that wasn’t holding the coffee cup. “Thanks. That erm… just thanks.”
Ashton offered up a small smile. “No problem.”
Rowan sniffed again, rubbing at his face with a little more force. “Eurgh… I should get breakfast going. Nora’s gonna be up soon, and we have those meetings today…”
Ashton nodded, understanding the way Rowan was looking for a polite way to end the conversation before they both ended up in a trauma bond moment of blubbering in the backyard. “Yup. Handle whatever you gotta handle. Just let me know when you’re ready to head out.”
Rowan rolled his eyes as he waved a hand, beckoning Ashton to follow him. “C’mon, Ava will kill me if I don’t at least offer to feed you when I’m already making breakfast.”
“Well if Ava insists…”
“She does.”
~~~
The convalescent home where Jack lived smelled like the old and dying, with Jack’s room smelling significantly more on the dying side.
“Oh how nice of you to join us, Ashton,” Jack said, eye raking over Ashton. “Finally convinced the superstar he wasn’t too good to forget where he came from?” The Irwin disdain look flickered towards Rowan.
“Fuck you, don’t talk to him like that,” Rowan came to Ashton’s defense. “We’re here to tell you two things. One: despite your best efforts to pit us against each other, we both turned out better than you had any right to hope for. Ashton has an incredibly successful career and has found a place where people love and accept him. I have a family. A daughter. Who will never once have to question my love for her and will never flinch away at the sound of my voice. Your shit DNA made us brothers, but our mothers made us the men we are.” His words held pride, both in himself and in Ashton as he held up a single finger. And something in Ashton’s chest that had been cracked for the last twenty-six years fused itself back together. “Two:,” Rowan continued, a second finger going up. “You’re getting cremated, and we’re spreading your ashes in your backyard. Then I’m selling your land and using the money to start a college fund for Nora. My half at least. Ashton can do what he wants with his half. So do us both a favor and die already so we can go back to our lives. And try not to make your nurses too miserable in the process.” And with that he lowered only one finger— his index— leaving his middle finger raised, as he turned his back and retreated out of the room.
Ashton didn’t speak until they were back in Rowan’s truck. And then all he said was “Keep my half of the money you get. I don’t need anything from him.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ashton from the corner of his eye. “You sure? After taxes and shit, it’s a good $250,000. That’s a lot of money to piss away to spite the man. Even I’m not that stupid.”
“It’s not spite. It’s a long overdue apology. I spent so much time being angry at you for being angry at me for his mistakes. I never stopped to think that it must have been just as hard on you as it was on me. Harder even. And even then there were moments where you still tried to protect me.”
“We both made plenty of mistakes, Ashton. Me more so than you.”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is what we choose to do going forward. And if it’s alright with you, I’d like to be an uncle to Nora. And a brother to you. A real one.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
~~~
“Jack said you started a band?” Rowan asked, attempting to make conversation as they passed a joint back and forth.
“Mhm,” Ashton nodded. His relationship with Rowan had been different these past two summers since they had wrestled in the yard and got matching scars. Rowan wasn’t as hard. Ashton wasn’t as angry. “It’s pretty cool. We think we can make it. Mum wanted me to finish high school first and give Jack this last summer. But once I get home… Sky’s the limit.”
“Good. Make it, Ashton. Get out of here as fast and as far as you can and don’t look back, you hear me?”
~~~
Ashton stayed at Rowan’s for another week. That was how long it took for the convalescent home to call to say that Jack had died and for the funeral home to call that the ashes were ready. How long it took for the brothers to sort through Jack’s belongings at his property, neither of them taking a single thing aside from the yearly photos Jack had forced them to take, Ava graciously making copies so each of them could have them.
Rowan stood in the backyard of their childhood, a little bag of ashes in his hand. They hadn’t bothered with a box or an urn. There hadn’t been a need. “I feel like we should say something, but I can’t think of anything,” Rowan admitted as he opened the bag.
“I’ll try,” Ashton volunteered. “Jack… you were… pffft… you were fuckin’ terrible. A man deeply flawed. But, the best thing you did was make us brothers. So thank you.”
“Rot in hell, ya fuck face,” Rowan added before ceremoniously upturning the bag into the dirt.
“Amen!” Ashton laughed, Rowan joining him. And the two stood there, laughing until it hurt to breathe, the ashes scattering in the light breeze.
~~~
Ashton left two days later. He slung his bag over his shoulder, shutting Rowan’s truck door shut with his hip.
“Thanks again,” he said, voice thick with all the things he left unsaid in those two words.
“Anytime,” Rowan nodded, before reaching into his back pocket. He pulled forth a sandwich bag that contained the copies of the photos Ava had made, along with a folded up piece of paper. “These copies are yours. And Nora wanted to make you something too.”
“Give them my thanks. And love.”
Rowan nodded again. Then before he could overthink it, he embraced Ashton in a strong hug, hand clapping on his back. “Let’s keep in touch this time?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that,” Ashton replied, also clapping Rowan on the back.
“Call me when you land and get home,” Rowan said, breaking the embrace and sniffing. “Safe flight and all that.”
Ashton sniffed too, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, of course. Really good to see you, man.”
“Good to see you too, brother.”
Ashton waited until he was in his seat on the flight before he opened the bag of pictures, laying them out on his table tray. He carefully unfolded the paper Nora had made: a picture of 4 stick figures, two identical in height and color scribbles, each figure labeled: Nora, Mummy, Daddy, Uncle Ash.
Ashton clutched the picture to his chest and smiled.
Ashton didn’t recognize the number lighting up his phone screen so he let it ring, hoping whatever spam robot caller would leave those annoying long voicemails with static and then piss off and bother someone else.
But there was only a brief pause in the ringing before his phone was ringing again from that same number, and text notifications also popped up.
“Answer the bloody phone, you fuck face!”
Ashton groaned, a wave of resentment he spent his adulthood burying building up inside him. Only one person in his life had ever called him “fuck face” like it was his birth name. And if he was calling, nothing good was on the other side of this phone call.
That apparently was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not as his phone rang for a third time, and the repeated message of “Answer the bloody phone, you fuck face!” continued to beep in a copy and pasted flurry.
“Oh, my God… WHAT?” Ashton barked the second the connection went through.
“Hello to you too, princess. Glad you’re not too above us common folk to have someone else answer your phone,” Rowan bit back.
“Fuck you. What do you want?”
“Jack’s dying.” The words were blunt, with no emotion behind them. Just clear cut facts.
“Shit,” was all Ashton could think to reply. His father— the only man he hated more than Rowan— was on his deathbed? And public enemy number 2 was calling to deliver the news? “Shit,” he repeated.
“Are you a fuckin’ parrot now, Mr. Hollywood? Jesus fuck… Look, I’ll keep it short so you can go back to snorting coke and whoring around, but sort your shit out and get on the earliest flight over here.”
“Fuck you! What now that I’m a big star you want me to foot the bill for that asshole? Neither one of you gave a single fuck about me, but now that I got the means to write a fat check, now you wanna be bothered to remember I exist?! Fuck you.”
“Fuck you, Ashton! You’re not the only one who made something of yourself, you self centered twat!” Rowan matched Ashton’s anger, each word holding as much bitterness and rage as it could. “But I—“ Rowan sighed, the anger in his voice transitioning to a grudging plea as he continued, “and trust me I’d rather jump off the nearest bridge than admit to this, let alone to you— I can’t do this alone, Ashton. It’s too much shit. I don’t have anybody else. And as much as we both hate it, we are brothers, so this is as much your burden to deal with as it is mine.”
“We’re not brothers. We’re just morons with the same scars.”
“How… poetic? Look. Just get here. Please?”
Ashton smirked despite himself. This was the closest to Rowan begging than he was ever likely to get. He didn’t want to miss a chance at watching the other man grovel. “Well, since you asked so nicely. Let me sort shit out and I’ll text you my flight details in a couple hours.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Rowan snorted, “Fuckin’ liar.”
~~~
Ashton had been six years old the first time he met his dad and older brother.
“You’re going to have so much fun, Ash, I promise,” his mom told him as they pulled into the driveway. “Your dad is really excited to start spending time with you.”
“But I don’t know them…” Ashton replied, his little voice scared. “Why can’t you stay with me?”
“A boy needs his father, Ash. And it’s just for one day. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up.”
A man stood on the porch outside of the house, a wide grin on his face as he waved. A boy stood next to him, identical to Ashton in almost every way except height. “Who’s that?” Ashton asked, pointing at the boy. “Why does he look like me?”
“That is your big brother. I think your dad said his name is Rowan. And he’s eight?” his mom guessed. “Your dad purposely wanted to spend time with you both so you’d each have someone to play with.”
Knowing his mother didn’t care how much he would protest, and would scold him about how he needed to be a nice and polite boy to his dad and brother, Ashton reluctantly got out of the back seat. His hand gripped his mother tightly as the pair walked up.
The boys stood awkwardly, staring at each other, Ashton’s face apprehensive, while Rowan scowled and the grown ups talked. Then finally the man spoke up, “Well, we’re happy to have him, aren’t we, Ro?” he asked, a large hand clapping down on Rowan’s shoulder, causing the eight year old to flinch, as he smiled down at Ashton.
“No,” Rowan muttered.
The hand tightened, the man’s face hardened as Rowan winced in his grasp. Then the man seemed to realize he was being watched and laughed heartily. “Oh, boys… what are ya gonna do? Run along and go play now.”
“No,” Rowan repeated, a bit stronger this time. “I don’t feel like it.”
The man chuckled some more as he leaned down to be eye level with Rowan, the hand tightening again. “Go show your brother the back yard, Ro. Now.”
The stubbornness in Rowan’s eyes flickered with specks of fear, understanding something in the man’s tone that Ashton didn’t. “Yes, sir,” Rowan replied, before yanking Ashton by the hand. “Say bye to your mummy, and let’s go.”
Ashton bid his mother farewell with promises of seeing her tomorrow before following Rowan around the house to the back yard. Once out of sight and earshot of the adults, Rowan turned to Ashton, hands on his hips, face hard as stone. “Look. Let’s get one thing straight right now. I don’t like you. And I’m not gonna play with you. But if he asks if I did, you better say yes, you understand me?”
The apprehension and fear that had been gripping Ashton since he got out of the car turned into confusion. Why was this boy— his brother— so mean? Why did he have to stay here? He’d been doing fine not having a dad or a brother. And he would be fine to continue on not having either, especially if this one was so determined to be mean to him. “What?” Ashton asked slowly.
Rowan rolled his eyes. “Just find something to do and leave me alone.” Before Rowan stalked off he punched Ashton’s arm.
Ashton stood there dumbly, rubbing his arm as tears filled his eyes, heart aching for his mum to come back.
After a tense but uneventful rest of the day, Ashton’s father dismissed him to get ready for bed. He quietly listened, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. The moment he was down the hall, the shouting started. The walls swallowed up most of the sound, but Ashton clamped his hands over his ears anyway as he crawled into one of the twin beds in the small bedroom where his backpack was.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, huddled under the covers, hands pressed to his ears, feeling so small and alone before Rowan walked into the room, a red hand print on his face, his expression pinched as he tried to keep from crying. “Are you okay?” Ashton asked quietly, sitting up in bed, hands dropping to his sides.
“No!” Rowan huffed, but his words had no bite to them as his face continued to crumble. “I hate him!” he whispered, before pointing a finger at Ashton, “And I hate you, too!”
“Why do you hate him?”
Rowan pointed at his face like that was all the proof he needed. “He’s mean! He was mean to my mum, and now he’s mean to me. And he’s gonna be mean to you too. But you probably deserve it.”
“My mum says no one deserves to have people be mean to them.”
“Well your mum and him are the reason my mum got hurt. You know he used to live with us. And he used to be nice…”
“Oh… What happened?”
“You…”
Ashton didn’t know what that meant, but he said “oh…” anyway.
Rowan sniffed, wiping at his face gingerly. “I don’t like you. I’m never going to like you. But you’re gonna be here whether we like it or not. So I can teach you how to make it not so bad. If you want.”
Ashton nodded. Then, “Rowan? I want my mum.”
“I want my mum, too…”
~~~
Ashton replayed memories he’d long ago buried along with the resentment, as he flew back home.
They were hard memories. Memories that had started well before he understood the gravity of everything. And all he knew he was certain of was that he had hated his father with more hatred than he ever held toward anyone else. In fact, he put all his hate into his father so he never had to hate anyone else, including Rowan. His feelings towards Rowan were a much weirder thing to come to terms with. Somewhere between indifference and an unrelenting need to be acknowledged.
Through summers spent with his father, and Rowan by consequence, he had learned where the older boy’s disdain towards him had come from. Their father had cheated on Rowan’s mother with Ashton’s and Ashton was that painful reminder of why Rowan’s family had fallen apart. Why Jack— who by Rowan’s retellings, had once been a kind and loving man— was the way he was. Rejected by both women and kept from his sons, he took out his frustration on the only thing he had on hand. Which usually was Rowan.
But Rowan had done his best to keep his eight year old promise he made to Ashton that first night. He taught Ashton how to fly under Jack’s radar. And, for a reason Ashton still didn’t understand twenty-six years later, Rowan had done what he could to protect Jack’s wrath from affecting Ashton, taking the blame for the trouble both boys played roles in. Ashton couldn’t say what the bond between him and Rowan was exactly— it certainly wasn’t brotherhood— but there was something about surviving something so horrible together. And clearly it was strong enough for Rowan to call Ashton after fifteen years of silence, and for Ashton to answer that call.
Ashton raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he reached for his glasses, a sharp whistle catching his attention. He turned to the sound, and found the source: Rowan, leaning against a truck, one of his arms raised. He was still identical to Ashton, from the hair and the eyes, to the stubborn set of their jaws. The years had even made them similar to each other in height. Each of them a perfect replica of the man who sired them in every way but personality.
“Hey, Rowan,” Ashton greeted as he approached. “You didn’t have to pick me up, I could have rented a car.”
“Just get in the truck,” Rowan replied before walking around to the driver’s side and climbing in.
Ashton noted that Rowan’s voice didn’t hold the usual bite to it that he remembered. Whether that was a product of growing up and away from the man they shared DNA with or mere exhaustion at bearing the brunt of whatever health issues Jack was facing that resulted in this reunion, Ashton couldn’t say. So he kept quiet as he tossed his bag in the backseat, and climbed into the passenger. “Car seat, huh?” Ashton asked, jerking a thumb at the booster seat in the back where his bag was. “You have kids?”
“Just the one. Nora. She’s six,” was the reply as Rowan started up the truck and began driving. Again, Ashton noted the lack of malice in Rowan’s tone.
“Congrats. Some of my own friends have kids. Way younger than six. But they’re pretty cool. Watching them grow up and shit.”
“Mhm…” Rowan muttered, then, “Look, we don’t have to do this.” he waved a finger between them. “Make small talk and shit. I’m not interested in rehashing the past, or pretending like we give a shit about how the other has been. I have a spare room at my place you can stay in while you’re here, and I already set up meetings with a lawyer regarding Jack’s will and a funeral place for handling his remains.”
“Oh… Got it. Uh… thanks? For picking me up, letting me crash, and setting up the meetings. I could’ve helped. I thought that’s why you called.”
“I did call so you can help. Help me convince this asshole that we’re better off pulling the plug. And I wouldn’t thank me. My wife was the one who told me to do this. Something about how it doesn’t matter our differences, we can set them aside for a few days to handle our dad.”
“Sounds like a smart wife.”
“She is. Disrespect her, and I’ll bury you with him.”
Ashton held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling despite himself. “Alright, damn. Not that I would disrespect any woman. I’m not like that.”
“You’re an Irwin. Of course you’re like that.”
“You are too,” Ashton pointed out the hypocrisy. “And you spent more time around him than me.”
Rowan chuckled softly at that. Then, “I’m sorry, Ashton. You deserved better.”
“I’m sorry, too. We both did.”
~~~
The house Rowan pulled up to a modest looking house. “Nice place,” Ashton commented offhandedly. “Very… homey.”
“Thanks. I know it’s probably nothing fancy like you’re used to, but hey, we got indoor plumbing!” Rowan bragged sarcastically.
“I have a normal sized house, too. Asshole.”
Rowan snorted. “You act like I know your life.”
“You sure seem to want to comment on it like you do.”
“Alright, I’ll back off. Geez, I forgot how sensitive you are.”
“I’m not,” Ashton started, feeling his temper flare and his voice rise. “I’m not,” he repeated again, his voice softer. “It’s like you said earlier, let’s just handle this shit and we can go back to forgetting the other exists. Forget I said anything. Silence makes me feel uneasy.”
“Sorry…” Rowan apologized. He paused like he was going to keep on talking. Like despite all his bluster and spiteful words he was going to say something profound to mend a bridge whose foundation had been broken well before they crossed it. But before he could, a little girl came running out of the house, and Ashton felt a little foolish for what he hoped Rowan might have said.
“Daddy!” Nora screamed, coming to a halt by the truck door, small hands tugging on the handle.
“Baby!” Rowan matched her enthusiasm, the normally sullen and broody man Ashton knew replaced instantly by this family man persona. In a flash he was out of the truck, picking up his daughter and flinging her up in the air, her childlike shrieks of delight rattling in Ashton’s ears. He caught her as she came down, giving her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek and placing her on her feet. “Where’s your momma?”
“Inside,” she chirped, then leaned around her dad, hazel eyes wide with wonder as she zeroed in on Ashton. “Who’s that man, Daddy?” she whispered.
Rowan chuckled nervously, rubbing at his neck. “He’s… uh…”
“An old friend of your dad’s,” Ashton chimed in. “Very old friend.”
“Okay!” she chirped, before skipping off towards the house. “Momma said we’re having pizza!”
“Mmm, our favorite!” Rowan beamed, walking off after his daughter. He was at the porch before he realized Ashton hadn’t followed. “Well? C’mon. You heard the girl. It’s pizza night!”
~~~
Pizza night turned out to be sitting in the backyard around a firepit that doubled as a pizza oven.
“This is great, Ava,” Ashton thanked Rowan’s wife as they roasted marshmallows, the pizza devoured hours ago. “Kinda reminds me of when we were kids, huh Rowan? The good parts at least.”
Rowan smiled slightly as he sucked melted chocolate off his thumb. “Yeah. That firepit was probably the only good thing at Jack’s.”
“Oh!” Ava said suddenly, jumping to her feet. “That reminds me. I found something when we were cleaning up his place,” she murmured, before dashing inside the house. She emerged a few moments later, a picture in her hands. “It seemed like a happy memory. Which is so rare for Rowan. He was such a sullen child. I can make a copy if you want to take one home, Ashton.” As she spoke, she handed over the photograph.
Both boys were wearing wide grins, their arms flung around each other’s shoulders like they were the closest of brothers. Based on how Ashton had caught up in height to Rowan, it appeared to have been taken one of the last summers Ashton had spent at Jack’s, so he guessed it had to have been Rowan’s last summer before he went to university, placing them at about fifteen and seventeen years old.
Rowan scoffed as he waved a dismissive hand at the picture. “He can take the original, love. That picture is a joke.”
Ashton gingerly accepted the photograph, taking a closer look at it. True to Rowan’s word, while both of them were grinning, their eyes were dead. “Yeah if I remember correctly, I think that was the same night I got this scar after you stabbed me with the fire poker,” he recalled, flexing his hand that still bore the scar.
Ava’s eyes went wide, as Rowan tilted his head back and let out a roar of laughter, startling everyone. “Okay, okay. If you’re gonna tell the story, at least tell it right. I didn’t stab you on purpose. And I stabbed myself afterwards with it.”
Ashton chuckled, the faded memory becoming clearer in his own mind.
~~~
“Oh would you two quit bitchin’ and take the fuckin’ picture already?!” Jack grumbled from behind the camera he held poised to capture what was supposed to be a brotherly moment to share with their mothers. Evidence of another great time with dad, even if it was staged.
“I would if he wasn’t strangling me,” Ashton complained, pulling at Rowan’s arm pressing uncomfortably into his neck.
“I wouldn’t be strangling you if you stopped slouching, fuck face.”
“ENOUGH!” Jack barked, the teenagers flinching at the sound as Jack stomped over to them. He roughly shoved them shoulder to shoulder. “Now put your fuckin’ arms around each other and smile! It’s not that fuckin’ hard, surely you two morons can follow basic fuckin’ directions!”
Neither boy dared so much as breath as Jack took the picture, continuing to berate them. “See? Not that fuckin’ hard. I swear to God the two of you sometimes! How hard is it to fuckin’ get along for two fuckin’ seconds?! Fuckin’ morons, both of you! Useless fuckin’ morons…”
Jack stomped off back into the house, but the brothers stayed frozen in place for a solid minute afterwards just in case. When they figured the coast was clear, Rowan shoved Ashton hard enough to make him stumble back a step with an angry “Get the fuck off of me!”
Ashton gritted his teeth before he launched himself at Rowan, tackling him into the grass. After nine years of dealing with Rowan’s animosity he was tired of taking shit for a wrong he didn’t do. He’d been tired of it by the end of that first summer. The difference was now Ashton was big enough to fight back, Jack’s consequences be damned.
The boys rolled in the grass, a weird mind game of seeing who could gain the upper hand by being on top of the other, but enough of their mothers’ restraint to hold back on exchanging actual blows.
At some point in the rolling, Rowan’s hands gripped around something thin and without thinking he raised it in defense, stabbing Ashton in the back of the hand with it. Ashton yelped in pain, immediately jumping to his feet as he cradled his hand to his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rowan started to panic, dropping what he had accidentally used. An iron fire poker that was still red hot at the tip. “Shh! Fuck! Lemme see how bad it is!” he continued to panic as Ashton tried to tamper down his cries of pain at the small red blister forming.
“You fuckin’ stabbed me!” Ashton whisper shouted before clamping his good hand over his mouth. “And you made me cuss!”
“Oh, don’t be such a fuckin’ baby,” Rowan shot back with an eye roll. “You fuckin’ started it. But shit, would you hold fuckin’ still so I can look at it?”
“It hurts, dude. Like really really bad,” Ashton said, wincing through his teeth as Rowan gently turned Ashton’s hand over to closely examine the blister.
“Go get the hose. Make sure the water runs cold before you stick your hand under it,” Rowan instructed, and for once Ashton listened without questioning him. “Fuck…” Rowan continued to mutter repeatedly.
The cold water hitting the blister made Ashton sigh in relief. “Oh that feels so much better. Now what?”
“Now nothing. Keep it under there for a little bit longer. And then treat it like any other blister. Leave it alone. It’ll heal. Hopefully it won’t scar.”
“That’s it? You stab me with something that was on fire and all I get is ‘hopefully it won’t scar’??? You’re such a jerk, you know that? Like every time I think maybe you’re not all Jack, you prove me wrong. Frickin’ jerk…”
“I’m nothing like Jack,” Rowan said, his teeth gritted, face set hard as stone. “Here, I’ll prove it.” And without a second thought, Rowan picked up the poker, stuck it in the smoldering coals of the fire, and pressed it to the back of his hand. He clamped down his own yelp as he dropped the poker, shoving his own hand next to Ashton’s under the running water. “See? I’m nothing like him.”
It was single-handedly the most moronic thing Ashton had ever seen, and against his better judgement, he broke out into laughter. Rowan stared at him like he’d lost his mind before the hilarity of the situation hit him, and he too burst into laughter. “C’mon,” he said, shutting off the hose. “You ever smoke before? I know where we can without getting caught.”
~~~
Ashton tried to be quiet as he opened a cupboard in search of coffee mugs, the house still asleep.
“You’re not gonna find any booze, if that’s what you’re after,” Rowan’s voice said from behind, causing Ashton to jump. “Sorry. But I don’t keep that shit in the house.”
“Was looking for a coffee mug, actually. Not much of a drinker myself, considering.”
“Mmm,” Rowan murmured, nodding his head at a shelf. “Left one, middle row. Did the guest bed suck that badly, or are you always up this early?” he asked as he focused on getting a pot of coffee brewing for them.
“No, the bed was fine. Thank you, again. I know me being around doesn’t make you feel comfortable.”
“Wasn’t my choice. It was Ava’s.”
“Right,” Ashton remembered. “But still. You never struck me as the type who listened to others unless he wanted to.”
Silence lapsed around them as coffee dripped into the pot. Ashton did his best to try not to make small talk, but once there was enough coffee to fill up their mugs, he asked “Uh, is there a place I can smoke?”
Rowan’s eyebrows shot up, lips quivering in a smirk. “Won’t drink, but you kept that bad habit, eh? C’mon, I’ll show you a spot.”
A few moments later at the furthest edge of Rowan’s yard, Ashton pulled out a joint and a lighter. The first inhale calmed his jitters. The second cleared his foggy mind. “Want a hit?” he offered.
Rowan glanced around before shrugging. “Fuck it,” he said taking a hit. “Fuck, that’s good weed.”
“Mmm. Helps with the anxiety.”
“You? Anxious?” Rowan teased. “Never would have guessed.”
“Ha-ha,” Ashton deadpanned back. And it might have been the weed, or the morning coffee, or the nice view of the sun rising up in the sky, but for a brief moment Ashton felt at ease next to his brother. “Y’know,” he said. “I know you said we don’t have to rehash the past, and make small talk, and shit. But, I gotta say, you seem a lot nicer than I remember.”
“I was always nice, f— Ashton. I just wasn’t always nice to you.”
“Way to make a guy feel special.”
“Ha-ha… But I suppose you’re right in some ways. It took me leaving to realize that I had spent so many years being mad at the wrong person. Like… I was mad at Jack. Hated him. Still do, if I’m being completely honest with myself. But… it’s hard to hate a man when you’re five years old in a way that means anything to the man, you know?
“You were eight when I first met you and Jack.”
“Yeah, but by then he and my mom had been split for three years. I still don’t really remember all of it. I just know at some point he got really interested in you and then he split. And my mum… she did her best I think. But she had me convinced he left us for you. And that’s what I wanted to believe. You know the weekend we met was the same weekend I finally started having to see him? I got there first, and he already had our room set up. And I dunno, my brain just wanted me to think that you lived there too. That I was just gonna have to play house with my dad and his new family and better son. It wasn’t until after that I realized that he had left your mom too, and you were also just forced to visit. But by then… I dunno man… I didn’t know how to cope, so I took it out on you.”
“I get it. I watched my siblings go through what we did but with their dad. The difference is their dad is actually a halfway decent guy. Man, my mum sure knew how to pick ‘em.”
“Mmm… I didn’t realize you had other siblings.”
“Yeah I’m the oldest. Spent a lot of time trying to protect them from the damage as a result. Must have learned it from you somewhere along the line.”
Rowan stiffened slightly, not sure how to take the apparent compliment. “I tried, you know. Definitely not my best and not every time. But… part of me wanted to care for you. Wanted a brother. I just… was too fuckin’ angry, man. Even now. Like… My friends have kids who are older than Nora. She’s one of the youngest out of those ‘cousins’. Because I was so scared for so long that I’d end up like him. That the angry kid I was would turn into the angry adult he was.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you ended up like him at all. You’re a great dad. A great husband, too. You did well for yourself, all things considered.”
“Thanks. And I am sorry. For any part I played in adding to your own bullshit. I— I’m not a recluse, y’know. I keep up with most mainstream shit. I’ve watched how your band has grown and shit. And I know I’ve given you shit about it since I called. But it’s not jealousy or hatred, okay? It’s… I dunno. I want to say that it’s me trying to tease you like normal brothers do. But I’m aware that it comes across as me being a dick for the sake of being a dick. Honestly, I haven’t ever been really good at the whole brother thing.”
“You did alright. Better than you thought you did, at least. Like… my life at my mum’s wasn’t a whole lot better. The difference was that there I had to be the one looking out for my younger siblings. And whether you tried your best or not, it was nice to know that at least when I was at Jack’s I had someone looking out for me rather than the other way around.”
Rowan sniffed, rubbing at his face with his hand that wasn’t holding the coffee cup. “Thanks. That erm… just thanks.”
Ashton offered up a small smile. “No problem.”
Rowan sniffed again, rubbing at his face with a little more force. “Eurgh… I should get breakfast going. Nora’s gonna be up soon, and we have those meetings today…”
Ashton nodded, understanding the way Rowan was looking for a polite way to end the conversation before they both ended up in a trauma bond moment of blubbering in the backyard. “Yup. Handle whatever you gotta handle. Just let me know when you’re ready to head out.”
Rowan rolled his eyes as he waved a hand, beckoning Ashton to follow him. “C’mon, Ava will kill me if I don’t at least offer to feed you when I’m already making breakfast.”
“Well if Ava insists…”
“She does.”
~~~
The convalescent home where Jack lived smelled like the old and dying, with Jack’s room smelling significantly more on the dying side.
“Oh how nice of you to join us, Ashton,” Jack said, eye raking over Ashton. “Finally convinced the superstar he wasn’t too good to forget where he came from?” The Irwin disdain look flickered towards Rowan.
“Fuck you, don’t talk to him like that,” Rowan came to Ashton’s defense. “We’re here to tell you two things. One: despite your best efforts to pit us against each other, we both turned out better than you had any right to hope for. Ashton has an incredibly successful career and has found a place where people love and accept him. I have a family. A daughter. Who will never once have to question my love for her and will never flinch away at the sound of my voice. Your shit DNA made us brothers, but our mothers made us the men we are.” His words held pride, both in himself and in Ashton as he held up a single finger. And something in Ashton’s chest that had been cracked for the last twenty-six years fused itself back together. “Two:,” Rowan continued, a second finger going up. “You’re getting cremated, and we’re spreading your ashes in your backyard. Then I’m selling your land and using the money to start a college fund for Nora. My half at least. Ashton can do what he wants with his half. So do us both a favor and die already so we can go back to our lives. And try not to make your nurses too miserable in the process.” And with that he lowered only one finger— his index— leaving his middle finger raised, as he turned his back and retreated out of the room.
Ashton didn’t speak until they were back in Rowan’s truck. And then all he said was “Keep my half of the money you get. I don’t need anything from him.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ashton from the corner of his eye. “You sure? After taxes and shit, it’s a good $250,000. That’s a lot of money to piss away to spite the man. Even I’m not that stupid.”
“It’s not spite. It’s a long overdue apology. I spent so much time being angry at you for being angry at me for his mistakes. I never stopped to think that it must have been just as hard on you as it was on me. Harder even. And even then there were moments where you still tried to protect me.”
“We both made plenty of mistakes, Ashton. Me more so than you.”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is what we choose to do going forward. And if it’s alright with you, I’d like to be an uncle to Nora. And a brother to you. A real one.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
~~~
“Jack said you started a band?” Rowan asked, attempting to make conversation as they passed a joint back and forth.
“Mhm,” Ashton nodded. His relationship with Rowan had been different these past two summers since they had wrestled in the yard and got matching scars. Rowan wasn’t as hard. Ashton wasn’t as angry. “It’s pretty cool. We think we can make it. Mum wanted me to finish high school first and give Jack this last summer. But once I get home… Sky’s the limit.”
“Good. Make it, Ashton. Get out of here as fast and as far as you can and don’t look back, you hear me?”
~~~
Ashton stayed at Rowan’s for another week. That was how long it took for the convalescent home to call to say that Jack had died and for the funeral home to call that the ashes were ready. How long it took for the brothers to sort through Jack’s belongings at his property, neither of them taking a single thing aside from the yearly photos Jack had forced them to take, Ava graciously making copies so each of them could have them.
Rowan stood in the backyard of their childhood, a little bag of ashes in his hand. They hadn’t bothered with a box or an urn. There hadn’t been a need. “I feel like we should say something, but I can’t think of anything,” Rowan admitted as he opened the bag.
“I’ll try,” Ashton volunteered. “Jack… you were… pffft… you were fuckin’ terrible. A man deeply flawed. But, the best thing you did was make us brothers. So thank you.”
“Rot in hell, ya fuck face,” Rowan added before ceremoniously upturning the bag into the dirt.
“Amen!” Ashton laughed, Rowan joining him. And the two stood there, laughing until it hurt to breathe, the ashes scattering in the light breeze.
~~~
Ashton left two days later. He slung his bag over his shoulder, shutting Rowan’s truck door shut with his hip.
“Thanks again,” he said, voice thick with all the things he left unsaid in those two words.
“Anytime,” Rowan nodded, before reaching into his back pocket. He pulled forth a sandwich bag that contained the copies of the photos Ava had made, along with a folded up piece of paper. “These copies are yours. And Nora wanted to make you something too.”
“Give them my thanks. And love.”
Rowan nodded again. Then before he could overthink it, he embraced Ashton in a strong hug, hand clapping on his back. “Let’s keep in touch this time?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that,” Ashton replied, also clapping Rowan on the back.
“Call me when you land and get home,” Rowan said, breaking the embrace and sniffing. “Safe flight and all that.”
Ashton sniffed too, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, of course. Really good to see you, man.”
“Good to see you too, brother.”
Ashton waited until he was in his seat on the flight before he opened the bag of pictures, laying them out on his table tray. He carefully unfolded the paper Nora had made: a picture of 4 stick figures, two identical in height and color scribbles, each figure labeled: Nora, Mummy, Daddy, Uncle Ash.
Ashton clutched the picture to his chest and smiled.
1.) When Not OK dropped it took me about a solid 3 weeks to come around to it. Like I honestly wasn’t sure if it was for me. Which is fine. It’s not their job to tailor music specifically for me. I was just slightly disappointed because I want to vibe with all their music and I was scared this album just wasn’t gonna do it for me.
2.) It might be my thirty-something ears fucking with me but Ash, Luke, and Cal’s voices are getting harder for me to separate in certain contexts. Like Luke’s “deep” voice sounds a lot like Cal’s regular voice. And Ash’s voice sounds a lot like Luke’s regular, bordering on falsetto voice.
3.) Telephone Busy sounds like that one Daftpunk song. “Break it, use it, fix it,” you know the one. And I need someone to understand that and possibly mix those songs together.
4.) When I saw the title “Ghost” I went “oh no, how much damage am I gonna take?” and I was right for thinking that. That song wrecked me in like a sad adult am I really the person I want to be kind of way.
Gemma walked across the grassland of Wakanda, marveling at the country laid out in all its glory before her. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “What can be accomplished without outside… influence.”
“You mean what can be accomplished without Western ideologies of dominance?” T’Challa corrected.
Gemma laughed. “Yes. So you can imagine my surprise at your invitation for me to be here. I’m flattered, of course. But— forgive my ignorance—but does anyone in Wakanda need me? I’m not sure what I’m able to bring to the table.”
“Tony spoke highly of you Dr. Clarke. Your knowledge will be of great use to—”
“I was a college professor before Tony hired me to work with Peter,” Gemma interrupted. “I was barely qualified to work with him. If you’re suggesting I’m here to teach the youth of Wakanda… Again, I’m flattered, but that’s out of my area of expertise.”
T’Challa raised a hand as he stopped in front of a small hut. “No. It is not the people of Wakanda who need your teaching. Just one person.” He opened the flap to the hut, gesturing for her to enter. “After you, Dr. Clarke.”
Gemma stepped inside the hut. It was sparsely decorated with a cot in one corner and a small table with two chairs in another. At one of those chairs sat a man. His chair scraped back as he rose to his feet, shoulder length dark hair swaying with the movement. A beard decorated his jawline, and he wore traditional Wakandan clothes, one arm exposed by the short sleeves, his other concealed from view with a wrap. No, Gemma realized after a second look. Not concealed. Missing. Her breath caught. “Sergeant Barnes.”
Bucky chuckled. “Now that’s a title I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“Bucky is fine,” Bucky interrupted. “I’m not… I haven’t been Sergeant Barnes in a long time. And I don’t want to be the other guy.”
“Bucky it is then. I’m Gemma.”
Bucky gave her a small smile before turning his gaze to T’Challa. “More help?”
“Dr. Clarke is a renowned professor of modern history. She is here to assist you—”
“A teacher? You got me a teacher?”
“I’m an expert in my field of study. And I happen to use my expertise to educate others. So, yes, you could call me a teacher, but perhaps you could try again without the disdain. And I am assuming that the gaps in your own historical knowledge are worrisome which is why I’ve been asked here. Asked. Not forced. So if you are not willing to accept my help, I will gladly leave and find someplace where I am wanted,” Gemma told him, her voice taking on a sharp edge.
Bucky raised his single hand in apology. “I meant no disrespect. But I’m shocked that—”
“That rehabilitation is so thorough here in Wakanda?” T’Challa guessed.
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“He thinks I do not care for him,” T’Challa said to Gemma. “He is mostly correct.”
“Then why help him?” Gemma asked.
“Because it is my duty to better the world, not aid in its destruction.”
“King T’Challa the Noble, they’ll call you,” Bucky half-joked. “So,” his eyes locked on Gemma. “Where should we start?”
~~~
“There are theories about what the truth is, but there’s no hard evidence to decide for certain what happened,” Dr. Clarke explained, as they sat across the small table from each other, an open book and few other documents scattered on the surface.
Bucky scoffed, eyes not looking up from the notebook he was writing furiously in. It was his second notebook in three months, and it was already nearly full. Originally he had thought about being selective with his note-taking. But the passion in which Gemma helped him make sense of each topic they discussed had him captivated, hanging on every word.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“There are some things I remember. This is one of them,” he told her, head still pointed down at the notebook.
“So it was a HYDRA operation,” she deduced.
“You’d be surprised by how much HYDRA and SHIELD were behind a lot of things. And the lengths they go through to keep it under wraps.” His gaze lifted to meet hers as he spoke.
Gemma noted the way his face shadowed over at the unwelcome memories threatening to creep up. “How much do you remember?” she asked softly, but curious.
“The targets. The dates. I did my best to make a timeline at one point. Piece it all together. But there were too many gaps. Too many things I couldn’t make sense of. And I guess that’s why T’Challa brought me you.” While there was no coldness in the words, there wasn’t any warmth either. Just neutral indifference. And somehow to Gemma, that was worse. Any emotion, positive or negative, would be better than that flat, unbothered voice.
“I’m so glad you see my worth,” Gemma said with a roll of her eyes.
“I keep insulting you, somehow.” At last, a note of something dripped from his words. Concern? Remorse?
“Perhaps you need a communications teacher, not a history one.”
Bucky loosed a sigh. “You’re half right. I probably could use a communications teacher. But I need you, too. The lessons really have helped me understand everything better. How the world has changed. The role I played in the way it changed. Everything T’Challa’s done for me has been… It’s a fresh start. One that I don’t find myself deserving of.” He paused as he gave a shake of his head. “Anyway. I’m grateful to him. And to you. Everyone else seems to have their opinion of me. Steve… he’s my best friend. But he still sees me as the way we were during the war. And we’ve both experienced so much since then. So, to confront my past would be to confront his own. And the rest of the world sees the monster HYDRA created. But you and T’Challa, you’re the first to see something else in me.”
“And that makes you uncomfortable, and your instinct is to push people away. To allow them to view you as the monster. Is that because you’re afraid? Or because you still think of yourself as the monster?”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his mind assessing her words for a threat. “I’m not sure. I suppose that’s a conversation to save for a therapist. Maybe I can ask T’Challa for one of those, too,” he all but snapped at her. Since when had admitting that he genuinely needed her help to fill the gaps in his memory turned into an interrogation session of his inner demons?
“Well, therapist or not, you need to get over it. Whatever it is that causes you to push people away. Because you don’t scare me, Bucky. Nothing you say or do is going to make me run away. I do not view you as a threat.”
“You should. Everything about me should terrify you to your core.”
Gemma knew that the low rasp of his words, the way his large hands splayed out across the tabletop between them as he rose to tower over her, and the darkening of his facial features should have made her cower. Falter at the very least. Instead she matched the menacing power radiating from him. She barked out a scoff of laughter as she too rose from her seat and leaned across the table. Her fingers nearly brushed against his, as she glowered up at him. “I have seen the worst of humanity. You’re not it.”
It was infuriating the way she acted like she knew him more than he knew himself. So why he kissed her, he couldn’t say. One moment he was matching her glare, and the next his hand was reaching out to grip under Gemma’s jaw, holding her in place as his lips crashed down onto hers.
If she was shocked, she hid it well as she climbed across the table to sit in front of him, snaking her legs around his waist to pull him further in. There was a thud as the book hit the floor and the soft whish of paper falling. Her hands carded through his hair, tugging firmly. His own grip on her remained steady as the kiss deepened. Someone growled. Teeth nipped flesh.
Then, in a startled gasp of air, they were pulling away, flushed cheeks, and panting for air. “I—” Bucky started to stammer out, eyes wild. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m not even sure why I did. Not that it matters. I mean, yes, it matters. But that’s— I crossed a line that I shouldn’t have crossed.”
“Mmm,” Gemme hummed, her thumb rubbing across her lower lip, eyes light with playfulness that verged on lust. A look that Bucky quite enjoyed. “And what line was that exactly?”
“A professional one,” he said simply, the wild look disappearing. Gemma saw the mental wall in Bucky’s mind go up. The way he retreated, shutting himself off from both her and his own emotions. “You’re my teacher. I’m your student.” He bent to grab the papers and the book.
“We’re also two consenting adults,” she said, as she hopped down from the table to help him, “and exist outside the traditional construct of a typical teacher-student relationship. We’re an outlier. And as such we can do as we please.” She took her seat, the papers finding their way back in place along the table. Her face betrayed nothing of how she desperately wanted to resume their kiss, and let emotion led them wherever it wanted to take them.
“I— I haven’t been…” Bucky ducked his head as he coughed, suddenly awkward and shy, “involved with someone since before the war.”
Gemma hooked a finger under Bucky’s chin, not a command to meet her gaze, but a request. A gesture that demonstrated the unrelenting patience she would always grant him. Patience to meet her on his terms. Slowly his eyes shifted upwards, crystal blue eyes clear of any fear or hesitation. “So I’d like to take you out on a date first. Possibly several,” he finally spoke.
“I’d be delighted.”
~~~
History, Bucky learned, was more than dates on a page. History was the way Gemma’s eyebrows pulled together, and her fingers interlaced with his as she recalled her childhood. It was the way those same fingers left delicious marks across his back, each one a moment in time he wanted forever cemented in his mind. It was the way when historians of the future inevitably fell upon his part of the narrative, he prayed that her name would be placed alongside his. Not Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Not the Winter Soldier. Only Bucky Barnes and Gemma Clarke.
~~~
The day found them as it often did, the two of them hunched over a book, Bucky furiously taking notes as Gemma provided more details than the words on the pages did. Each of them so wrapped up that they nearly jumped out of their skin when someone cleared their voice in the doorway of the hut.
“Shouldn’t you know better than to startle someone like me?” Bucky asked T’Challa with a note of annoyance in his voice.
T’Challa didn’t say anything as he strode forward to place a long rectangular box on the table. He opened the lid to reveal a beautifully crafted arm of newly polished metal.
Whereas Gemma had no idea what the metal arm meant, Bucky seemed to know immediately. “Where’s the fight?”
“It’s on its way,” T’Challa finally spoke.
In the span of the next fifteen minutes, Bucky and Gemma were filled in with what exactly was going on, and what exactly was “on its way”: Thanos in search of the infinity stones.
“The infinity what?” Bucky asked as the three made their way across the grasslands towards Wakanda’ headquarters.
“The infinity stones. There’s six of them,” Gemma explained. “Each with its own properties that have the ability to do things that are supposed to be impossible. Teleportation, time control, all sorts of things. Each stone alone is capable of destruction on a terrifying scale. All of them together? That’s… that’s extinction…” Her voice faltered and her face paled as she realized the intended purpose of Thanos’ mission. “T’Challa, is that what he’s planning? Is that what you guys are going to try and stop?”
T’Challa merely nodded. “We have two of them here on Earth. Well, there were two on Earth. But now one is with wherever Dr. Strange, Tony, and young Peter are after the New York attack. The other one—”
“The other one is Vision…” Bucky finished. “So everyone is coming here because?”
“Because Wakanda has the technology to destroy the Mind Stone without destroying Vision. And where Vision is, Thanos’ army will follow,” T’Challa answered.
“Ah, so we’re all up to speed?” a voice asked as Bucky, Gemma, and T’Challa approached the building.
The voice belonged to a tall, well-built, blonde man, who was flanked by five others, two women, two more men, and what appeared to be a very humanoid robot. “Steve!” Bucky exclaimed, happily despite the impending doom that was causing this reunion.
“Hey Buck,” Steve smiled as the men embraced each other. “You remember the team, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, and Vision. And this is Dr. Bruce Banner,” Steve introduced.
“Pleasure,” Bruce nodded, with a grim smile.
“I wasn’t expecting you to have company,” Steve said somewhat suggestively with a pointed glance at Gemma’s direction.
Bucky cleared his throat. “Yes, this is Gemma, she’s uh…” Bucky stumbled, because despite being involved with Gemma for nearly a year and a half, he had never had to introduce her as his girlfriend to anyone.
“Dr. Gemma Clarke. Former history professor at Columbia University,” Gemma introduced herself, offering out her hand.
Steve shook her hand, strong, steady, and surprisingly gentle. “Former? Are you no longer?”
“Not since Tony plucked me to tutor Peter a handful of years back,” Gemma chuckled. “And then I got asked to come here to help Bucky. And the rest, they say, is history.”
He nodded, a knowing smile gracing his face. “Buck always was a teacher’s pet.”
Bucky groaned while Gemma and Steve laughed. “You’re insufferable,” he told them both. “The world is ending and you’re teasing me about my dating life. You know, Steve, never once have I teased you about yours.”
“Hard to tease somebody about something they don’t have,” Sam threw in. “Welcome to the team, Gemma. Are you fighting?”
“I’m sure I can find some thick history books to throw at Thanos’ head,” Gemma joked at the same time Bucky let out a sharp, “No.”
“Excuse me?”
Bucky grabbed her arm to tug her a few steps away from everyone who had the decency to pretend they didn’t notice. “No. You’re not fighting. I’m not going to risk losing you, sweetheart.”
“But I can risk losing you?” she challenged. “How is that fair, my love?”
“It’s not,” he admitted. “But please understand that this is my area of expertise. I know what I’m doing.”
“This isn’t some regular war, Bucky. Thanos… these stones… Did you not hear what this all means? Extinction on a global scale, my love. That is what you’re up against.”
“That’s why I have to fight against it.”
“And why can’t I help?”
Bucky peered down at her wondering what to say and how to say it in a way that wasn’t condescending or patronizing. That to lose her would be to lose everything. That the life he had fought so hard to build for himself these past few years meant nothing if she wasn’t part of it. “Gemma, sweetheart, I love you.”
She looked up at him, meeting and holding his gaze. This “I love you” was so different from the ones they had shared previously. Secret whispered confessions late at night as she laid on his chest. Solemn moments of acceptance when the memories turned too dark to face alone. Breathless laughter and a future that spanned forever. And now this, a final plea. “I need you, sweetheart. I need to know you’re safe in all of this. In whatever comes next. And I know how unfair and selfish it is to ask you to stay out of this fight when I won’t do the same for you. I know that, okay? But please, Gemma, sweetheart, I am begging you—”
She reached up to cup his face in both her hands. “Promise me you’ll come back.” Her voice cracked as a rogue tear slid a path down her face.
“I—”
“Promise me!”
He knew it was a fool’s bargain. They both did. But he knew she wouldn’t let go of him until he promised. And if he had to make a promise he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep to guarantee she would keep herself safe… well. “I promise. I love you, I promise.” His thumb brushed across her face, a last soothing touch, committing every detail to memory. His lips were inches from hers when the world exploded.
~~~
Gemma was sure she would go stir crazy with the rest of the evacuated Wakandians as they waited for one of two outcomes: death or victory.
And when half of the people in the room started crumbling into ash and dust… that was when the real panic set in.
Gemma ignored the way her body sagged in relief when the ashes settled and her body was still intact. Ignored the churning in her stomach of the guilt of surviving whatever hell had occurred. Swallowed down more panic at the hell she and the rest of the survivors would still have to face. And did her best to slow her breathing as she waited for Bucky to return.
Figuring that the hut they shared would be the best place to wait for Bucky, that was where Gemma headed. And part of her felt guilty for the way her heart soared when a man already stood inside.
Then her heart shattered, and Gemma fell to the floor weeping as Steve quickly crossed over to her. “Gemma, I’m so sorry,” Steve’s voice was a soft murmur as he crouched down next to her.
When his arms wrapped around her, she didn’t recoil. It didn’t matter that she had only properly met the man earlier that day. Through Bucky she knew Steve. And if anyone would understand how deeply she felt his loss, it would be Steve. If anyone would allow her this moment of weakness, of utter collapse, and not pass judgement, it would be Steve.
So together, the two of them sat on the floor, locked in an embrace as if they were more than perfect strangers, and mourned the loss of James Buchanan Barnes.
~~~
Three weeks after losing Bucky, Gemma was with what remained of the Avengers in the headquarters in New York. It felt the same as it had the time she spent there when she was first recruited by Tony Stark to tutor Peter Parker, but the liveliness of the space was gone. The headquarters were haunted by both the living and nonliving.
While Natasha and Steve talked in hushed tones about plans, Gemma spent her time conversing with Bruce, the two of them sharing their respective wealths of knowledge with the other. Wanda and Vision were never out of each other’s sight. And Thor… He was as close to being drunk as being a god would allow.
Despite the facade of being put together, Gemma spent most nights with Steve, each of them seeking out the comfort that the rest of the group didn’t quite understand. Yes, everyone of them was no stranger to the loss that had affected half of the population. Yes, none of them had come out unscathed. But there was something to losing Bucky that Gemma and Steve understood in a way no one else did that neither of them couldn’t quite explain.
“How do you stand it?” Gemma asked him on one of these nights, her voice vacant of any emotion. “I feel… crazy in a way. Almost like I don’t deserve to grieve him the same way. You… You lost him twice. A man you grew up with. Your brother in every way that matters. I— I knew him for just shy of two years. What right do I have to grieve him in the same way you do? What right do I have to mourn him at all?”
“Loss doesn’t work that way,” Steve told her softly. “When I lost him the first time… I didn’t get this chance to mourn him. Everything happened too fast. He fell. I finished the mission. Then I went into the ice. And when I got out… There was too much to sort through. And—” Steve paused, sniffing and looking up at the ceiling like it would change the trajectory of the tears that started to slide down his face. “When we got to Wakanda and I saw you with him, I could tell. How much the two of you meant to each other. And if it had gone better, I would have thanked you. Because that was the Bucky I remembered from before. And I knew that some of that was because of you. Maybe all of it. You love him. So you mourn him however you need to. And know that I’m here to go through this with you.”
She swallowed through the thickness in her throat. “Did it get easier? In the time between when you woke up and realized he was the Winter Soldier? When you thought you would have to live in a world without him?”
He shook his head, then gave out a shuddering laugh that was half a sob. “God, I shouldn’t admit that to you. But no. Bucky… If anyone deserved a fair chance at life, it was him. And no matter how hard I try, I always end up failing him somehow.” Steve sniffed loudly, scrubbing his face with one of his hands. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be unloading on you like this. You have your own pain to carry, you don’t need to carry mine as well.”
Gemma gently clasped one of Steve’s hands on hers, offering him a tearful smile. “You mourn him however you need to. And know that I’m here to go through this with you.”
Steve knew that even though Bucky was gone, Gemma was still his girlfriend. So he knew what he was doing was wrong as he leaned forward to close the space that remained between them. He knew that to brush his lips against hers wouldn’t save either of them from this loss. He knew it would probably make everything so much worse. That it was a shared trauma that made him feel intimately close to this woman and it was so beyond screwed up.
But the irrational part of him was threatening to take over. The part that craved connection and understanding. He had enough sense to hesitate, close enough to hear the way her breath caught, wondering if this line truly was about to be crossed. He knew he should pull back, put space between them, and apologize. But instead of looking at him with disgust or fear, her brown eyes seemed to plead with him. As if she was aching for the connection as well. An emotional outlet that they could sort through some other time. A free pass of no guilt, judgement, or remorse.
“Guys!” Bruce’s voice boomed out, making the pair jump apart. “Guys, you gotta come see this!”
“What is it, Bruce?” Steve called back as the scientist came running frantically into the living room area.
“He’s back!”
Gemma jumped to her feet, that lustful ache evaporating as thoughts of reuniting with Bucky flooded her senses, feeling his name bubble up in her throat. She stopped herself from asking though, not daring for fear of losing him— and by extension herself— again.
“Who’s he?” Steve asked for clarification, his normally steady voice shaking at the edges.
Bruce’s hand went up to rub at the back of his neck as he averted the couple’s gaze. “Er… wrong word choice, sorry. Uh, Tony. Tony’s back.”
Steve’s hand reached out to squeeze Gemma’s, and she understood the words he didn’t say. They would navigate Tony’s return, and then they would work through what living in a world without Bucky meant, and they would do it together with no guilt, judgement, or remorse.
Roughly ten minutes later, the living room area was very much alive as Tony sat huddled in a blanket, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee while five sets of eyes watched him carefully. “What?!” he snapped.
“Uh… so space?” Bruce started. “How was that?”
“How was space?!” Tony exploded, slamming down the mug of coffee on the table in front of him. “Gee, Banner, I dunno, let’s see… uh, there’s the Space Avengers run by some idiot named Starshit who messed up the plan that we had but also didn’t have. The wizard gave up the stone he swore he would rather sacrifice us all for than give up. And then we lost, and I got stuck in space for three weeks!” Tony recapped, ticking things off on his fingers.
“Well did you learn anything that would be useful in—” Steve started, the military mindset taking over.
“Useful in what, Rogers?”
“Avenging the world?” Natasha supplied.
Tony gestured about the room. “What’s left to avenge?”
“Half the population, Tony,” Steve answered sharply, anger coursing through him. “What was the point of all this if we’re not going to fix it?”
“Because there’s nothing to fix! Don’t you get it, Rogers? Thanos fixed it! He gave us balance! There’s nothing left!”
“That’s bullshit,” Gemma spat out, eyes filled with rage. “You can’t bluster your way out of this, Stark. I understand that there has been… a difference of opinion about how far the Avengers range of community outreach goes in the past. But I think we can all agree now that this is very much within that realm.”
“Did my security team get dusted, too?” Tony wondered before his tone switched to cold professionalism. “You don’t work for me anymore, Dr. Clarke. This is an Avengers matter. Your input is both unnecessary and unwanted.”
Gemma stood up, throwing a pointed finger at Tony. “I worked for you for Peter’s sake because I love that kid as much as you do. And the fact that he isn’t in this room with us makes me think only one thing. So where’s Peter, Tony?”
Tony stood up, attempting to tower over the professor, but Steve threw an arm between them, pushing Gemma protectively behind him. “Don’t you dare say his name,” Tony ordered, his voice dangerously low.
“Peter,” Gemma said slowly, enunciating more than necessary. “Peter. Benjamin. Parker.”
Tony took a deep shuddering breath before backing down. “I’ll remind you again that this is an Avengers matter,” he told her once again in that cold professionalism voice. “So I strongly suggest you take your leave.”
“If you want to pout in your mansion, then say so Stark. But don’t hide behind this being an Avengers matter. Because if you truly saw it that way, then you would fuckin’ act like it. And the fact that you won’t baffles me. You’ll truly accept this defeat so easily?”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about things you can’t begin to comprehend. I lost, Dr. Clarke! We all did! So forgive me if all I want is to protect what little I have left.”
“How easy it’ll be for you now that half of it is gone.”
“I sure hope it is, Dr. Clarke,” Tony replied, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and crossing his arms behind his head. “I’m exhausted.” He yawned for added effect.
Steve threw her over his shoulder and carried her away before she could break the billionaire’s jaw.
~~~
Gemma couldn’t recall exactly when the days of friendly conversation and nights of comforting touches with Steve turned. It might have been the day of Tony’s return with the near kiss, or it could have been a million other little moments.
All she knew was that one day swapping stories with Steve about Bucky ended in breathless laughter instead of tears. And when his arms wrapped around her waist and their lips met, everything that had been broken inside of her fused back together. And she knew that somewhere Bucky not only understood, but gave his blessing to whatever his former girlfriend and best friend blossomed into.
Gemma could, however, remember the exact moment Steve dropped to his knee, and a little black box appeared in his hand. “Honey—” she gasped.
“I know this isn’t—” he started, the insecurity showing through.
Gemma stared at the delicate band of gold in its velvet cushion, before raising her gaze to meet Steve’s. “Steven Grant Rogers, our love is not a consolation prize bestowed upon us. Yes, our story is unconventional, but it is not artificial. We can honor him without being haunted. These past five years, they’ve been messy. There was an incomprehensible loss that we had to navigate. That we will probably spend the rest of our lives navigating. But you are a life in which I do not have to compromise the dark for the light. And if there is hope that we are more than what happened to us, it shares your name. To share that hope and bear the name that brought me back to life would be the greatest honor. So, ask me, honey. Ask me so I can say yes.”
Steve grinned up at her, cheeks turning pink. He let the box balance on his thigh as he gripped her hands in his. “Darling, I’ve been trying to figure out the right words for days now, and you’ve put everything I could say to shame. You are the breath of fresh air after years of breathing in pollution. And I have spent so much of my life waiting, and losing because of it. Therefore, I cannot let another second of my life go by without asking you to be mine. So, Gemma Louise Clarke, will you marry me?”
“Yes. Yes, a thousand times over.”
~~~
Plans for a small ceremony lay scattered across the table. “Honey, what do you think of this one?” Gemma asked, holding up an invitation.
Steve glanced over, studying it carefully, but not noticing any differences between that one and the several other options Gemma had shown him. “Darling,” he said with a defeated sigh. “Not to be dismissive, but let me remind you that I come from a simpler time.”
“Hence why I’m trying to find the right balance between new age elegance and vintage elegance.”
“Oh, so now I’m vintage?” he asked playfully.
Gemma rolled her eyes. “Vintage is me being nice, honey. I could call you old. And I’ll add stubborn to the list if you don’t help me choose something already.”
Steve clutched a hand to his heart. “You wound me, darling.” But he scooched his chair closer, giving all the invitations another look over. Then he loosed a sigh. “Honestly, they look all the same to me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Stubborn old man.”
He laughed, holding out a hand to her. “Darling, I’m marrying you. The details don’t particularly interest me. However, if there is an option that gets you to the altar faster than the others…”
Gemma smiled, getting out of her seat and crossing to him. She took his waiting hand in hers, moving it to wrap around her waist as she situated herself on his lap. “Nice save, honey. But seriously, if you don’t help me choose an invitation, I’ll be forced to marry you in secret.”
“Mmm, how dreadful,” he mused, stamping a kiss to her cheek. “Getting to marry you without worrying about font choices and various shades of white.”
She leaned back far enough to swat at his arm before resettling close to him, breathing deeply. “I suppose you’re right. I’m marrying you, that’s what matters most. Not these damn invitations that all look identical.”
Another kiss brushed against her cheek. “So now that the invitation is settled, what’s next on the list?”
Gemma glanced at the table, going through a check list in her head. “I think all that’s left is figuring out whether you're going to grow your beard again or keep being clean shaven.”
Steve laughed loudly, taken aback that his lack of beard had even made the list. “You’ve barely seen me with the beard. I shaved it almost immediately after and haven’t let it grow since.”
“And it’s honestly a shame. I never got the chance to appreciate it. So if you ever get the urge, you have my unwavering support.”
“Are you saying you don’t like my face how it is?”
“Of course I like your face as it is,” she said, cupping his face in her hands for emphasis. “It’s the face I fell in love with.”
“Well then I should probably keep it this way then, lest you fall out of love with me.”
“Not possible, honey,” she stated, kissing his nose. “I’m gonna love you forever.”
A confirmation that he would love her forever in turn was on his lips when Bruce came bursting in the room. “Guys! You gotta come see this!”
Five confusing minutes later, Bruce, Gemma, Natasha, and Steve sat around the living room area, staring at a man with wide eyes. Gemma swallowed the creeping sensation of deja vu as she addressed the man. “Sorry, you weren’t part of the Blip?”
The man shook his head. “No, I was… with some other people and got stuck… and when I got unstuck…” he gestured around the room. “Well… the world was like this. So I came here. Um, sorry, who are you?”
“Dr. Clarke.”
“Sorry,” Steve interjected. “Scott, Gemma. Gemma, Scott. Gemma was a history professor hired by Tony. Scott is Ant-Man.”
The man, Scott, nodded. “Hi. Um,” Scott said, glancing around, “So what exactly happened?”
Bruce took a breath before speaking. “The short version is that there was a battle five years ago. And we lost. And half the population was wiped off the surface of the Earth as a result.”
“That explains the memorial I saw. Damn… And nobody’s attempted to…?”
“Build a time machine to undo it? No. We don’t have the technology or willpower. There was a moment when we thought we could, but Tony… Well, Tony chose to salvage what he could. And the rest of us… struggled to make our peace with it,” Bruce said carefully.
Gemma snorted, forever holding a grudge against Tony. “Tony chose to go against what the Avengers stood for. A coward’s way of peace. The rest of us have been doing what we can to still help.”
Scott nodded, “Uh-huh… And if it was possible to build a time machine?”
Natasha’s eyebrows shot up, but she stayed quiet, observing.
“Is there something you know that we don’t?” Bruce asked, still treading the conversation carefully.
Scott shrugged. “I’m not sure. Have you heard of the quantum realm?”
“Quantum realm as in quantum physics?”
~~~
It was a fool’s shot in hell. Building a literal time machine to reverse the trajectory of the battle with Thanos went against every rationale and rule of science-fiction. But the overall agreement of the room was that they had to at least try.
The first phase was rounding up whoever they could, which unfortunately for Gemma, meant Tony.
“Darling?” Steve asked as Gemma passed him clothes from their dresser to pack into a duffle bag.
“Yeah, honey?”
When he said nothing, she turned from the dresser, to find him sitting on their bed, the clothes she handed him next to him rather than in the bag. “Honey, why aren’t you packing?”
“I— Before we do this, can we talk?”
“Can we talk while we pack?” she asked, turning back to pull more clothes out of the dresser.
“Gemma,” he said somewhat sharply.
She sighed, pushing shut a drawer. “Respectfully, honey, I don’t want to have this conversation.” She turned to face him. “Whatever fight this leads to, I want to be there. I know there’s not much I can contribute if this all truly comes down to another battle. But I will not wait for this to all blow over in some room praying everything goes right and dealing with the aftermath if it goes wrong again alone.”
He looked at her sorrowfully as he patted the space next to him. “I’m glad you’re so passionate, but that’s not the conversation I wanted to have.”
“Oh?” she asked, confused as she crossed to sit next to him. “Then what?”
He grabbed her hands, running this thumb over the band on her finger. “I need you to know that I want to marry you. That I love you. And that I understand that right now in this moment you love and want to marry me too. But if what they’re saying is true. If it’s possible to re-do everything and bring everyone— bring Bucky— back, I— I’ll do my best to understand if that changes.”
She pulled a hand free to rest it on his cheek. “Oh, honey… all this and that’s your main concern? That I’ll break your heart?”
He smiled sadly at her. “Can you blame me? And look I know that there are other things I should be concerned with. That this could all go terribly wrong and we lose again and we lose each other in the process. I’m aware and equally scared of that reality. But… whatever the outcome of this is, darling, I am going to lose.”
She dropped her hand, breathing slowly. She hadn’t even thought of that possibility. Of what it would mean if they were able to bring back everyone they had lost. Of what it would mean to have Bucky back in a world where she was now in love and engaged to Steve. “I— I don’t know what to say, honey. I— If Bucky comes back, I don’t know what that means. I—”
“I will love you regardless. But I want to ask you one favor before we start if that’s alright.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Give me five more minutes of this. Five more minutes where it’s just me and you. In this reality where you love me as much as I love you and we’re planning our wedding. I’m not ready to lose you just yet.”
For five minutes the couple sat there, clinging to each other tightly. And for the first time, Gemma truly hated that she had ever fallen in love. And she couldn’t fathom how she had been stupid enough to let it happen twice.
~~~
Everything after that time with Steve was a blur in Gemma’s mind. She couldn’t recall tracking down Clint, Thor, Wanda, and Vision. She couldn’t even remember the details of the conversation of convincing Tony, or what exactly was said to challenge the arrogant man into proper action after so many years of him creating his own peace.
Later, after endless hours of arguing and developing plan after plan, Steve finally asked her why she had been so quiet for the past week. “Darling, I know this is all a lot to process, but you don’t have to process it alone. You don’t have to spare my feelings here.”
“I don’t know what outcome I want. Which is so stupid because the default answer should be that I want you to succeed. To do the impossible of literally turning back time. But… And this isn’t to say that what Thanos did was right, because it wasn’t. But the world has moved on. Hell, honey, we moved on. Tony had a whole fuckin’ family, and we—” She pinched the bridge of her nose, swallowing the rise of selfishness and surviovor’s guilt. “The impact of half the world blipping back into existence is… well it’s actually quite nuanced and frankly a little dangerous. People that once had homes and families… it’s going to be a lot to figure out on a global scale.”
“Darling, five years ago you almost beat Tony bloody for this chance we have right now.”
“Yes, because five years ago it made sense. Everything was still fresh. And I still believe that it is the right course of action, however, for this to succeed in the least damaging way possible, it can’t just be some Avenger side project that the world finds out about in the aftermath.”
He blinked. She had a point. If they wanted to rectify wrongs, they had to go about it the right way. Everything that had ever gone wrong with the Avengers had been a case of their own egos overriding common sense. But that didn’t mean they had to continue to blindly make choices for the masses based on their own sense of justice. “And that’s why you’ve been quiet. You’re plotting for the aftermath. You’re thinking three steps ahead of us, as usual.”
She nodded. “Let’s be real, honey. You were never gonna let me be part of this plan. Never risk me getting involved in the fight. So let me do the work behind the scenes. Let me act as the Avengers diplomat, helping nations prepare for what might very well go down in history as the largest population boom.”
He smiled. “This is exactly why I love you, darling. Your passion is… it leaves me speechless. And there’s nothing you don’t notice. You are such an amazement, and I’m lucky to be called yours. For however long you’ll call me yours anyway.”
“Honey…” she whispered, voice cracking. “Please don’t.”
“Sorry,” he immediately apologized. “Here you are thinking of how to adjust the world back into what it used to be and I’m… Well, I’m being selfish, is what I’m being. I want Bucky and Sam back, and I want you. And that’s an unfair pressure to put on you.”
“But you and Bucky will each deserve an answer, and the truth is that right now, I don’t know. I know you both well enough that no matter what choice I make, the other will respect it no matter how much it hurts. So I’m being selfish too, honey, just in a different way. I’m choosing to put my focus into something else because I cannot bear the thought of living in a world where both of you exist and I have to essentially choose who I love more. Because I don’t love one of you more than the other. I fell for each of you in such different ways and under different circumstances. It’s an impossible choice to make, and I’m not ready to make it yet.”
He kissed her softly, thumbs brushing away the rogue tears starting to fall down her face. “Know that whether you become my wife or his, you, Gemma, are my darling, and I love you.”
Gemma let out a laugh that was half sob and she swatted at his arm. “I know you’re trying to be helpful, but you’re actually making it so much worse, honey,” she continued to laugh between the sobs wracking her body.
He wrapped her tightly in his arms, rubbing a hand up and down her back in soothing strokes. “I know, darling, I know. So focus on being our diplomat. And after… we’ll handle it together, okay? He deserves to hear about us from us.”
She sniffed loudly as she nodded against his shoulder. “God, I don’t know what I did to deserve either of you to love me the way you do.”
“Funny, I’ve always wondered the same thing.”
~~~
Gemma spent the better part of a week painstakingly drafting a proposal plan outlining all the details and research of Operation Endgame with Pepper Potts and then another month in video conferences finalizing the details.
They chose Wakanda for their final stand once every piece of the plan leading up to the final battle was in place. Anyone who could fight waited in the fields, ready. The rest of the country was evacuated into the safety shelters. And Gemma took up residence in an empty conference room for yet another meeting when the world exploded and the screaming began. Not panicked screaming. But gleefully shocked screaming, as conference rooms around the world, Gemma’s included, quite literally doubled in body size. “Holy shit,” she breathed, leaning back in her chair. “We fuckin’ did it… We won.”
Various messages about scheduling a follow up meeting blared across the computer screens in front of Gemma as square video screens quickly vanished, and the people in the room left to track down loved ones, everyone in a hurry to rejoice in the apparent victory. Gemma knew she too should be running to find everyone, but she couldn’t bring her body to move. Perhaps it was for the best that she remained here and waited. Afterall, who did she run to first and what sort of message did her decision send?
She continued to stare at the computer screens, now blank aside from her own reflection, letting the reality sink in. “Holy fuckin’ shit…” she breathed again.
“Well, I wouldn’t use those particular words, but yes, the sentiment is there all the same,” Steve’s voice sounded from the entryway to the conference room.
She whirled in her chair to find him, Bucky standing shyly by his side. “Hey, sweetheart, I told you I’d come b—” The rest of Bucky’s sentence got caught off in a rush of air as Gemma’s body slammed into his, needing to physically feel him in her arms.
“James Buchanan Barnes, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
Bucky wrapped Gemma in an embrace, reveling in the feel of her pressed against him, breathing in her scent and presence. Although an annoying tick in his brain chose to focus on how she greeted him, the name choice. “H— How long has it been?” he dared to ask, stepping back to hold Gemma out at arm’s length, studying her closely.
“How long was it for you?” Steve asked.
“I—” Bucky shook his head as his gaze flickered back and forth between the pair. “We fought Thanos. I turned to dust. And then I was walking out that space portal to fight Thanos again.”
Steve nodded. “So it was instant? That’s… comforting to know.”
Gemma couldn’t bring herself to meet Bucky’s gaze that she knew stared at her.
“How long has it been?” Bucky asked again.
“Five years, eight weeks, three days,” Gemma replied, almost robotically.
“Fuck…” Bucky breathed. “Well… The bright side is that at least I’m used to this. And I have you guys, don’t I, sweetheart?”
Gemma’s lip quivered, as she rasped out a cracked, “Honey?” sparing a glance in Steve’s direction.
Bucky felt his heart free fall into nothing. Whatever possessed Gemma to refer to Steve as “Honey” couldn’t mean anything good for Bucky. “Steve?”
Steve sighed, rubbing at his face. “C’mon. The three of us have quite a bit to discuss.”
~~~
“So… let me get this straight,” Bucky said one brief overview and awkward silence later as they all sat around a small table inside a Wakadian hut. “The fight happened. Half the world got “Blipped”. And for five years everything went on more or less as normal until Scott showed up with an idea to reverse time. Only it didn’t actually reverse time, because everything that happened, still happened. Do I have that right?”
Gemma nodded. “Yeah. A bit of time travel for a chance at a re-do. Only the re-do didn’t reverse the effects of time passing. So everyone who got Blipped, essentially blinked and woke up and are now being told that it’s been five years.”
Bucky’s tongue clicked in his cheek. “Well… Normal day for me and you, eh, Steve?”
Steve huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
“And you two are… engaged or married?” Bucky asked, with a pointed glance at Gemma’s ring finger.
“Engaged,” Gemma choked out.
“Congrats. If you pick Sam to be your best man, I’ll kick your ass, Steve.”
“If there’s a wedding, of course you’re the best man.”
Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “If? What do you mean if there’s a wedding?”
“Well…” Steve shrugged. “That’s between you two to figure out.”
Bucky shook his head. “No. I’m not—” He shifted his glance to Gemma, “Look, sweetheart, I love you. And while I want nothing more than for things to go back to how it was before, five years is a long time for you to think that I was dead and not coming back. So if you think that I’m gonna stop you from living the life you created in my absence… I’m not that selfish, sweetheart. I wouldn’t do that to either of you.”
“See, I told you he was gonna pull some chivalrous, respectful bullshit like this,” Gemma scoffed at Steve. “And I told you, I wasn’t ready to make this choice yet.”
Steve placed a hand on her thigh, patting it affectionately. “I know, darling. And at the time I didn’t know what to say to offer any real assistance, but I think I know something now that might help.”
Gemma raised an eyebrow. “You do?”
“I could go back to Peggy.”
Gemma’s mouth gaped open. She knew who Peggy was and what she meant to Steve. And they had been so wrapped up in figuring out Operation Endgame that of course the idea of using time travel for Steve to go back in time and live the life he was robbed of with Peggy hadn’t crossed either of their minds. It was a guaranteed way for all of them to have their true happy endings. “You wouldn’t have to lose…” Gemma breathed. “You— When we started planning for this, you said that no matter what happened, you personally would lose.”
Steve lifted the hand that was on her thigh to grip her hands. “This is still a loss for me, Gemma. I— When I asked you to marry me, I made a commitment. And I will gladly see that commitment through. You were right when you told me that our love wasn’t a consolation prize. I love you, darling, and I wouldn’t have any regrets spending my life with you. I mean that with everything I am.”
“But we are each other’s second chance, with our first chance now a true possibility again,” she cut in, understanding what Steve wasn’t saying. That he couldn’t break off their engagement. He would honor his word, marry her, and hold no resentment and never doubt his choice. But was it fair to leave them both wondering about potential what ifs that they didn’t have to wonder about anymore? She pulled her hand out of his grasp, slowly working the ring off her finger and placing it in his upright and waiting palm. “I love you, honey. For everything we shared, and everything we could have been. And it is because I love you that I now have to let you go.”
“Thank you, darling, I love you.” Steve brushed his lips softly against hers for the last time. “And now if you’ll both excuse me, I owe my girl a dance.”
“This has been the weirdest afternoon of my entire life,” Bucky stated, breaking the silence that filled the small hut after Steve’s departure.
A bubbled up laugh erupted from Gemma at the statement. A laugh that quickly escalated to borderline hysteria. “Oh, God,” she gasped for breath. “Sorry. That was… Oh, my God, my head is spinning. My love is back from the presumed dead along with half of the world and I just broke off an engagement to his best friend. Oh, my God, what the fuck is wrong with me?” She broke down into laughter again.
Bucky couldn’t help himself from laughing with her, as he reached out for her, guiding her wordlessly to his lap, his arms enveloping to hold her close to him, like if he let go all of this would vanish. If this truly ended up being a dream, he never wanted to wake up.
“God,” she sighed, her head tucking in under his chin. “How were both of you stupid enough to fall in love with me? I’m a fuckin’ mess.”
“Sweetheart, if you’re classified as a mess, then I’m almost scared to ask what that makes me. But for what it’s worth, I understand why Steve fell for you, because falling in love with you was the smartest choice I’ve ever made. And it’s a choice I really, really want to make again.”
She pulled back in his lap to peer up at his face. “I really fuckin’ missed you, my love.”
He rubbed his nose against hers. “I told you, I’d come back.”
“Maybe next time don’t take so long?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m never leaving you again, and that’s a promise.”
As, I assume most millennial female persons, I’m obsessed with watching The Summer I Turned Pretty (team Conrad all day e’ry day). And let me tell you about the chokehold Episode 3 has me in.
Like 1.) We got Adam “terrible husband and even worse father” Fisher who I hate on a good day absolutely standing on fuckin’ BUSINESS tearing Jeremiah a new one during that lunch scene. And like, I, personally, will never understand the issue of a college student taking an extra semester to graduate (okay yeah the ✨financial strain✨ but we all know the Fishers are ✨rich rich✨ so like calm down there big fella), he had cooked, slayed, ate, and left no crumbs with that “with what money?” line.
2.) HOW IS EVERYONE GONNA BE SO OBSESSED/OFFENDED WITH THE PROPOSAL THAT THEY DON’T NOTICE CONRAD???? Like I’m SORRY, this poor baby LOST HIS VERY PRESTIGIOUS CLINIC JOB (for being distracted by helping Steven, precious sweet man) and put aside probably so much self doubt, anxiety, and guilt to catch a red eye flight ACROSS THE COUNTRY to make it to his mom’s memorial/dedication service and NOBODY BOTHERED TO EVEN LIKE CLAP HIM ON THE SHOULDER ON THEIR WAY OUT??? They did my man DIRTY! Like I don’t care how mad/upset/raging you are over the outcome of Proposal Gate how are you not gonna be civil enough to say proper goodbyes or at least let him know where people are staying if he wants to have a proper visit with his OWN GODDAMN FAMILY????
3.) We gotta stop hating on the ring. It’s actually a really cute/tasteful ring. Like yes, it’s simplistic and tiny, but so what? I fully understand the Jeremiah Fisher hate, but y’all would have complained not matter what the ring looked like. It could have been big and ugly looking. Like at least it’s cute.
It had been Calum’s idea to go out and celebrate the fact that the four of them now all had solo albums. It had been Michael’s idea to go to a country bar for line dancing night.
“But none of us know how to line dance,” Ashton pointed out as they all got ready.
“They offer classes before the real event. It’s a whole thing,” Michael explained as he tried on different cowboy hats.
“Hold on, classes? Calum interrupted, his eyebrows raised in uncertain hesitation. “No, no. I agreed to go to a country bar and drink. I accepted that there would be line dancing. But classes?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s not as bad as you think. I’ve been there a few times with Harley. Like the bar opens, and there’s a dance instructor on the floor. And she just does a walk through of all the dances for like an hour and anyone who wants to learn can, and whoever doesn’t, doesn’t. And even when the real party starts, she still stays out there.”
“And when do these classes that aren’t classes start?” Luke asked.
Michael checked the time on his phone. “In 30 minutes, so we better head out. Y’all ready?” he asked, before putting the cowboy hat he had tried on first onto his head.
~~~
Twenty minutes later, the men walked into the nearly empty bar. There were two bartenders working behind the bar, chatting easily with each other and the few patrons they were helping. A few other groups of people had taken up residence at a few tables. And out on the dance floor, fiddling with a speaker was a woman in a cropped white t-shirt, brown cowboy boots, a straw cowboy hat nestled on top of long brown curls, and the tightest pair of blue jeans Ashton had ever seen.
“Michael! Over here!” a woman called out, waving a cowboy hat over her head. The one waving stood with two other women, all three dressed similarly in blue jeans, cowboy boots, and red flannel shirts
“Hey baby!” Michael grinned, making a beeline for the woman to pull her into a tight hug, and kissing her. “Harley, these are the guys. Guys, this is Harley,” Michael introduced.
Ashton, Calum, and Luke all exchanged their own pleasantries with the woman.
“Nice to finally meet y’all. This is Aurora and Thea,” she introduced the other two women at her side. “And over at the speaker is Nova. Nova! Come over here, there’s some people I want you to meet!”
The woman at the speaker turned around at her name, flashing a wide grin before jogging over. “Hey, I didn’t know y’all were coming tonight. And who are your handsome friends, Michael?” Nova asked, waggling eyebrows in Ashton, Calum, and Luke’s direction
“A—Ashton,” Ashton stammered, holding out his hand. “I’m Ashton. This is Calum, and Luke.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet ya, Ashton,” Nova said, still flashing that bright smile as she shook his hand. “Have y’all ever line danced before?”
“Nah. Rumor has it though that you might be able to help us out?”
“I think that can be arranged. C’mon, follow me.”
Ashton didn’t bother to check if the rest of the group was following as he followed after Nova.
“So there’s roughly 20,000 kinds of line dances,” Nova launched into her explanation.
“And you’re gonna teach me all 20,000 in an hour?” Ashton laughed.
Nova laughed with him, shaking her head. “Goodness, no. I mean, I know them all, so I could. But no. Anyway, the 20,000 dances are all based on the footwork and the song itself. A lot of songs have their own line dance. And a lot more share similar footwork patterns, but the order might be different. The main thing is to follow along as best you can, and of course, have fun. Ready?”
“Lead the way.”
She turned on something on her phone, the song blasting through the nearby speaker, and quickly moved to stand in front of Ashton. “And 5, 6, 5, 6, 7, 8,” she counted out loud and then she was moving. Simplicity yet graceful footwork, Ashton tried his best to replicate, but he soon found himself tripping over his own feet.
Nova hit pause on the music as Ashton laughed out an apology. “Sorry.”
“Nah, you’re doing fine, hun. Maybe let’s start slower though.” Nova then went through the footwork she had just done at a much slower pace, calling out the moves as she did them. Ashton copied the moves, this time with much more ease. “There you go!” Nova encouraged. “Now, try it again, this time without my help.”
Ashton repeated the moves Nova had taught him, watching her closely for any signs of approval or if he was royally screwing this up.
“Now, let’s try it with the music. The steps don’t really matter if there’s no beat to guide you.”
Again, the song played through the speakers and Ashton and Nova danced their way through it. He kept his eyes trained on her feet and his mind focused on copying the moves, because he was sure he would lose any sense of composure he had if he let his eyes and mind wander.
Ashton wasn’t aware as more people joined in on the lesson and Nova went on teaching them through a total of five dances. He also wasn’t aware of how slightly sweaty and out of breath he was getting until the music cut off and Nova declared with a clap of her hands, “Alright, that’s all for now folks! Feel free to keep practicing, and remember to have fun! The real party will kick off in about an hour. I’m Nova, and that’s Chase and Sylas at the bar! We’ll be here until they close us down!”
While some stayed out to keep practicing, and others headed to the bar or to their tables, Ashton sauntered over to Nova. “Uh, thanks… for the lesson. You’re a great teacher.”
“Why, thank you, kindly,” she said, bowing dramatically before laughing. “Dancing comes easy to me, and teaching dance comes even easier. And for what it’s worth, I have some great students. You, uh, move pretty well for a big fella.”
Ashton’s cheeks flushed with heat as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I am a drummer. So, it’d be a lil bad if I had no rhythm.”
“Ooohh, you’re that friend of Michael’s. And I’m assuming the rest of y’all are as well?”
“Heh, yeah. So you’ve heard of us?”
“Oh, heavens no, hun,” she said, her voice sultry and drawlish, as she reached up to pat his shoulder affectionately. “I’m a line dance instructor at a country bar. Rock music is barely on my radar. I just know Michael, and he happens to speak very highly of his brothers. I just wish he had mentioned how cute y’all are, I’m sure Aurora and Thea are just beside themselves with Calum and Luke’s attention.”
“And you? Is it worth asking if you’ll save me a dance?”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
~~~
While Calum and Luke spent the time before the bar livened up to better their chances of not going home alone, Ashton was able to spend it better assessing his own situation.
He carefully sorted his thoughts into categories— things he knew for certain, and things he needed more clarity on.
Things he knew for certain: 1.) He was attracted to Nova. From her physical looks, to the sultry drawl she spoke with despite probably being a California native, to the energy she had, Nova was a showstopper. 2.) He wanted more of her attention and time.
Things he needed more clarity on: 1.) whether the initial feelings were being reciprocated and there was potential or 2.) he was being a fucking idiot and was going to end the night with a wounded ego.
He raked his hands through his hair, letting his breath rush out of him in a huff.
“Welcome to The Two-Steppin’ Tavern where the beers are cold and the moves are hot!” Nova’s voice drawled out over the speakers as people cheered and whooped. “Now,” she said, stopping dead center in the middle of the dance floor. “As y’all know down here at good ole Two-Step, it’s line dancing night, which means only one thing,” Even from his spot across the way, Ashton could see the playful glint in her eyes as she waited for the bar room to answer with a chorused yell of “Dance or get off the floor!”
“That’s right y’all! Dance, or get out of the way so I at least can,” Her voice got a little sing-songy at the end of her sentence as she shimmied her hips for effect before continuing. “I’m Nova, your dance lead. Chase and Sylas are your bartenders. Tip them well, cuz they make the bar’s best, and they’re mighty fine to look at,” she shot a cheeky wink at the bartenders who bowed graciously. “And good ole Wes is our DJ of the evening. Fellas it’s time to grab a girl— preferably the one you came with, but consent will do just fine— cuz it’s dancing time! Hit it, Wes!”
Ashton took his cue from his friends who immediately went to the dance floor, swallowing the surge of envy as hands went to hips and heated glances were exchanged. He took a breath, steadying himself. He was out at a bar, dancing and having fun with his friends. That was all this night needed to be.
He didn’t pay attention to anything beyond enjoying himself as he danced, Calum right next to him with Luke and Michael right in front of them. Song after song their group danced, laughed, and sang until they were sweaty and out of breath.
“Alright, I need a drink, who’s with?” Calum asked, practically panting at the small break between songs.
“Yeah, I need to sit this one out, these boots are killing me,” Luke complained, earning an eye roll from the women. Luke just shrugged and laughed it off, before following after Calum.
“You good, Ash?” Michael asked, taking Calum’s empty spot next to Ashton.
Ashton pushed sweaty locks of hair back. “What? Yeah, I’m good. This was… A great idea actually. Something we should do more often.”
Michael grinned, glad to have Ashton’s approval on something that was outside of their usual wheelhouse of night outs. Then Michael’s eyebrows were shooting up. The question of why Michael was looking at him like that was on Ashton’s lips when a hand lightly tapped his shoulder. He whirled, finding Nova standing there. “Oh? To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his voice instinctively finding that flirtatious edge.
“What’s a girl gotta do to get a man to ask her to dance around here?” she asked in lieu of an answer, taking off her hat, and fanning herself with it.
Ashton’s lips quirked up in a cocky smile. “Can I have the next dance— or several— with you, Nova?”
She matched his smile, swatting at his chest with her hat before placing it carefully back atop her head. “Well hun, I thought you’d never ask.”
While Ashton considered himself a pretty decent dancer, it was nothing compared to the way Nova moved as they danced together on the floor, her facing him so all their movements were mirrored. “I know I said it already, but you dance pretty well,” she complimented as his hands guided her through a turn.
“Not nearly as good as you, darling,” he returned. “And you’re doing all the steps backwards.”
“Mmm, it’s like Ginger Rogers said. I can do anything Gene Kelly can but backwards and in heels.”
Ashton couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought her dance partner was Fred Astaire.”
“Damn, you can dance and you’re smart. How has no one caught your eye yet?”
“Oh, someone did.”
“Mmm, lucky them.”
“Lucky her, indeed.” With a quick prayer that he wasn’t misreading signs, on the next spin, Ashton dipped Nova, and when she rose, he moved his hand from the small of her back up to the column of her throat, gripping lightly as he moved in for a kiss.
The air in Nova’s lungs whooshed out, and when she had enough sense to start kissing Ashton back, he was already breaking their kiss. “Nuh-uh,” she murmured, drawing him back in. “Mmm, lucky me, indeed.”
“Ow! Watch where y— oh, hey, Luke,” Aurora said, her voice switching from annoyed to shy faster than Luke could straighten out the guitar case that had just smashed into the girl’s shoulder.
“Hey, Rory,” Luke answered with an awkward smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. I uh—” he stammered, cheeks turning red. How he had managed to grow up with this girl and still couldn’t figure out how to string more than two words together was beyond his comprehension. The girl who was so proper in her fresh and crisp school uniform. Who never had a bad thing to say about anyone. A girl who shouldn’t give him— a boy who no matter how hard he tried never seemed to have his shit together— the time of day. And yet, every day she’d say “Hey Luke,” in that shy tone and— fuck, she was talking and he hadn’t heard a god damn word.
“Luke?” she repeated, cocking her head to the side in confusion.
He shook his head, clearing it. “S—sorry, what were you saying?”
She smiled. “On your way to practice?” she asked, nodding at the guitar case slung over his shoulder.
“Oh! Heh, yeah.” His eyes glanced over at the clock down the hall. “And the guys are gonna kill me if I’m late again.”
Almost as if on cue, the school door at the end of the hallway slammed open and 2 heads poked in.
“Let’s go, Hemmings!” Calum shouted.
“Stop, he’s finally talking to her!” Michael whisper-shouted at Calum, giving the boy a shove in the process.
Aurora looked at Luke, her own eyes wide, giving Luke a chance to confirm or deny his friends’ proclamations.
Luke shrugged his shoulders, giving her a sheepish grin in response. “We, uh, got a show on Saturday. Maybe I’ll see you there?”
“Maybe you will.”
“Heh, cool. I’ll uh, I’ll be the one on stage.” He walked backwards a few steps, still facing her, waving awkwardly before turning on his heel to follow his friends out and into reality.
“Luke!” Aurora called out, taking a few rushing steps towards him.
He paused in his tracks, looking at her in wonder and confusion.
“You, um, you never told me where on Saturday. Or when.”
Luke brought up a hand to smack himself in the forehead. “Shoot! Right. Uh…”
“Maybe text it to me?” she prompted as he stood there sputtering.
“Great idea! God, you’re so smart,” he muttered, his cheeks permanently stained red as he pulled out his phone and typed.
A few seconds later, her own phone pinged in her pocket. “Well, I guess I’ll see you Saturday,” she told him, before placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “Bye, Luke.” She waved and by the time Luke could make sense of what just happened, Aurora was gone, and her in place were Calum and Michael clapping him on the shoulder.
“Holy crap, did you finally ask her out?” Calum wondered in amazement.
“I think he did!” Michael grinned, and pretended to dab at his eyes. “Our little Lukey is all grown up, Cal!”
~~~
Playing in front of a crowd made Luke nervous on a normal day. But seeing Aurora standing near the front of the stage with a few other girls from their grade? To say his stomach was in knots was the understatement of his lifetime.
“Would you relax?” Calum asked with an annoyed huff. “In case you were still wondering, she likes ya, mate.”
“She does?!” Luke asked, perking up at the idea.
“She’s here, isn’t she?”
Luke waved him off. “Rory’s just nice. And it’s not like I put her in a position to say no.”
“Or,” Ashton put in, “maybe she likes you, Luke. And why wouldn’t she? You’re a likeable guy.”
“Luke the Likeable,” Calum teased, sweeping his hands over the front of Luke’s face like he was imagining their name up on a marquee.
“Super punk rock,” Michael commented.
Luke sat down on the small couch in the room with a defeated sigh. “Seriously… She’s Aurora Hudson. And I’m just Luke. In what world does a girl like her go for a boy like me?”
“Because,” Ashton said, sitting down next to him and placing a gentle hand on his knee. “You are Luke Hemmings. And if that’s not enough for her, so be it. But I’m betting that Cal’s right. She’s here for a reason. And that reason, mate, is you. So go out there on that stage with us, give it your all, kiss the girl after, and figure out the rest later.”
Well, putting it that way seemed easy enough for Luke to manage. So he did.
On stage Luke didn’t let the nerves get to him. He was just a boy playing guitar and singing some songs with his closest friends. And when Aurora came up to congratulate him afterwards, he kissed her. And then he asked to be her boyfriend. And when she said yes, he kissed her again.
~~~
“Mom, Dad, this is Luke,” Aurora introduced a few months later.
“Nice to meet you both,” Luke said politely, offering out his hand. He never had a girlfriend before, so he wasn’t sure how meeting parents worked. But his brothers, and Ashton had told him all roughly the same thing. To be polite, to be himself, and let them know how much he cared for Aurora.
“So Luke,” Mr. Hudson said, gesturing for the boy to sit on the couch. “Rory tells us you’re in a band?”
Luke nodded as he took a seat, Aurora sitting down next to him. “Y—yes, sir. I play guitar and sing sometimes.”
“Mmm,” the man murmured more to himself than to Luke. “And is this band something long term?”
Again, Luke nodded. “Y—yes, sir. It’s something my band mates and I are serious about.”
“I see. And how does my daughter fit into this… fantasy life of yours?”
“Dad!” Aurora gasped in horror.
“I’m not sure I understand the question, sir,” Luke answered as Aurora alternated from glaring at her father to sending pleading looks to her mother to help salvage this meeting gone wrong.
“I think,” Mrs. Hudson finally said, “what my husband is trying to say is that we care about Rory’s future. And while it’s all good and well you have an idealistic look about your own future, we worry it may not be realistic where Rory is concerned.”
“I care about Rory’s future, too,” Luke said. “And my own. I wouldn’t hold Rory back from doing anything that she wants to do. I just want to be part of it, that's all.”
“With all due respect son,” Mr. Hudson told him, “I’m not gonna let my daughter throw her life away for some guitar player in a punk band.”
“Dad!” Aurora gasped again, this time standing up from her spot next to Luke. “I’m not throwing my life away! Jesus, it’s not like he’s dropping out of school to galavant around the world.”
Luke coughed into his hand awkwardly. “Well… about that…”
Two confessions and three screaming matches later, Aurora walked out of her house hand in hand with Luke. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized as Luke drove them silently away from the house. “I’ve been talking to them about you for a while to prepare them. And I thought once they met you, they would see what I see, and—”
“It’s fine, Rory,” Luke interrupted, reaching over and placing a hand on her thigh. “And if you change your mind about this…” the hand on her thigh lifted so he could spin a finger in a circle before the hand returned to rest on her thigh, “about me, I’ll understand.”
Aurora smiled softly over at Luke, noting the details of his face. The usually soft blue eyes set with an edge of determination. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, but with his teeth biting in his lower lip with worry. A man steadfast in his decisions about his future. But a scared boy all the same. Scared that the girl beside him wouldn’t choose him the way he would always choose her. “Luke, I meant what I told my parents. My future is wherever you are.”
~~~
Six years later found Aurora sitting around the house she shared with Ashton and Luke, wondering where the latter was as the hour grew later and later.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to stem off an all too familiar wave of what ifs.
“You alright?” Ashton asked from where he was sitting next to Calum, both of the men strumming mindlessly on guitars, compositions books sprawled across the coffee table in front of them.
“Yeah,” she started to lie. “I just— No. I’m not fine.”
Calum quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You and Luke fighting?”
“Can’t fight someone who’s not around…”
Ashton shared a glance with Calum. Over the years they had naturally developed a bond with Aurora that was as unbreakable as her own bond with Luke. And their own bond with Luke aside, if he was fucking up, they’d tear him to shreds for Aurora’s sake. “This doesn’t sound like a new feeling,” Ashton said, proceeding carefully. “What’s going on?”
She tilted her head back, and tried to steady her breathing. “It’s not,” her voice cracked with raw emotion. “It’s not worth causing a rift.”
Calum set his guitar aside, scooching away from Ashton to create a spot between the men for Aurora to squeeze in between them. “C’mon,” he said, patting the empty spot. “It’s us, Rory. We’ve been through everything together. Don’t tell me you’re scared to talk to us now.”
“I’m not scared,” she ground out through gritted teeth, moving to sit between Ashton and Calum against her better judgement. “I just— I don’t know how to feel anymore. Luke— And this isn’t to talk badly about him because I love him. I truly do. But— How do you know when you think it’s time to let someone go?”
Ashton’s eyes went wide and Calum swore softly. “You’re thinking of breaking up with Luke?” Calum was brave enough to ask.
Aurora only nodded. “We’re just not the same people we were. And I know that that’s supposed to be the point. We grew up. That’s what people are supposed to do. But— I didn’t think we’d grow up like this. That he could grow up to be someone I don’t know.” A shuddering sob broke through as Aurora buried her face in her hands. “What do I do?”
Not knowing what to say, Ashton and Calum each rested a hand on the woman’s shoulders and let her cry. None of them knew how long they sat that way, only that they were still sitting that way when Luke finally came stumbling through the doorway.
“Oh, you’re still u— what’s wrong?” Luke asked, his voice slightly slurred, blue eyes glassy as he took in the scene.
Ashton couldn’t help the protective mentality take over as he rose to his feet. “Please tell me you didn’t drive, Luke.”
Luke waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, cab. What’s going on?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until you’ve sobered up, mate,” Ashton continued, keeping his voice gentle.
Luke rolled his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “My girl is crying on the couch with you lot over her and it’s ‘nothing that can’t wait’? Pfft, gimme a break.”
“She’s crying over you, you drunk idiot,” Calum scoffed with an eye roll of his own.
Luke blinked slowly. “What?”
Calum rolled his eyes again as he gathered his things. “Nothing. It’s not my business. And Ash,” he added, throwing a warning glance at the other man. “It’s not yours either. But Rory, however you want to handle this, do it when he’s sober. And we’ll be okay. All of us. We’re gonna be okay.”
Luke blinked again, having absolutely zero clue what covert ass shit Calum was spewing, and frankly not giving a damn. All he knew was drunk or not, he wanted to know why Aurora was crying.
“Not tonight, mate,” Ashton told him, and Luke wondered momentarily if he had spoken his thoughts out loud or if Ashton was just that good at reading people.
“Please, Luke,” Aurora whispered, “Let’s just go to bed.”
Luke nodded, accepting that. Accepting that in the morning, everyone could brush off whatever the fuck was happening in this moment.
But when Luke woke up the next morning to find the bed empty, he had a feeling nothing about last night was going to be easy to undo.
“Morning,” he greeted Aurora when he found her in the kitchen, placing a kiss on top of her head. “Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to be out so late. I didn’t drive though, if that was your concern,” he explained as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Aurora shook her head from where she sat at the table, sipping on her own coffee. “It wasn’t. But that’s good to know. Maybe Ash can drive you later to pick up your car.”
“Yeah, and you can come with us and then we’ll go off and do our own thing. Spend the day together,” he suggested. “Been a minute since we’ve gotten to do that.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his coffee mug cradled in his hands as he looked at her, a hopeful smile on his lips.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? Is this about whatever happened last night? Look, I said I was sorry. And now I want to try to make it up to you. Why can’t I do that, baby? Why can’t I apologize and then try to make up for whatever stupid shit I did or didn’t do?”
“Because that in itself is the problem Luke. You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”
He set the mug down next to him with a rattle. “Then why don’t you tell me,” he said, raking his hands through his hair and letting out a frustrated sigh. “God, I have no idea what’s fuckin’ happening, baby, but can’t you see I’m trying to fix it? Could you maybe stop being cryptic and help me out here?”
“There’s nothing to fix, Luke.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” He laughed in frustration as he raked his hands through his hair again. “I— God, I feel like I’m losing you, baby. Is that what’s happening right now? Am I losing you? Are you breaking up with me?”
Aurora didn’t say anything as a tear slid down her cheek.
Luke felt his heart crack wide open in his chest. “Please tell me this isn’t happening,” he begged, feeling his throat close up, his hands now permanently tangled in his hair as he tried to process what Aurora was saying, or more accurately what she wasn’t saying. “I— We love each other. Don’t we?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course,” she assured him, her voice wobbling a little but holding steady. God, how long as she’d been thinking this over to be this stable? This okay with letting him go while he just fucking stood there like a blindsided idiot. “But it’s not that simple anymore, Luke.”
“Baby, please. Tell me how to fix this. I— do we need to talk to Ash about getting a place without him? Do you want to go pick out wedding rings? What do you need from me? Please. Anything. Whatever it takes. Whatever you want. It’s yours. Just please. Baby, I’ve been in love with you my whole life. I don’t know how to do any of this without you.” As he spoke, he crossed over to her, falling on his knees in front of her, grabbing her hands in his and clinging on as tightly as he could. This couldn’t be how it ended. God, how could he be so blind to not see this coming?
“I don’t think there’s anything to fix, Luke. We just— we grew up.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing!” she said, yanking her hands out of Luke’s grasp, her chair scraping harshly against the kitchen floor. “Nothing… We’re just not the same people anymore.”
“And the person you are isn’t in love with the person I am,” Luke concluded.
“I’m always going to love you, Luke.”
“Then fuckin’ try with me, Rory! I’m literally on my fuckin’ knees for you! Just— Can you at least tell me what changed? How you can seem so okay with letting go while I’ve been clueless to this the whole time? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t I know?!”
“It’s just something that happened Luke. A trajectory of little things that snow balled and now I don’t know how to stop it.”
“But maybe I do! Maybe I can stop it! Rory… Baby… Please,” Luke sobbed into his hands. “What the fuck is happening?!”
“One day we were 17, and then we were 23. That’s what happened.”
“So what? Are you saying that I somehow held you back? You chose this life with me, Rory! I asked you if this was what you wanted every step of the way! And every time you said that your future was wherever I was!” He raised his head to look at her, anger, confusion, and heartbreak etched on every part of his perfect face.
“You also said you would understand if I changed my mind!”
“So that’s it? You changed your mind?”
“Yeah…”
His fists came down on the floor next to him. “That’s not good enough!” he exploded, rising to his feet. “That’s not a good enough reason! I— I still don’t understand! You say that you love me, but you can’t stay with me?! Make it make sense, baby, I’m begging you!”
“I’m going to stay with Cal for a while. Figure out my next move. But I can’t do this anymore Luke. I’ve tried to work through it in my head for so long and I can’t seem to find a way out. A way where this doesn’t hurt. But we don’t know each other anymore. And I can’t keep holding onto something that doesn’t exist. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
He sniffed, wiping at his face, the finality of it all settling in. She was Aurora Hudson, and once she made up her mind, that was it. And he was still Luke, the boy who loved her long before he even knew what love meant. “And you’re sure of this? You’re sure there’s nothing I can do to fix it? I just have to accept it? I can’t fight for you?”
“I’m so sorry, Luke.”
“Yeah… yeah me too… But I said I would understand so I’m gonna try.”
~~~
A year and a city change later, Aurora was packing up her guitar case when a trio of men approached her. Two of them were tall, the third one about her own height, and all of them wore matching friendly smiles.
“Hey,” one of the tall ones spoke first, his tone as warm and friendly as the smile on his face. “You’re Rory, yeah? From the coffee shop off of Holt?”
Alarm bells went off in her head as she crossed her arms. “Can I help you?” she asked, avoiding the question.
The man laughed. “Sorry, that was terrible. I meant, I’ve seen you working there a few times. We’re friends with the owner. I’m Matt, and this is Jesse and Vic.”
She looked them all up and down, her face staying neutral. “That’s nice…?”
The short one, Vic, coughed into his hand. “Sorry we’re kinda bad at this. Uh, we noticed your set. Are you the musician type?”
She snorted, “Oh, if only you knew.”
“Well, that’s kinda the point… We’re a band and we lost our bassist a while back. You wouldn’t be interested in joining forces sometime, would you?”
She blinked at them. Her life had been on a near permanent display for the better part of her short adulthood. And now these three were approaching her with a band prospect? They were either clueless or reckless. Possibly both. “You want me to join your band?”
“Well not in so many words,” Vic told her. “Like look, we’re not much. But we got a pretty solid following and can help you get out of playing college bars if you’re interested.”
She snorted again, “Respectfully, I don’t need help getting a following. I have plenty of connections of my own.”
Jesse, the other tall one whistled low, rocking back on the heels of his feet. “Okay, this is going like really badly. We’re not trying to offend you or make it sound like we know what we’re doing. We just like your sound and think it could mesh well with ours. But like, there’s no hard feelings. You don’t know us, and we certainly don’t know you. But the offer’s out there if you’re ever interested.”
Aurora shook her head, clearing it. “Sorry… you don’t know me?”
“Are we supposed to?” Matt asked with a nervous chuckle.
“N— No! I mean… Most people do. Not that it’s a bad thing that you don’t. That’s actually—“ She laughed in relief. “That’s actually really fuckin’ great.”
“Yeah…” Vic said slowly. “Anyway, like we were saying, we’re looking for a bassist if you’re interested.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that would be great,” Aurora smiled.
~~~
An hour later, Aurora was sitting on the floor of Matt and Vic’s living room, having deja vu flashes of similar moments in the home she once shared with Ashton and Luke. “So you’re both in relationships, and you’re just Vic?” she clarified with a laugh. “But you’re the front man, how does that happen?”
Vic laughed with her, shrugging his shoulders. “Just the way the cards were dealt, man. Like I tried dating. Shit just didn’t stick. I’m not lucky that way like these two.”
She raised her White Claw can in a cheer, Vic clinking his own can into hers. “I hear you on that. I’ve had one relationship and—” Aurora let her voice trail off. “Well, I just don’t really date anymore because of it. Especially musicians.”
“Damn, and here I thought I had a shot,” Vic joked, clutching dramatically at his chest. “Just love gone wrong or what?”
“Eh, something like that. We got together when we were kids. And then his band got really successful. And one day it just didn’t seem like we knew each other anymore. So I left.”
Vic whistled low, knowingly. “Amen to that.”
“What band?” Jesse asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. “If we’re swapping war stories anyway.”
Aurora rubbed at the back of her neck. “Uh… 5 Seconds of Summer?”
Matt’s White Claw came out his nose. “Excuse me? Ow.. shit, that burned. What the fuck did you say?”
Aurora laughed, and shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, I dated Luke for about 6 and a half years.”
“You’re THAT Rory?!” Jesse spluttered. “Holy shit… fuck no wonder you told us to fuck off.”
“I did not tell you to fuck off.”
“Maybe not in those words,” Vic amended, “but the tone was there. But holy shit. So, you’re not fucking around when you say you have connections?”
“Nope,” she grinned. “I’m really not. Got Ashton Irwin on speed dial still. They’re great guys. A lot like you actually.” She sniffed at the realization, rubbing at her nose. “Shit, sorry. It’s uh, still hard sometimes. It was the 5 of us for so long.”
“Nothing to be sorry about it, they’re part of your story,” Vic said, reaching to lay a hand on her thigh, the gesture both comforting and strangely intimate. “And uh, if you ever wanna use that part of your story to help out the new part of your story…” he added suggestively.
Matt shoved him, “Shut up, Vic, don’t ruin it.”
“Yeah, Victor!” Jess fake scolded.
Aurora laughed for what felt like the millionth time, each laugh feeling more genuine than the last. Like she finally belonged again. “Maybe let’s try being a band before I go making phone calls. Make sure I like y’all first.”
~~~
It was another year before she made that phone call. A year of building a bond with the three members of Arrows in Action and getting accustomed to life with them. A year in where, for the first time in a long time, Aurora truly felt like herself and had a place where she belonged. No longer a shadow following around Luke like a lost puppy.
The realization was both terrifying and freeing. At the time when she had ended things with Luke, she had thought he was the stranger she grew to not know. But it turned out that she was the stranger all along. Sure, there had been parts of Luke that she wasn’t overly fond of. The party boy image that fame tried to paint him as and that he played into was tough to swallow even at the best moments. But at his heart, the heart he loved her with, he had always been Luke. And she had completely shattered his heart with no real reasoning. At least not a reasoning she had been able to explain at the time. She just threw his words to her in his face like that was reason enough and left.
And now her hand was shaking as she held the phone, Ashton’s contact pulled up on the screen. Contacting Ashton seemed easier than contacting Luke directly. He had always been like an older brother, watching out for all of them. If anyone would answer and be glad it was her on the other end— who wouldn’t make her feel like shit for leaving all of them— it would be Ashton. But, God, if her hand could stop shaking, and if she could just bring herself to hit the damn call icon.
A hand reached around her wrist, steadying the shaking. “You don’t have to do this,” Vic said softly. “We’ve been managing just fine on our own.”
She smiled at the man she had shared a home with for the past several months. Moving in with Vic had been such a natural choice when Matt moved out to his own place with his girlfriend. Ending up in his bed on occasion had been just as easy. They had made it clear from the start that it was just for fun. A way to blow off steam without risking their hearts or time with someone else. And it made sense to be together with each other that way. They had an understanding of how deep the relationship trauma of first love gone horribly wrong that others just didn’t get. And despite the fact that each of them bore too many similarities of their exes that it was almost unnerving, the fact that they bore no physical resemblances made it easier to remember where the line was.
Jesse and Matt had accepted what Aurora and Vic became on the sole condition that the band came first. Which Aurora and Vic were more than okay to agree with.
“I want to do this, Vic. Not just for you guys. But for me too. And honestly, a little bit for them too. It wasn’t just Luke’s heart I broke by leaving. I broke theirs, too. And they didn’t get an explanation from me, either.”
Vic nodded. “I understand. But I also understand if you don’t make the call. I’ll support you either way. We all will.”
He squeezed her hand and gave her a quick kiss for good luck. Aurora took a breath to steady herself and hit the call icon.
“Hello, you’ve reached the one and only Ashton Irwin. How lucky for you,” Ashton’s voice sounded after the third ring.
“Shit, I think I got his voicemail,” Aurora said out loud for Vic’s sake. “Uh, hey Ash. It’s me. Rory.”
“Rory?!” Ashton’s voice asked back over the line.
“This isn’t your voicemail?”
Ashton laughed. “No! Who would make their voicemail message be that?”
“Who answers the phone like that?” she laughed back.
“I dunno, thought I’d try it out,” Ashton giggled some more before sighing. “God, Rory, is that really you? How are you? Where are you?”
She could hear the protectiveness building so she quickly cut him off with a “I’m fine, Ash. Everything is fine. Great, even. I just uh, well, I had a question for you, if you’ve got some time to talk.”
“I always have time for you, Rory. Lay it on me.”
~~~
“Yeah, no problem at all. Yeah, it was great talking to you too. See you soon, Rory. Thanks for calling,” Ashton said, before ending the call.
When he turned, three sets of bewildered eyes were staring at him. Calum was the quickest to recover enough to say, “Rory?”
“As in the Rory?” Michael asked.
“My Rory?” Luke’s question came out in a small squeak, wondering if he was dreaming.
Ashton grinned sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. “The one and only. She uh, she’s asking us to come to Nashville. And, well, I probably should have asked you guys how you felt about it first but—”
“When’s the next flight to Nashville?” Luke asked.
“Whoa, slow down, mate,” Ashton encouraged.
“Slow down? Ash, it’s Rory. If she’s asking for us, we’re going. Case closed.”
“Case open, actually. Look, Luke, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but she called me.”
“You’re not gonna stop me from getting on that plane, Ash.”
Ashton held up his hands in surrender. “Take a beat, Luke. I never said I was.”
“Then, why are we still standing around? Let’s fuckin’ go!”
“Luke, slow down,” Ashton said, his voice low and threatening. “Let me explain everything first.”
Luke let out a huff of air through his nose, but waved a hand for Ashton to proceed. The sooner Ashton said his piece, the sooner he could be on that plane to Nashville. To Rory.
“So, to be clear, we’re not going out there to re-hash or start shit. We’re just going out there to listen to this band she’s part of to see if we have a new opening act. Strictly business. And if this is too difficult for anyone, there’s no hard feelings of staying here. And if it’s too difficult after seeing her that even one of us can’t stomach it, we leave it at that. Rory understands either way, but she wants to at least give her band a shot. So, who’s coming to Nashville with me?”
All three hands shot up. “It’s Rory, mate,” Calum said.
“Yeah, you really didn’t have to do all that, we were in the second you ended the call,” Michael added.
They all looked at Luke, quirking eyebrows at his raised hand. “You sure about this, Luke?” Ashton asked.
Luke only nodded. “I’ll be professional,” he promised. “But then… I need some answers. We all do. So I want to talk to her afterwards. I’ll catch a separate flight home if needed, but— I need to talk to her.”
The other three men nodded in understanding. It hadn’t been easy handling the loss of Rory and the impact it had on Luke. A struggle two years in the making. And facing Rory again might set them all back to square one. Or it might finally fix everything that had broken in her absence. And there was only one way to find out.
~~~
“Nervous?” Vic asked as his lips stamped a kiss right below her ear.
“About what? Seeing my ex after two years and showing off my world to him and hoping he likes it more than he hates me? Pfft, why would that make me nervous?”
“Luke would be stupid to hate you,” Vic assured her.
“I wouldn’t blame him if he did though.”
“I know that it’s useless for me to say this because you’re gonna worry anyway, but don’t stress too much, okay? Just let today play out however it plays out. If they’re half the men you claim they are, they’ll be able to set their personal feelings aside for this. Or at the very least they’ll be honest if that’s their reasoning for not wanting to give us a chance.”
“I hope you’re right, Vic.”
He gave her a tight hug. “Ready to confront the past?”
“Will we last if I don’t?” she asked, cracking a grin at the reference despite herself.
“Us Arrows will keep in Actioning no matter what happens,” Jesse piped up from where he was standing watch by the front window. “By the way a cab just pulled up.”
“Battle stations!” Matt declared.
Aurora laughed, appreciating all their efforts to help defuse the tension. “Alright, let’s do this.”
The doorbell rang, and every thought of how Aurora imagined this moment playing out disappeared from her head when she pulled the door open and Ashton swept her into a crushing bear hug. “God, I’ve fuckin’ missed you!” he beamed at her as he set her on her feet. “Wow,” he continued beaming, holding her out at arm’s length. “Yup, you’re still Rory.”
“Hi, Ash. I’ve missed you too. All of you,” she smiled at him and at Calum, Luke, and Michael crowding the porch step behind him, before sweeping her arm for them to all come inside, “C’mon in.”
“We totally voted on who would get to hug you first, and then Ash overruled the vote,” Calum complained, giving Aurora a hug as he followed Ashton inside the house. “It’s so good to fuckin’ see you,” he whispered before letting Michael have his turn.
“We’ve really missed you,” Michael told her when he hugged her. “But looks like you’ve kept busy,” he added with an eyebrow waggle at the other three men all crammed together on the couch to make room for the newest arrivals.
“You’re really gonna like them, Michael,” she grinned. “Jesse and Matt are big gamers.”
“That’s my girl!” Michael whooped in triumph. “Finally, people who get me.”
Luke let each of his bandmates have their reunion moment with Aurora, lingering out on the porch, his heart hammering in his chest. He thought he was ready for this. He felt his throat starting to close, unwelcome tears springing into his eyes. He blinked furiously, looking skyward, hoping gravity would reverse the tears back into his eyes.
“Luke?” Aurora asked him, her voice too quiet, the hand she placed on his arm too gentle. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Really?”
“Of course I am. I’ve missed you.”
“Then why’d you call Ash instead of me?” The question came out cracked, wobbly, and without permission. “I—” Luke cleared his throat, clamping down tightly on the emotions swirling up inside him. “Sorry, I promised the guys I wouldn’t do this.”
“It’s okay, Luke. Take all the time you need.”
He took a shuddering breath, then wrapped her tightly in his arms, her head instinctively tucking up her chin. He inhaled deeply, her familiar scent and feel of her in his arms grounding him. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured in her hair.
Her arms snaked around his waist, holding him just as tightly, reveling in the fact that for all that may have changed between them, at least they still fit perfectly together like puzzle pieces. “I think I have a pretty accurate idea, actually,” she whispered into his chest.
They stood there locked in their embrace for at least long enough for the men waiting inside to start clearing their throats loudly, while drumming on their legs, muttering half awkward pleasantries.
Aurora and Luke let go at the same moment, each stepping back and sharing a small laugh, each going to wipe at the tears on the other’s face and laughing some more. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”
~~~
After a round of introduction, Matt dragged the chairs from the kitchen table into the living room so there would be more places to sit. Once everyone had a seat— Ashton, Calum, Luke, and Michael in the kitchen chairs, Aurora on the couch sandwiched between Matt and Vic, and Jesse at the desk in the corner— Jesse took the lead of playing some of the Arrows in Action discography, talking at lengths afterwards about the process and who contributed what.
Calum and Michael were captivated, asking more questions about the process and who was doing the production of each song.
“Well, originally it was me and Matt. We worked with some producers in the past who taught us a few tricks and whatnot. And we shell out the money for when we actually put together our albums. But day to day production has usually been me and Matt. Until Rory came along anyway. Said she did it in college, right, Rory?”
Aurora and Michael nodded at the same time. “Yeah, Rory did more college than all of us,” Michael said, and Aurora noted the pride in his voice. “Calum and I took a few courses with her in music production though. Figured it would be a good skill to know.”
“Yeah, and Rory mentioned you guys taught her how to play the bass and stuff. Are you guys self-taught?” Matt asked, always eager to know about how a musician became a musician.
“More or less,” Ashton said. “Learned on our own or from those around us. I think Luke was the only one who got actual lessons.”
“Hey, Michael and I sold out stadiums on Guitar Hero. Respect the hustle, Ash,” Calum interjected, earning a laugh from everyone in the room. “But seriously, on a business front, your guys’ sound is some solid shit. And from a former best friend front, Rory, I think I speak for all of us when I say how fuckin’ proud I am of you. You did good for yourself. Real good. I just wish— I— nevermind, not my place.”
Aurora smiled softly at the man. “I know. And thank you.” She turned her gaze from Calum to look at all the 5SOS members— her former friends and brothers, and the only love of her life. “I really appreciate that you guys took the time to come out for me despite everything. And while I’m truly sorry and would love to explain it all to each of you, I think there’s a song that Vic and I wrote that better explains my head space back then. Jesse?”
“On it,” the man said, understanding his cue and hitting play on This Time.
Keychains and flowers couldn’t fix what I was
Silence and habit made me think we could keep this
What doesn’t kill me makes me worse than I was
If I close my eyes then it still feels like the first kiss
Nothing is quite the same
But we just keep avoiding this
Speak slowly, couldn’t know me
We won’t confront the past
Despite the fact that if we don’t then this won’t last
Maybe this time was the last time
I think we’re running out of luck
Maybe enough was just too much
“Wow…” Luke murmured to himself as silence crashed down around the room. “That was… Jesus, Rory, all that was in your head that whole time? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Aurora shrugged, her lower lip starting to quiver. “I don’t know,” she mouthed, the words coming out with no sound.
“Maybe this would be a good time to show you guys our makeshift studio,” Matt said, standing up quickly.
“That is a great idea,” Vic seconded, also standing up.
Everyone else with the exception of Aurora and Luke followed suit, Matt leading the charge out to the studio that was really just the garage, Vic squeezing Aurora’s shoulder on his way out as a silent confirmation that he had her back however this conversation played out.
“Okay…” Luke said slowly once they were alone. “Can I just say that I hate whatever that was?”
“Whatever what was?” Aurora asked, confused. “The songs?”
“What? No, those are amazing. You and him.”
“Me and Vic? You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not fuckin’ joking. I— God, Rory, is it so wrong of me to hate that you basically replaced me? Replaced us?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t replace anybody. And you’re seriously gonna sit there and act like you haven’t slept with anybody since me?”
Luke’s mouth gaped open both at the accusation and the confession that her and Vic were at least somewhat together romantically. “I— Well, no. Of course I’ve slept with other people. But I’m not in a relationship with those girls, either.”
“Who said Vic and I were in a relationship?”
Luke gestured around the house. “You fuckin’ live with him for fuck’s sake!”
Aurora tipped her head back, roaring with laughter. “Oh my God, could you just admit that you’re jealous?”
“Fine, I’m jealous! I’m jealous as hell, Rory. Like c’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t see all the similarities between us and these guys.”
“Of course I see the similarities, Luke. Which is why Vic and I are not together. Look— Vic and I understand each other, that’s all. We both had this one great love, and we both royally fucked it up because we couldn’t face the truth. And yeah, we hook up sometimes. But it’s to prevent us from hooking up with someone else and risking everything we fought so hard to move on from. From something I don’t think I’ll ever move on from.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel better or not. I— I’m not sure what to feel actually.”
“Join the club.”
“I— Can I ask one question? We don’t have to hash out our whole past, but there’s a question I once asked you and I dunno… I feel like I never got a real answer. What happened? Cuz I’ve tried so many times to put the pieces together in my head, trying to figure out what went wrong, and I just end up more confused.”
Aurora sighed, slumping into the couch cushions. “At first I thought that you had become a stranger to me. Like one day we were 17 and I knew everything about you, and the next day we were 23 and I had no idea who you were. And a part of me still thinks that’s true. I mean obviously you weren’t the same anymore. Honestly, the drinking and partying version of you was really hard to handle. But the part that scared me the most was that I changed and I didn’t know who I was anymore. Like you and the guys were all finding yourselves as you grew as a band. And I just ended up getting more and more lost. And no matter what I tried to do to find me, I just ended up more lost. It wasn’t that you became a stranger to me, Luke. I became a stranger to myself.”
“Ba— Rory, I would have helped you through that. We all would have. Why didn’t you say something?”
She shook her head and shrugged. “I— I don’t think it would have mattered. It wasn’t something I could fix by staying with you. Like slowly over time I went from being Aurora Hudson to just being the girl dating Luke Hemmings of 5SOS. I didn’t have an identity to myself that wasn’t somehow tied to you. And that was terrifying. Like I was just a kid, Luke. I didn’t know what I was doing. All I knew was that I was so fuckin’ lost and needed to find myself. It absolutely fuckin’ sucked that there was nothing to pin the blame on— no way to fix it by staying with you. Do you really think I would have left you if I thought there was another way for me to save me from myself?! Of course I would have stayed with you! But I was just a fuckin’ kid, Luke!”
“I was a fuckin kid, too!” he shouted, standing up suddenly and pointing a shaking finger in front of her face. “I was a fuckin’ kid too, Rory. And I fuckin’ loved you. And you said your future was wherever I was and like a fuckin’ idiot I believed you, because I stupidly thought you loved me too!”
She rose to her feet too, matching his anger with her own. “I did, Luke! I fuckin’ did! I loved you with everything I fuckin’ had and if I had a fuckin’ time machine I would go back and re-do this whole fuckin’ thing! Because even after all this time, I’m still fuckin’ in love with you! But I don’t think that matters anymore.” She slumped back down onto the couch, defeated and exhausted.
“Of course it fuckin’ matters! It fuckin’ matters because I’m still in love with you, too! And I tried not to be! God, I tried so fuckin’ hard to get over you! I turned into the worst version of myself because what was the point of being the best version of myself if you wouldn’t love me anyway?!” His chest heaved as the words spilled in an angry flurry. “And then— I don’t exactly know but everything was a complete fuckin’ mess and then I got sober. Well… sort of. I cleaned up my act. Severely limited my drinking and partying habits. 1.) because no matter how drunk or sober I was I still saw you in everything I did and at least being sober didn’t leave me with the wicked hangover in addition to the heartache 2.) because I stupidly thought that maybe if I put myself back together then maybe you’d come back. Like we were connected on a level that I couldn’t understand and you would know and you would come back because that’s what happens in all the romance books and movies you like so much. And then you called. And you called fuckin’ Ashton.”
Aurora tried to laugh at that but it came out as a half garbled sob. “I thought you would hang up. I thought you hated me. I would hate me. Fuck, I do hate me.”
“Aurora Marie Hudson, I have been in love with you since I was six fuckin’ years old. And absolutely nothing since then has ever changed that. And nothing ever will.”
“So if you kiss me right now, and we both close our eyes, do you think we can be 17 again?”
Despite everything, Luke chuckled as he sat down next to her, his arm going across her shoulders. “No. No, I don’t think that.”
“Oh, I see,” she mumbled, looking down to study the tips of her shoes. If after all this he was going to reject her, she didn’t want to bear witness to it, even if she would deserve it. She was stupid to think that it could really be that simple. That a slight screaming match voicing years of pent up truths would be the magic needed to fix everything.
Luke’s fingers hooked up under her jaw, forcing her to look up at him as he again shifted, leaning down to help close what little distance between them remained. “I think that if I kiss you, we’ll stay 25. But this time we’ll be better. Better at figuring our shit out. Together. The way we were meant to. And I’m scared to close my eyes because I don’t want to miss hearing you say—”
“My future is wherever you are,” she whispered, as their lips connected.
The beeping of the copier machine had you snapping your head up from your laptop. Assuming it was beeping because it was out of paper, you grabbed a new ream, carrying it over.
However, instead of a “load paper” display like you were expecting, the copier displayed the words every teacher dreaded to see while making copies before school: paper jam.
“Oh, c’mon,” you grumbled with a short laugh as you opened the front cover and let the machine guide you through fixing the jam before closing the cover again.
The machine whirred back to life, and certain the problem was solved, you moved to the sink to wash off the printer ink splotches on your hands. As you were drying your hands, the machine beeped again.
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ joking,” you muttered with an eye roll, approaching the machine again. Again it blared a message of a paper jam.
You worked your way through unjamming the copier a second time. And then a third. And then a fourth. At some point your laptop screen went into sleep mode, but updating your Google Classroom was now the last thing on your mind.
You slammed the cover shut, and took a step back, fanning yourself, unsure of it was the warm room or stress of needing your copies before classes started making you feel sweaty.
The copier whirred, and then started beeping again. “Nnnoooo!” you laugh-whined, as you opened the machine and started the process of unjamming it again.
A low whistle sounded from the doorway to the lounge as Ashton, the math teacher next door to you, walked in with a few papers in his hands. “Jammed huh?”
“Yup. And no matter what I do, it keeps jamming,” you gave him the quick run down. “Morning, and happy Friday, by the way,” you added, straightening up from fixing the jam yet again. “How are you?”
Ashton laughed, “Morning, Happy Friday, and I’m good, you? Besides probably pissed off at the copier? Have you messaged Michael?” he replied, mentioning the IT maintenance manager on your guys’ side of campus.
“I’m gonna fight technology and my students,” you said with another frustrated laugh. “They’re the reason I need to make copies in the first place because they keep vandalizing the computers. Did I tell you how I found one yesterday with a cracked screen?”
Ashton whistled low. “I feel that. My kids are in trouble because they made my sub walk out yesterday.”
“Damn, I got a reflection essay for that if you need. Too bad you’ll need the copier, though.”
Ashton laughed as he pulled out his phone. “Yeah, I’ll let Michael know.”
“Tell him I blame him too, because he literally asked me yesterday how the copier was doing and I stupidly said that it was working great,” you told him as you checked what copies you had before the jam started. “I have enough to manage for today. If I could just cancel the job though so it would stop, that would be great.”
As Ashton stepped over to examine the copier, you stepped back to give him space. “Hmm,” the man hummed, “are you making double sided copies?”
“Yeah. Trying to save paper.”
“That might be the problem. When the paper flips, it—” he explained as he started pressing buttons on the display screen.
“Oh that’s when it gets jammed!” you finished. “Well fine, I’ll never make double sided copies again, I guess.”
“No, cancel! Cancel!” Ashton laughed as the copier whirred and on cue jammed.
Together you both reached to open the front cover, Ashton pulling open one part and yanking out paper, while you reached back and tried to wedge free paper stuck in the far back. You ignored the way your hands brushed against each other’s as you both pulled back your hands. Ignored the way you bore matching ink splotches. Ignored how his eyes carefully watched where your hands were as he snapped various parts of machinery back into place so he didn’t accidentally close a piece on you. Before Ashton closed the cover that would trigger the copier starting up and jamming again, he hit the power button, holding it until a power down menu option appeared. “Shh, go to sleep,” he whispered to the copier, making both of you giggle.
“Yes!” you both cheered when at long last the copier went silent. He held up his hand in a high five, and when your palm slapped victoriously into his, his fingers spread, your own fingers slotting into the empty spaces, interlacing with his.
You both realized what was happening at the same time, his eyes widening as he dropped your hand and took a few hurried steps back, clearing his throat. “Um, uh,” he started to sputter. “Enjoy your copies, Nova.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you rushed, grabbing your copies and long forgotten laptop. “Uh, thanks for the help. I’ll send that reflection assignment to you.”
Copies in hand, you made to exit the lounge, but paused before the door. “Hey, did you see the email Calum sent about an after school happy hour because it’s a minimum day?” you asked, bringing up the biology teacher across the way from yours and Ashton’s classrooms.
“Oh yeah, I was probably gonna swing by. You going?”
“Yeah I was thinking about it.”
“Cool. I’ll uh, see you later then.”
When you got to your classroom, you sat at your desk a long while thinking everything over.
Did you like Ashton? It was such a silly question. Of course you liked Ashton. You liked all of your fellow 9th grade team coworkers.
But you and Ashton had started working at the school during the same year. You survived the new teacher trenches literally side by side. And throughout the seven years you’ve been teaching, you each watched the other teachers on your team go through their own relationship highs and lows. Every time Calum complained about an affair gone awry, you and Ashton always sighed in relief, lamenting the fact that this is why you each chose to stay single.
And it was hard to deny the way your heart had raced at how he looked crouched down with you helping you fix the copier with those ink splotches on his large hands.
In a moment of “fuck it,” you pulled up the employee handbook, searching for anything to tell you that you and Ashton would be a bad move professionally. And you couldn’t help the grin when you found nothing that forbade employee relationships.
~~~
“Have a good weekend!” you announced to your class as they rapidly exited the room. When the last one filed out, you turned your attention to quickly tidying up your classroom and preparing it for Monday morning, so come Monday you didn’t have to worry about it.
You were standing on a chair to reach high enough to change the date on your whiteboard when hands drummed against the top of your open doorway. You turned, prepared to scold whatever student was banging on the doorframe, but your eyes flashed wide when you noticed it was Ashton. And you were pretty sure your cheeks flushed at the sight of his biceps flexing and straining against the sleeves of his shirt as he leaned in your doorway, hands firmly wrapped around the top of the doorframe, fingers still drumming a little tune.
If he noticed your pink cheeks, he didn’t say anything. He just flashed you a wide smile, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “You headed out?”
“Yeah, just getting things ready and waiting for the parking lot to die down a bit.”
“Mmm, smart choice,” he mentioned. He let go of the doorframe, stepping fully inside your classroom. He took off the baseball hat with the school logo emblazoned on it that he always wore, and ran his fingers through his hair, doing very little to tame the unruly brown waves, before pulling the hat back down on his head. “Damn, your writing is so neat,” he admired, taking a look at your whiteboard.
“You didn’t take Whiteboard Writing 101?” you joked.
“Nah, my program only had Doctor’s Writing. So my own board looks like I wrote with my left hand,” he joked back.
“Well, good thing you really only have to write numbers,” you continued to tease, moving to step down from your chair.
Suddenly he was in front of you, hand out to help you step off the chair. Without thinking, you accepted the help, marveling in the warmth and strength of his hand holding onto yours. “Yeah until we do a unit on variables and then it’s “Mister! Is that an “s” or a “5”? So I usually just make slides with all the equations and go over it that way. Makes it less embarrassing.”
“That’s actually pretty smart,” you told him as he let go of your hand and grabbed the back of the chair, picking it up and putting it back in place for you.
You were certain he heard the gulping sound you made as his eyes met yours, that grin plastered on his face. Then again, almost like he was giving you privacy to fawn over him, he moved across your room to look out the window overlooking the parking lot. “I think we’re good if you’re ready to head out.”
You noticed how he waited for you to gather your things, and let you exit first. You also noticed how he flicked off the classroom lights for you, the toe of his boot kicking up the door stopper to shut your door in the same motion. And you definitely noticed how he walked a step behind you all the way to the parking lot and didn’t get into his truck until you were safely in your own little car.
~~~
You squeezed the lime wedge into your Corona before you put the beer bottle to your lips. Next to you, Ashton played with the peeling label of his own beer bottle.
“Have any of you guys played corn hole?” Michael asked during a lapse in conversation, nodding over to the outdoor game set up of the brewery.
“I feel like I have but I don’t know the rules,” Ashton replied.
“Same,” you spoke up, before taking another pull of your beer.
“You gonna teach us, Georgia boy?” Calum asked, raising an eyebrow as Michael went over to the cornhole game.
“My wife grew up in Georgia. I just lived there for a few years. But yes. Cal, you take that side with Ash. Nova, come over to this side with me.”
Michael launched into an explanation of how the game was played and how the point system worked, but you blocked everything out after Michael mentioned that Ashton was your teammate. And when Ashton reached up to flip his hat backwards on his head, you finished off your beer so you could blame the warmth flooding your body on the booze.
Back and forth the four of you took turns tossing the beanbags, no one really keeping score, conversation flowing easily. At some point Calum dismissed himself and then Michael, leaving just you and Ashton, still aimlessly tossing the beanbags across the playing field. “So,” Ashton spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence that had been building.
“So?” you questioned when he said nothing more.
“I was thinking of grabbing a water. You want one?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the building.
“Yeah that would be great, thanks,” you smiled at him.
As he walked inside, you returned to the table that was still littered with discarded beer bottles, pretzel bites, and your purse.
When Ashton returned with 2 water glasses, and 2 shot glasses in hand, you raised an eyebrow in silent question. “They got me with 2 for 1 tequila,” he answered sheepishly. “Figured why not. If you’re not a tequila drinker, I’ll drink both.”
“No, tequila’s fine,” you told him, taking the offered shot glass and throwing it back. You let out a shiver as the alcohol smoothly went down your throat. “Mmm, so what do I owe you?” you asked as the shot glass clinked against the tabletop.
“Oh, it’s on me,” he waved a hand dismissively. “You just wanted water and I’m a sucker for a good happy hour deal.”
“Yeah, but I still drank it,” you pressed.
“Seriously, it’s fine.”
“Ashton.”
“Nova.”
You rolled your eyes, taking a drink of the water. “You’re impossible.”
He grinned, taking a drink of his own water. “Yeah, but you like me that way.”
“That is true,” you agreed. “I like you a lot of ways.”
Ashton choked on his next sip of water. “Come again?”
“I— I just meant—” you stammered. What did you mean? You sighed, opting for the truth. “I like you, Ash. You’ve been my next door neighbor our entire teaching careers. You’re a great teacher, and a great co-worker. A great friend, even. I like showing up to work, knowing you’re gonna be there. I like our silly unspoken competition we have about who gets to work first. So yeah. I like you.”
He smiled softly. “I like you too,” came the admission. “I like how you remember everyone’s birthdays, and what our food likes and dislikes are so when we plan parties you make sure there’s something for everyone to eat. I like how you used to only bring a turkey and cheese and crackers platter until I said I like salami so now you bring the bigger platter. I like how you usually always bring the same lunch, unless it’s after a party because then you just bring your leftover platter like it’s an adult sized lunchable. And I like how most mornings when I pull into the parking lot, your car is already there and when I walk down the hallway, you wave good morning to me from your room. So yeah, I like you, too.”
“I—”
“Look,” Ashton said quickly. “I’m not trying to force something that’s not there. I’m aware that when you say you like me, you could just truly mean you like me, and that’s that. And I’m fine if all we’re meant to be is friendly co-workers. But I know that when I get in my truck to go home, I’m going home alone. And I’m pretty sure that when you get into your own car, you’re also going home alone. So all I’m saying is that if you maybe would want to be alone together with me, that’s something I’d be open to.”
He didn’t say anything else as he began to drink his water, allowing you the time and space to deal with the bombshell he dropped on you.
Alone? Together? With Ashton? With those lips cold from the water glass pressing against yours, soft and refreshing? With those large careful hands skillfully roaming your body? The idea of him taking his time as he learned about you in a much more intimate manner?
Your hands splayed out across the tabletop as you leaned forward. Understanding your cue, Ashton’s lips found yours halfway across the table.
“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured as you pulled away, and brought a finger to your lips, savoring the way his lips had felt on yours and excited for whatever came next.
“Mmm, in a minute,” he agreed, before his fingers hooked under your chin, pulling you back in for another kiss.
I feel like my best fic ideas come from real life scenarios I experience that I obviously tweak to satisfy my fic writing needs.
Because as a married person obviously I have no real attraction to the math teacher who I was laughing with in the lounge as he helped me fix the copy machine every time it jammed on us.
But reader and teacher!Ashton? Ink covered hands brushing as they both reach for the same crumpled up papers? Cheeks red and a little breathless from laughing to stem the frustration of a broken copier right before classes start? Cheering together when it finally works? Maybe a shared high five that ends in interlaced fingers?
Save your favorite fics while you still can!They will still be up on here but respectfully the idea of changing ALL my links on my various masterlists is 1.) both daunting and tedious and 2.) a recipe for me purging all my shitty half assed crack idea fics.
What up y’all! Happy holidays! I figured I was long overdue for a life update so consider this my holiday newsletter.
1.) Babypal #1 (M) is 3 YEARS old! And he’s in daycare/preschool! And he’s potty trained! And he’s adapting well to Babypal #2 (N).
2.) N is 5 MONTHS old! Which means we’re in the baby dinosaur stage of voice exploration. He was born small and remains small so we’ve switched to giving him formula during the day to try and bulk him up. Which is lowkey sad that I can’t breastfed him the same way I did with M, but is highkey a relief cuz breastfeeding/pumping is fuckin exhausting.
3.) I’m exhausted because in addition to parenting 2 young children, I GOT A GROWN UP JOB!!!! I’m a TEACHER TEACHER GUYS!!!! I teach 9th graders (14-15 year olds). They’re… interesting. The other teachers on campus are awesome though. Overall pretty happy with the situation.
4.) Hubs remain crushing it as supportive partner/parent. He’s been doing a lot of early morning 3 year old duty so I can sleep in and be on baby duty. I think we’ve both handled the addition of N easier than when we had M because we have a better understanding of things that happened the first time around. Which I suppose is good news for prospective parents of multiple children. Transitioning from 1-2 was way easier than going from 0-1.
5.) That being said, I still do have mild postpartum anxiety. Which is a step up from the moderate postpartum anxiety I was diagnosed with immediately after M.
6.) I’m still writing. Just at a much slower pace. And my current focus is writing a novella in the hopes of publishing.
Summary: When a classic violinist clashes with a rock drummer, things are bound to be messy.
Word Count: 2.7k
And away, and away we go!
__
Dean was more than surprised to find a car already in the parking lot of Fowler’s Strings when he arrived. And his surprise turned to curiosity when he didn’t recognize the vehicle despite the man sitting at the wheel looking vaguely familiar. He shook off the feeling, chalking it up to another generic pretty white boy face, slipping back into his normal demeanor.
The man in the car didn’t move as Dean tucked his motorcycle helmet under his left arm, right hand going for a set of keys clipped to the side of his backpack. Only after Dean unlocked the building to let himself in did the man in the car start to move to get out.
“Morning, what can I help you with?” Dean called out to the man when he finally made his way inside the building.
“You’re not Dean Fowler by any chance are you?”
He stiffened ever so slightly as he set his backpack down behind his desk and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. “That would depend on who’s asking,” Dean answered cautiously.
The man gave a small, almost apologetic laugh. “Sorry. I, um… my band… well management really…” he loosed a sigh, frustrated with himself for fumbling with words like an idiot. “My band is doing a show, and my management hired your company as part of the vision we had for this show.”
“Ah,” Dean said knowingly. “So you wanted to come and do your own research. Make sure we’re up to your standards.”
“Heh,” the man ducked his head. “Well in part, yes. But also… and I’m aware of how absurd this will sound. But I used to know someone named Dean Fowler back when I was a kid. And part of me is curious if it’s the same Dean Fowler.”
“Well, yes I’m Dean. However, I didn’t grow up here, so I’m sure it’s just a mere coincidence.”
“I didn’t grow up here either. I’m Ashton. Irwin, if that helps jog your memory any.”
Much to Dean’s dismay it did. A flash of a scrawny boy with a straightened blond fringe. Then more flashes, some good, some worse, of memories spent with that boy. Dean blinked, the flashes fading and in its place stood Ashton as he was now. Scrawny frame filled out with broad muscle. Blonde fringe replaced with soft brown curls. And his face, even more handsome in adulthood with stubble now decorating that strong jaw. “Well… we’re both a long way from home, huh?”
Ashton laughed. “Yeah. Yeah I guess you could say that.” A large hand rose to rub at the back of his neck. “So…”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dean cut in. “We don’t have to do whatever this,” he waved a hand in a vague gesture, “is. Let’s agree to leave what happened when we were kids in the past where it belongs. I know I’ve changed since then. You’ve…” another vague hand gesture at Ashton’s body “clearly changed a lot as well. So let’s just attend to the matter at hand, and take it from there.”
Ashton’s face fell for a fraction of a second before he nodded. “Yeah. That’s… yeah.”
Dean loosed a sigh. He didn’t want to come off as dick. But he wasn’t exactly inclined to walk down memory lane with Ashton either. What was so wrong with wanting to do the job at hand and then go back to forgetting about his former friend turned lover turned stranger? “I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean started to amend, “I only meant that we could have a clean slate. Start fresh, or whatever.”
Ashton merely nodded again, slowly turning over the words in his head. “Yeah, makes sense. But damn, I must’ve played this out a million times in my head about what I would say or do if I walked in here and it was actually you. And…” his voice trailed off in a huff of breath. “I dunno,” Ashton’s shoulders shrugged. “It probably doesn’t mean a whole lot, and it’s way overdue, but I am sorry for how things were before.”
The corner of Dean’s mouth pulled up slightly in a sad half smile. “Yeah. Me too, Ash, me too. Um…” Dean drummed his fingers on his desk, wiggling his mouse to wake up his computer. His tongue clicked in his mouth, making idle noise to pass the time as he pulled up a file on the screen. “Okay, so it looks like your management sent the set list. Did they send the…” another click had another file opening up. “Perfect. Okay, so,” Dean’s eyes lifted from the computer to Ashton, “my team and I are gonna look this over and see what we can do with it. Then we’ll bring you guys so we can hash out any other details or deal with any changes, and then we can start rehearsals. Any questions?”
“How long do you think it will take your team to come up with your additions?”
Dean clicked his tongue some more in thought. “Like a week tops, hopefully. I’ll keep your management up to date.”
“So I’m supposed to sit on my ass and do what exactly? Hope you’ll call me?”
It took everything in Dean’s power to remain professional. “No, of course not. You’re in London. Enjoy it. Do literally anything that will keep your mind off of me calling you. Because, I’ll grant you the courtesy of informing you now. I won’t be calling you. I’ll be calling your management.”
Ashton drummed his fingers against his thighs, blowing out a huff of air slowly, no doubt trying to ignore the obvious phone call dig. “Fine. Just, uh, try not to keep us waiting too long, Fowler. The venue only gave us a handful of dates so the sooner we can lock one in, the better.”
“Keep you waiting? Wouldn’t dream of it, Irwin,” Dean smiled sweetly.
~~~
Dean felt his temper rising with each second that ticked by on the clock. Tick! He’s not coming. Tock! Why did he think he would?
So when his phone finally did ring, shattering the silence, Dean all but jumped out his own skin before answering. “About time,” he said, doing his best to keep his irritation out of his voice.
“I know. I messed up. I’m sorry. I’m on my way though, okay. Just… like gimme five more minutes. Please?” Ashton’s voice replied, rushed rather than apologetic.
“Don’t bother. Just do whatever you want. I’m done.”
“What?”
Even Dean faltered for a second, unsure of what he was saying. “I— You— You promised me, Ash. You swore this wasn’t gonna change anything between us. That we were still gonna be us. And sure, at the time, you probably meant every word. But…” he sniffed as a tear slid down his nose. “I can’t keep putting my life on pause for you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“I know, but—”
“But what, Dean?! You can’t handle not being the only important thing in my life?! I have a future to think about here!”
“A future that doesn’t include me.”
“What are you saying?” The question came out broken and horrified.
“I’m saying— I love you, okay? So much that I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to stop. But I can’t keep waiting for you to love me back.”
“I do love you! I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t.”
“But you’re not with me, Ash! Maybe emotionally. But physically and mentally, you left me a long time ago.”
“Dean, please!”
“Don’t call me.”
“Dean!”
The line went dead. And by the time Ashton made it to their meet up spot, Dean was nowhere to be found.
~~~
Aside from the ending, Dean had been one of Ashton’s better relationships. Carefree, easy days playing music and doing homework together. A million little moments that turned into shy confessions and led to kissing in the back row at the movies and promises of forever. A promise Ashton intended to keep, right up until he didn’t.
Ashton shook the thoughts from his head. Replaying a relationship that had ended over a decade ago wasn’t gonna do him any good. And yet, he couldn’t help it. Walking into that studio and seeing Dean again, different but somehow still the same, had opened up the memories whether Ashton wanted it or not.
He didn’t fault Dean for breaking things off, not back then and certainly not now. They hadn’t been anything more than kids. And life seemed to had been kind to both of them since then. Could a clean slate lead to a new chance? One that Ashton wouldn’t fuck up this time. Or had Dean meant a clean slate in that he wanted to treat this strictly as a professional relationship, get the job done, and go back to forgetting Ashton? He supposed in some part it didn’t matter. That sitting here, spinning through all the what ifs was a giant waste of time. But he somehow found himself focusing on the words “I love you, okay? So much that I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to stop,” and wondering if that was still true. And if it was still true, what did that mean for them now that they had each grown up a little bit more? And if it wasn’t true…
Ashton shook his head again.
~~~
“A band? Like an actual band?” Dean asked skeptically.
Ashton’s eyes shifted to study the ground. “Yeah. I mean they play shows and stuff. Nothing big yet. But who knows, you know? Maybe one day…”
“Maybe one day you guys will be huge stars and I’ll be…”
“Hopefully right there with me?” Ashton asked, lifting his gaze to meet Dean’s, teeth nipping into his lower lip.
Dean just arched an eyebrow. “You would want that?”
Ashton gripped Dean’s hands in his tightly. “Of course I do! What?” Ashton laughed. “You think I would choose anything for my life that didn’t include you? Dean, I love you. And anything this world is gonna be crazy enough to throw at me, I want you right there with me.”
Dean allowed himself a smile, to fully believe in what Ashton was telling him. “It’ll always be us?”
“Always. Promise.”
~~~
Dean rubbed his eyes. It had been a foolish promise. One he had willed himself to believe in at the time because what was the alternative when you were seventeen and in love?
It hadn’t all been Ashton’s fault. Dean had been just as idyllic about the thought of spending forever with Ashton, chasing music dream after music dream together. Until the doubt and insecurities became too much to handle and he ran. So no, it hadn’t all been Ashton’s fault, because it was never his fault at all. Ashton would have continued to fight for them until his last breath. But Dean had picked the coward’s way out and pushed the blame on Ashton anyway. And Ashton, bless his heart, had let it happen.
And for what? For both of them to chase their music dreams separately and still find a way back into each other’s lives? There was no way that could be a mere coincidence. Something much larger than Dean could ever fathom was at play here. Fate. Destiny. Whatever it was, Dean wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
Dean pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Hello?” Ashton’s voice answered, polite but unsure of who was calling.
“Hey,” Dean replied. “It’s me. It’s uh, sorry, it’s Dean.”
“Oh! Yeah, hey. I uh, wasn’t expecting you to call, sorry,” Ashton nervously laughed.
“To be fair, I told you not to expect me,” Dean laughed with him.
“You guys are ready with the arrangements already?” Ashton asked incredulously. “Damn, I can see why my management picked you guys.”
“What? No. I—" Dean huffed another laugh. “Sorry, I should explain why I’m calling you. It’s uh… Well, it’s personal, I guess? I— God, I feel so ridiculous. I—” he paused, letting out a long sigh, using the time to gather the courage to say what he wanted to say.
“Dean?” Ashton asked, voice tinged with concern. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I just… I keep thinking, and um… are you free to meet for coffee or something? This is a conversation probably better had in person.”
“Oh? Uh… yeah. Yeah, I can meet you somewhere. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”
~~~
Ashton tried to keep his nerves in check as he waited inside the coffee shop for Dean to arrive. It took every ounce of patience he had to remain where he was when he saw Dean in the parking lot, tucking a motorcycle helmet under his arm before striding towards the door. The tightness in his chest gave way to instant relief when Dean flashed him a huge grin, crossing the room quickly to him. “Hey, thanks for meeting me,” Dean rushed out as he set his motorcycle helmet down on the table.
“Yeah, of course. So what’s up? You sounded like whatever you wanted to talk about is pretty serious.”
Dean’s face flushed, as both men settled into their seats. “It’s actually kind of stupid. But remember how I told you that we should leave our past in the past and just have a clean slate?”
Ashton felt the tightness in his chest return as he nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’m struggling with doing that more than I thought. Like, if someone had asked me a few days ago how I felt about you, I would easily say that you were someone who was part of my past, and I’ve made my peace with it.”
“And now?” Ashton prompted after a few beats of silence.
“Now I’m confused. The way we ended wasn’t your fault. The blame lies completely with me. I was the one who couldn’t handle my inner demons and I took the easy way out. And even today, it’s clear I still have some bitterness about how we ended because I’ve kind of been a dick to you under the guise of cold professionalism. And that bitterness is misplaced. It’s my own demons that have now turned into regret, and it’s not fair for me to have projected that onto you.”
“Well, while I appreciate that, I’m still partly to blame. I got tunnel-visioned in chasing my music dream with the guys, and I unintentionally stopped viewing you as a priority. And you were right to call me out for it and demand more for yourself.”
“You didn’t deserve for me to throw it all away, though.”
Ashton shrugged. “And you didn’t deserve for me to cast you aside to push you into thinking walking away was the only option.”
“And while I’m glad we’re at a place now where we can have a mature conversation about this, I’m still confused about where this leaves us. Because I don’t want a fresh start. I want a do over. I want the chance I ran away from.”
Ashton let out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank, God,” he laughed. “Because I have not been able to get you out of my head since I suggested your company to my management,” he confessed.
“Since you what?” Dean asked incredulously. “You suggested my company to your management? Which meant you knew it was me?”
Ashton’s face flushed. “Well it didn’t start out that way. But once I saw the name, I got curious. And… I mean I can’t say that I was ever okay with how things ended between us. It fuckin’ destroyed me, and to always have this nagging thought that it could have been avoided… You’re the only boy I’ve ever been in love with, Dean. And one of the last things you said to me was how you didn’t think you’d ever stop loving me. And I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding onto that hope until I found you again.”
Dean felt his heart start to race in his chest. “So… if I want a do over, and you also want a do over… that leaves us where, exactly?”
“Hopefully right about here?” Ashton asked before one of his hands was reaching across the table, two fingers hooking under Dean’s chin to pull him in for a kiss.
Summary: Thea had her reasoning as to why she didn’t like hockey players. Until Calum makes her re-evaluate her opinion.
Word Count: 6.1k
And away, and away we go!
__
Thea didn’t mind the frigid air of the ice skating rink. What she did mind was the group of hockey players already on the bleachers, their gear scattered around as they laced up.
Thea hated hockey season. She hated how their brutish nature of yelling and slamming into each other was a constant cause of distraction. Hated the smell of sweat that always clung to their gear and their bodies, as if they had no idea how to operate a washing machine or a shower. And she hated their sense of entitlement. Not to the rink— no, that was rightfully theirs— but their sense of entitlement to her. As if she was there merely for their sake and desires.
Coach Anderson had always held a zero tolerance for disrespect or harassment, to the point of banning players from his team. But even the strictest of policies hadn’t been enough to deter the most determined.
She kept her face neutral of any contempt or disdain as she staked her claim at the bottom of the bleachers.
“Excuse me, miss?” one of the men called out to her. “Were you planning on using the rink?”
Thea clicked her tongue in her cheek as she looked over at the man. Dark brown curls, wild and loose framed his face, and equally dark brown eyes studied her closely. His black jersey lay slung over his broad shoulders. “No,” she smiled sweetly at him. “I just came to the ice rink with a bag of gear to sit here for three hours.”
The man laughed. “Real funny, princess. But I got the schedule from the coach right here in my bag. And I hate to break it to you, but this is our practice time for the next eight months.”
“Four months,” Thea corrected. “Your season is four months.”
“For the regular season. But we’re in training for the first two months. Then the actual season. And then playoffs which are an extra two months. And that, princess, is how to count to eight,” the man clarified.
“So I’ll be rid of you in six,” she grinned. “I shall count the days!”
The man laughed again. “Tell you what, princess. Since you’re already here, and we would hate to see you freeze waiting on us, I’ll talk to the coach, and see if we can’t work something out for today.”
“Or I can talk to the coach myself. See if I can’t work something out for today. Wouldn’t want you boys to freeze or anything.” Her voice was rich with sweet sarcasm.
The man scoffed, sweeping a large hand in the direction of the hallway that led to the offices. “Be my guest, princess. Fair warning through, Coach Anderson can be a bit of a hardass.”
“Ooo, I’d be careful how you refer to your coach,” Thea winced.
“As would I,” Coach Anderson said as he walked into view, his co and assistant coaches a step behind. “Thea, sweetheart, how are you?” he asked with a warmth that had his team looking at each other in surprise.
“I’m good,” she smiled, giving the coach a hug hello. “Although there appears to be an issue with your scheduling. You double booked yourself.”
Coach Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit. I always want to think you end at three, not start at three.”
“You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you do this on purpose as a chance to see me.”
“I don’t do it on purpose,” Coach Anderson said with a laugh. “I’ll look everything over and find a work around. As for today… Peter, let’s get set up on half the rink. We’ll let Thea use the other half.”
Peter Steele, the assistant coach nodded once before jogging off.
Coach Anderson clapped his hands together. “Alright! Thea, have you met the team?”
“Briefly,” she said, her eyes sweeping over the twelve men who sat on the bleachers, still watching the interaction between the head coach and the figure skater with both intrigue and shock.
“Thea, this is the team. First line I have Hood, Irwin, and Hemmings as my forwards. Fleming and DeLuca are the defensemen. And then Clifford’s goalie.”
Each man waved a hand in greeting, first the dark haired man whom she had spoken with, a man with light brown curls, two blondes, another brunette, and another blonde.
Coach Anderson then prattled off the names of his second line, but Thea kept her focus on Hood and the arrogance that radiated off him as he stared blankly back at her. “And I’m still working on a practice schedule for the third and fourth lines. Gentlemen, this is Thea Anderson, my daughter.”
Eleven men coughed uncomfortably. The twelfth— Hood— only widened his eyes, the only indication he gave of the news shocking him. “I apologize for the overlap of schedules and will work on getting that fixed. However, I think we’ve wasted enough time, so let’s get to it.”
Thea paid them no mind as they all headed out on the ice. As she readied herself, she let the sounds of the sticks hitting ice, the yells and grunts of the players, and the shouted commands and whistles of the coaches all fade to a nonexistent hum.
By the time her skates were laced and she made her way to the ice, her focus was solely on her own movements: each push off, jump, spin, and landing. Flawless and graceful execution. No room for error.
For the twelve hockey players and three coaches, playing with only half a rink was a challenge, given the less than ideal space. Cramped, but not impossibly so.
Hood, in a state of hypervigilance, saw how Thea pushed herself into a backwards skate with her right foot. He also saw the left defender shoot the puck, the trajectory destined to cross the figure skater’s path. Hood rushed towards it.
Thea noticed the black blur of the puck hurtling towards that red center line, saw its trajectory same as Hood, and adjusted, jumping as Hood continued to race towards her to stop the puck.
Thea completed her spin as Hood slid to a halt, his skates showering her in sparks of shaved ice, and he sent the puck flying across the rink towards his left forward. Breathless, and a little pleased he’d managed to pull that off without colliding with Thea or even crossing the center line, he shot a grin at her. “Pretty jump there, princess,” he complimented.
She scoffed at him, brushing the shards of ice off her skirt. “And I suppose I should thank you for saving me from nothing?”
“That puck would have tripped you if I hadn’t stopped it,” he pointed out.
“No it wouldn't because unlike you, I’m aware of my space.”
Hood glanced down at the red center line, the toe of his skate right along the edge on his side. “As am I,” he said smugly.
“You’re a brute,” she hissed.
“If it so pleases, Your Highness,” he grinned like the fool he was, before he sketched a bow that even Thea had to admit was rather graceful despite his size and gear.
“Hood!” Coach Anderson barked with a sharp look at both his player and his daughter.
Hood pushed himself backward, still bowing. Thea scowled at the theatrics, at the smug look on his face, as he skated away and turned his attention back on his teammates and that infernal black puck.
~~~
The following day when Thea walked into the arena, the men that made up her father’s team were already out on the ice.
She scowled as she stalked over to the bleachers and laced up. If Coach Anderson was so insistent on sharing the ice, then he could have the burden of making sure his players stayed out of her way.
“Thea, sweetheart!” her father greeted, skating towards the edge of the rink closest to her.
“I thought you fixed the schedule.”
“I did!” the man beamed. “We have…” he glanced over at the clock on the wall, “a half hour left. They’re gonna start their cool down exercises so we won’t have any pucks flying around. It was the best solution I could come up with.”
“Mmm, how thoughtful…”
“Thea…” Coach Anderson said in a low warning.
“It’s not you I have the problem with, Dad. It’s them,” she clarified with a pointed glance at the team.
“They haven’t done anything to you, have they?”
“Not them specifically.”
Coach Anderson’s jaw tightened. “I traded that entire part of the roster, and made it very clear to this team that I won’t tolerate any indication of disrespect or harassment.”
“I know. And I hope you know I appreciate the lengths you have gone through for my sake. But they view kindness as a weakness, so it’s easier if I’m a bitch from the start.”
Coach Anderson rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Your kindness is your greatest strength, don’t let anybody make you feel that it’s not.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Of course. Now, feel like showing these men what you’re capable of?”
“Suicides? Let them think they have a chance, at least?”
The father and daughter shared a grin, as Coach Anderson blew his whistle. “Line up!” was the barked command.
The twelve men scurried to line up along one of the goal lines waiting for the next order. They kept their focus straight ahead even as Thea joined them in the line up. “Alright, gentlemen. We had a good practice, so I’m gonna give you the opportunity to earn a little reward here. One suicide across the rink.”
The men blinked in confusion. “That’s all, Coach?” one of them asked.
“That’s all,” Coach Anderson nodded. “One suicide stands between you and an early end to practice. However, if Thea finishes before you, you all will be doing suicides until practice officially ends.”
One of the players raised their hand.
“Yes, Hood?”
“To clarify, does place matter? So as long as Thea doesn’t finish first, we win? Or does she have to finish thirteenth for us to win?”
“You’re a team, Hood. If one member finishes before Thea, you all win. That’s what? A ninety-two percent chance at success? Sounds more than fair, right?”
“Yes Coach!” was the uniform response.
“Full rink. On my mark. Ready. Set.” Coach Anderson blew the whistle.
The players were quick to fly back and forth across the ice, gaining the lead early. Thea skated towards the end of the pack, pacing herself, playing the long game.
By the center line, the players started to fall on the return, as Thea made her way to the middle of the pack, still keeping a comfortable pace.
The men ahead of her pushed themselves harder to keep their lead as they skated for the goal line.
“Dig deep!” was the encouraged shout from the coaches as they hit the goal line, and skated back across the rink.
Thea passed more of them as they reached the second blue line. And as she headed out for the last round of goal line to goal line, only Hemmings, Hood, and Irwin were ahead of her.
Despite their longer strides, Thea passed Hemmings by the center line, and then Irwin as she hit the goal line. Hood was only a few feet away, passing the blue line.
All that lay between Hood and victory was a clean shot across the rink. He had a small but decent lead, and a longer stride.
Thea lengthened her own stride, feeling the stretch in her leg muscles. By the center line she was half a step behind.
Hood grit his teeth, and put as much speed in his strides as he could, already having maxed out how far he could extend his legs between each stride.
The toes of their skate hit the final goal line at the same time.
Thea nodded at Hood, conceding graciously. She opened her mouth to extend her congratulations, but Coach Anderson spoke up first. “Good effort, but not quite good enough. Line up!”
“Coach,” Hood replied, his voice coming out as heavy as his breathing. “With all due respect, you said Thea had to finish first. She didn’t. We both did.”
Coach Anderson’s eyes darkened, ready to tear his player apart for daring to question orders.
“Dad,” Thea interjected. “He’s right. You were very clear that I had to make it to the line first. And I didn’t. So unless Hood is up for a tie-breaker, your team’s free to go.”
“What kind of tie breaker do you have in mind?” Hood asked, intrigued.
“3 laps around the rink. If we tie, you lose. If I win, you lose.”
“You got yourself a deal,” Hood agreed, offering her his hand.
She shook it, sealing the bet.
“Take your marks then,” Coach Anderson relented. “But, Hood, if Thea wins, I’m adding an extra 5 minutes for your impertinence.”
“Understood, Coach.” Then he focused those intense brown eyes on Thea. “Am I allowed to shed some gear to make the odds more even?”
“You could skate in your underwear for all I care, Hood. I could even skate backwards and blindfolded, you’re still going to lose.”
“That’s a bold statement. Hope you can back it up,” he told her as he shucked his helmet, gloves, and jersey, discarding them on the lip of the wall surrounding the rink. “And it’s Calum.”
“I didn’t ask.”
When Coach Anderson blew the whistle, Calum skated like his life depended on it. Not only did he want to prove her words wrong, he wanted to pull through for his team. Ten minutes of suicides— fifteen in Calum’s case— would be an excruciating end to practice. Then there was the scathing lecture the team would receive about their lack of discipline for failure, and the personal one-on-one reaming Calum would get afterward for his attitude.
But a victory… A victory might earn him only a stern reminder at most. And the gratitude of his team.
While Calum had more reasons to win than he could count, Thea had zero. It didn’t matter to her whether or not she won. No threat of punishment loomed over her head as she and Calum raced around the rink. Just the pride that came with putting hockey players in their place. To show that she was a force to be reckoned with in her own right.
Every part of Calum was on fire as he fought to at least keep pace with Thea as they entered the final lap. Calum raced down the straightaway letting his speed carry him through the turn, using the chance to catch his breath, determined to hit the last straightaway with everything he had. His lungs burned. Sweat trickled down his spine. Even though a tie would mean he lost, it was still better than a complete blow out.
Thea pulled ahead as they hit the last turn, and he mentally braced for the inevitable defeat. But as she came out of the turn, Thea slowed. At first Calum assumed it was so she could stop just over the line, and she had somehow misjudged the distance as he went past her, crossing first. But the soft smile she flashed his way told him that she had let him win. But what for? “Good race,” she continued to smile, offering out her hand.
He didn’t dare question her reasoning for throwing the race in his favor now. He engulfed her hand in his larger one. “Good race.”
“Alright,” Coach Anderson said, a slight edge of confusion in his tone. “Hit the showers and I’ll see you all tomorrow. Hood, hang back a second, please.”
Calum squared his shoulders. While he knew he should consider himself lucky, and was indeed grateful to Thea for saving him and his team a grueling five extra minutes of practice, he hoped whatever Coach Anderson wanted to discuss didn’t include being benched to curb Hood’s impertinence. “Yes, Coach?” he replied once the rest of the team made their swift exit towards the locker rooms. None wanted to be privy to whatever hell Coach Anderson had planned.
Even Thea had managed to make herself disappear out of immediate earshot as she started to practice a series of jumps on the other side of the rink.
“Good effort out there today.”
“T-thank you, Coach,” Calum faltered over his words. This was so far from how he imagined this conversation happening.
“But if you ever have the boldness to act disrespectful in regards to me, the other coaches, or any of our judgments again, your time on this team will be incredibly short-lived.”
“Understood, Coach,” Calum nodded.
Coach Anderson clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “And at some point I would thank Thea. Rightfully so, she’s not overly friendly toward hockey players. And she wasn’t being overly confident about being able to outskate you blindfolded and backwards. I’ve seen her do it before. So the fact that she threw both races in your favor is beyond me. Now, hit the showers and get out of here.”
“Yes, Coach. And thank you.”
Calum wasted no time in heading for the locker room, in the event Coach Anderson changed his mind.
“Why did you let them win?” Coach Anderson asked as soon as Calum had left, and Thea skated back towards her father.
She skidded to a halt in front of the coach. “Same reason you let him off easy. Kindness is our greatest strength, isn’t it?”
Coach Anderson shook his head, chuckling lightly. “That it is. But I didn’t expect you to be so quick to set aside your reservations.”
“I’m not. I’m merely giving them a clean slate to work on. And there’s a fine line between being confident and being cocky,” she began to skate around the coach in a lazy loop as she elaborated further. “They’re confident. As they should be, they have all the markings of being great players. I assume you saw as much because they’re on your team. But I also know you don’t put players on your team solely because they’re good at hockey. I don’t know your team enough to pass my own judgment on them, so I’m trusting yours. I’m willing to see in them what you see in them, until proven otherwise.”
“I wonder who you learned such wisdom from.”
“Mom,” Thea laughed, jumping into a perfect spin. “Plus, your team was at a disadvantage. You had been running them ragged for who knows how long, whereas I just got here, fully energized. A few of them might have genuinely beaten me in the first run if it had been the beginning of their practice. If I want to win, I want it to be because I’m truly better.”
“Fair enough. So you think you can manage to share a half hour with them?”
“Yeah I think that’ll be fine,” she smiled.
Coach Anderson bid his daughter farewell, and Thea returned to running through her practice routine. The team slowly filtered out of the locker room, offering her a friendly wave or a shout of thanks on their way out the door. And while she acknowledged them in return, neither her nor the players engaged in further interaction. Not until Calum finally trudged out, his bag slung over one shoulder, and his skates slung over the other.
He dropped both of them at his feet, mindful to not damage his skates. Then he leaned against the wall of the rink dividing him from her. “You let me win. Why?”
“It wasn’t a fair match. You had already had your practice. I was just beginning mine.”
“All the more reason you should have mopped the floor with us. You had the upper hand, and you don’t like us. So to give up an easy win like that…”
“If I win, I want it to be because I’m truly better. Not because you’re already fatigued. And I never said I didn’t like you guys.”
“You didn’t have to. Your attitude towards us speaks for itself.”
“Not being fond of hockey players doesn’t equate to me outright disliking them.”
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t be fond of hockey players either. I’ve heard some of us are brutes.” He flashed her a knowing grin.
“As long as you’re aware you’re a brute,” she responded airly.
Calum laughed. “Well, I prefer to earn my victories too. So any time you want that rematch…”
“I’m sure we’ll be able to find each other.”
“See ya tomorrow, princess.”
“Rest up, brute.”
~~~
The next few weeks, Thea set aside her reservations as she utilized the hockey team’s cool down exercises as her own warm up.
She learned a lot about the team in daily half hour increments. Most of them had girlfriends. They all enjoyed a drink or two, except Ashton who was sober and more than happy to play designated driver. All twelve players that made up Coach Anderson’s first and second string had almost always played together on the same team, and as a result were all really decent friends, but the bond that the first string players had was a lot stronger than the bond the second string players shared.
In return, they tried to learn what they could about their honorary thirteenth, but Thea offered them as little information as she could. Opening herself up meant dealing with their questions, or worse. From what they were able to gather, they could reasonably assume that Thea practiced daily, but only worked with her coach during competition season, and that she was closest in age to Luke.
Usually, Calum hated how much his life was on display. Hated the unfair power dynamic it created with someone knowing so much while he knew so little in return. But with Thea, he found himself enthralled by it. He knew what he needed: that she was elegance and grace incarnated, and that she was more disciplined than any one he’d ever encountered before. As far as he was concerned, everything else was a matter of details. And he was certain that details would only enhance the big picture that was Thea Anderson, and he didn’t need to be more distracted by her presence than he already was.
As training came to a close in preparation for the opening season, Coach Anderson gathered his men at the end of one of the practices. “Gentlemen. Our first game of the season is tomorrow, so we won’t have practice. However, you need to be here at five. You don’t want to know what happens if you’re late. Is that understood?”
“Yes Coach!”
“Dismissed. Thea?”
“I’ll keep an eye on the time so I don’t conflict with your game, I know,” she told him.
“Thank you, but that’s not what I want to discuss.”
“Oh?”
“The team we’re playing tomorrow… As much as you are welcome to the rink for your practice, and as much as I would enjoy having you with us for our first game… Estrada is on the other team’s roster.”
Thea paled. “Oh…”
“So I understand if you need to be elsewhere.”
“No.” Thea shook her head and drew up her body as tall as she could. “No. He took enough. I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he took this away from me, too.”
Coach Anderson nodded once in understanding. They both knew Thea could face whatever bullshit Donovan Estrada threw her way. She’d done it once before.
~~~
The following afternoon, Thea was surprised at how off she felt as she began her practice. She chalked it up to nerves about potentially running into Donovan, but when Calum walked in fifteen minutes early, she was shocked to realize it wasn’t nerves about the game at all.
She had become used to starting her practice as they ended theirs. Used to their loud laughs coming out of the locker room, and their friendly waves goodbye. Used to their presence, Calum’s in particular. She swallowed the patheticness of it all.
He offered her a two fingered wave and a broad smile. “Hey! Glad to have the whole rink to yourself the whole time?” he asked, leaning his forearms against the wall.
“It’s so quiet,” she said, flashing him a wide grin.
Calum laughed, his head tilting back. “Aw! The princess misses the brutes!”
“Shut up,” she laughed with him, pink coloring her cheeks.
“You staying for the game?” he asked.
“Aw, the brute misses the princess, too!” she mocked. “I’m still undecided. Not the biggest fan of who you’re playing.”
“Oh yeah, some of ‘em used to play for your dad. Hmm… Damn, that’s something.”
“What?” she paused.
“Nothing,” he said with a small shake of his head. “Just wondering if it’s all connected. Must have been pretty bad if it is.”
She stiffened. “It’s none of your business, Hood.” The words came out colder and harsher than she had ever spoken to him before, even on that first meeting.
Calum raised his hands in surrender. “Not trying to make it my business. But I know it would mean a lot to the team if you could find the strength to stay. Hell, it would mean a lot to me.”
She would have teased him for that, and he knew she was about to based on how a slow smirk spread across her lips. But he was saved from the back and forth taunting as the rest of the team slowly started to trickle in. So Calum pounded his fists against the lip of the wall in two quick thuds. “Be real cool if you stayed,” he said before following his team towards the locker rooms.
Thea stayed frozen in place until Calum was out of her line of sight. She took a few deep cleansing breaths to steady her racing heart. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to give Donovan the satisfaction of thinking he had ruined her safe haven. But Calum wasn’t stupid. He knew too much. And while she had zero plans to interact with Donovan, on the off chance she did and Calum witnessed it, he would be able to put all the pieces together. She wasn’t sure which reality was worse: one where Calum knew the truth about why Coach Anderson had a brand new team and judged her for it, or pitied her for it. And if he shared any of his suspicions with the rest of the team…
She shook her head. No. She was certain that Calum had been honest when he told her he wasn’t trying to make her business his business. She had to put her trust in that. In him.
In the end she decided to stay, setting herself up right behind the players’ bench on the home team’s side. And she felt sure she had made the right choice by the excited smiles that lit up the team’s faces when they all came out. “Glad you stayed,” Calum told her, his gloved hand resting on top of hers. A brief moment of warmth that would have been over as quickly as it happened if it hadn’t been for a harsh bark of laughter.
Calum’s head whipped to the source of the sound, noting how Thea’s hand stiffened under his. “Estrada,” she said coldly.
Donovan ignored her, his sneer focused full force on Calum. “I’d be careful getting close to this one. Her daddy might trade you, too.”
“You got traded because you’re as shitty a player as you are a man,” Thea spat, the tightness in her body that once was fearful panic now tightly controlled anger.
Donovan’s hands clenched into fists and Thea laughed, an eerily lifeless sound that chilled Calum down to the bone. “Oh? You’re gonna hit me again, Donny? Go ahead. Seeing as how that worked out for you so well the last time.” Her voice was low and lethal as she took a dangerous step forward, leaning up on the tips of her toes to get as close to Donovan’s face as she could. “Be more than happy to break your nose again. Straighten it back out.”
Quick as a flash, Donovan’s hand snaked around Thea’s other wrist. And the way her breath hitched in pain was the final straw in this meeting for Calum. “Let her go,” he said with a steady calmness.
Donovan turned his attention back to Calum, hand still gripping Thea, a terribly cruel smile on his lips. “And what are you? My replacement? The princess’s bodyguard?”
“Nah, mate,” Calum replied, his tone almost bored. “Thea doesn’t need a bodyguard for one thing. And for another, I don’t play anybody’s replacement, especially not some shitty excuse for a man like yourself.”
Donovan dropped Thea’s wrist as more players from both teams started coming out of the locker rooms.
Thea watched the silent stand off between the men. Donovan’s face was twisted in a sneer, barely containing the rage radiating off him; Calum the epitome of relaxed ease, his anger tightly restrained. Two sides of the same coin. Thea cradled her wrist to her, the skin tender and red. She gave the barest shake of her head as Coach Anderson walked by, worry in his eyes.
“Count your days,” Donovon hissed after Coach Anderson passed before stalking off himself.
Thea felt her knees go weak. “Whoa, steady,” Calum said, his hands flying to her waist, his hold delicate. “Are you alright?”
Thea shook her head. “No. And I wouldn’t suggest making an enemy out of him. Not for my sake.”
“What if I wanted to make him an enemy for my sake?” Calum asked, the corners of his lips pulling up in a playful smirk.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice strong. “He’s part of my past for a reason. Leave it that way.”
Calum dropped the smirk. “With all due respect, I’m not sure if I can.” And without saying another word, or entertaining another argument from her on the matter, Calum walked off to join the rest of his team.
“That one,” Coach Anderson overheard as Calum fixed his stare on Donovan. “Number 83. Find any excuse to hit him. Hard.”
Ashton snorted, “And what could he have possibly done to already royally piss you off?”
“None of your damn business,” Calum snapped. “Hit him, or I’ll hit you into him, is that understood?”
Ashton clicked his tongue in his cheek, taking note of how Calum’s eyes flickered to watch Thea settle herself behind their bench, before flickering back over to Donovan. Watching. Studying. “What did he do to her?” Ashton asked, keeping his voice low.
“I’m not sure of all the details, but there was some sort of abuse.”
Ashton cracked his knuckles.
~~~
The game was brutal, even by hockey standards. The crowd cheered and winced whenever a player was slammed into the plexiglass barrier. No one seemed to note, however, that oftentimes it was Estrada who was shoved up against the wall. No one except those involved, and Thea.
Thea couldn’t control the gasp that escaped her as the plexiglass barrier in front of her shook with the force of Donovan being slammed into it.
The referee blew his whistle, calling a penalty on Calum for boarding. Calum merely shrugged as he skated off towards the penalty box, Donovan shooting daggers at him the whole time. Thea slowly made her way through the crowd to get closer to the penalty box. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed at Calum.
“Playing,” he answered with that same bored tone.
She rolled her eyes. “I told you to leave him alone. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing.”
“And I told you,” Calum replied, his words coming out cold and harsh, “that I can’t let it go. And I can handle him.”
“Calum, please.”
The plea in her voice and body language irritated Calum. Thea was scared, and he hated it. “I’m sorry, Thea. I’m so sorry,” was all he said before he jumped back into the game.
“Calum!”
To his credit, Calum laid off Donovan for the remainder of the game. But Ashton and Luke picked up his slack, and Donovan still had it out for Calum.
Donovan bided his time, taking the hits from Ashton and Luke and adding it to the specific style of hell he would leash upon Calum, and when he saw his opening, he didn’t hesitate.
“Hood!” Calum heard the shouted warning moments before his head slammed into plexiglass.
Helmets clattered to the ice and a fist was on a collision course with his jaw. Calum never heard the whistle as he tackled Donovan onto the ice, both of their fists flying. If Donovan wanted a fight, he was gonna get a fight, consequences be damned. Calum didn’t care if he got thrown out of the game, if Coach Anderson benched him for the rest of the season, or if he even got blacklisted from the league entirely. All he cared about was making sure Donovan knew that there were no lengths Calum wouldn’t go through for Thea’s sake.
Calum wasn’t aware of Ashton and Luke physically dragging him away down towards the locker room, the rest of the team and the coaches following in a hurry. He wasn’t aware of anything except a blinding desire to go back out and finish his fight with Donovan. Nothing until Thea’s face appeared in his line of vision, worry making her eyebrows crease together.
“Oh, Calum,” she mused, her touch gentle as she traced the bruising on his face.
“You should see the other guy,” he tried to smirk. “And since when do you call me ‘Calum’?”
“That is your name, isn’t it?”
“You know what I mean.”
She sighed, and there was a beat of silence as the locker room emptied. “Why’d you do it?” she asked, her voice a low whisper despite them now being alone.
“It’s stupid to explain. But I feel… protective of you, in a way I don’t fully understand. I don’t know the full history between you and Estrada, and it makes no difference to me if you tell me it all, or you don’t. Well it does make a difference, but not that way, if that makes sense. Like I still would want to beat him to a pulp. I still do want to beat him to a pulp. I want to make him pay for every ounce of hurt he ever caused you because I’m not the type to stand to the side. And the way you reacted around Estrada… I know I would do anything to make sure nobody ever makes you feel that way because… because you, Thea, are… you’re…”
“I’m what?”
“You are… unexpected. In the best way possible. Every time I think I got you figured out, you find a new way to surprise me. So, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you feel that I don’t think you can handle your own shit.”
She pondered on his words, saw the sincerity in his face, his beautifully bloodied face. “You’re right. That was stupid to explain.”
Calum scowled as much as he could. “Gee, thanks. Pouring my heart out over here.”
“Pouring your heart out? ‘Sorry I pummeled your ex during a game where I’m supposed to be a professional, but you’re just so unexpected!” she mocked, batting her eyes at him for extra effect.
He chuckled. “I didn’t say I was sorry for fighting him. I said I was sorry if you found me defending you offensive.”
“Well I accept your apology, Calum.”
“That’s four times now you’ve actually called me by my name. You can’t tell me that’s coincidental.”
Thea shrugged “I’m unexpected, what can I say?” Then, her lips brushed lightly against Calum’s cheek. “And for what it’s worth, I care about you, too. More than I ever thought I could care about a hockey br— Sorry. Hockey player. Not brute. Matter of fact, let’s just agree that I’ll never call you a brute again, so long as you never call me a princess.”
“Deal,” Calum easily agreed, as his playful nickname for her had been tainted the moment in rolled off Donovan’s lips with such disgust. “And Thea? Provided I’m not about to walk out of here and lose my job, and uh, maybe after my face heals up, would you maybe wanna go out to dinner?”
“You owe me a rematch on that race, first. And if you win, then you can take me out.”
Summary: Avery Ryan wanted three things from life— love, her career, and to feel like she wasn't ever sacrificing one for the sake of the other. But was that even possible?
Word Count: 4.7k
Part 3
Avery pushed open the door to the bus, her yoga mat tucked under her arm. She was expecting to hear the rustling in the kitchen area of Ashton making breakfast and the smell of coffee dripping into the pot, a routine she’d grown accustomed to during these first few months of touring. A quiet morning spent alone with the man who silenced the butterflies while the world slept on around them. So, when she heard a “So, Avery, who’s your celebrity crush?” she stilled in her tracks.
No… no, no, NO! She knew that interview like the back of her hand, and the thought of Ashton seeing it made her cheeks turn the same color as her hair, and her heart race in her chest. Was it too much to wish for the ground to open and swallow her whole rather than continue to walk towards her doom?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A wave of warmth washed over Avery’s cheeks, and she giggled despite herself. “Oh, that question’s gonna get me in trouble,” Avery giggled again at the interviewer. She didn’t need to look over at Ajani to know that while she was rolling her eyes, Ajani had the same trouble-making grin on her face as their interviewer.
“Oh, c’mon,” the interviewer continued to goat. “The whole world knows that Avery Ryan was off the market before she became a household name. But we’re all human, right? We all got our celebrity crushes, don’t we?”
“Oh, we do,” Avery assured them.
“So?” the interviewer pressed.
“Ashton Irwin.”
Ajani busted into a fit of laughter beside Avery. “Little quick to answer that one, huh, Ace?”
“Oh, shut up!” Avery laughed with Ajani, covering her face with her hands. “Like anyone who says he isn’t at least one of their celebrity crushes is a liar.”
“Facts.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Avery heard a laugh that wasn’t Ashton’s she breathed a sigh of relief. “Morning, Mike,” she greeted, plopping down on the couch next to him. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, wanted to catch Crystal before her day started. Catch her up on everything.”
“Mhm, a likely story,” Avery teased, tilting her chin at his phone.
He laughed again and clicked his phone shut. “Yeah, I was telling her about your and Ash’s relationship, and how you both seem at a stalemate. And she mentioned the video. Thought I’d give it a watch. You know this interview is four years old? Still true?”
Avery decided to go with honesty. She nodded.
Michael broke out in a grin. “So, do something about it. Make a move.”
Avery scoffed. “Why can’t he make a move?”
“Aren’t you a feminist?”
“Yeah…”
“So, why can’t you make the first move?”
“Because it’s…” her voice trailed off as she fought to find the right words. “It’s a long story,” she decided with a huff.
“Well better get to telling it before Ashton gets up.”
“So, the abridged version is that Drew— my ex— and I grew up together. He moved to LA first. We reconnected when I moved there. We started dating. Moved in together. Planned our lives together. Everything. But once things started taking off with the band, something changed. Like… I dunno, like he saw the band as something I was only going to do short-term. And he couldn’t figure out how the life we wanted with each other could fit with mine and Ajani’s dreams for Lucky Mess. He started picking fights about whether he could trust me out on the road. And then he cheated on me with his high school girlfriend while I was on the road. And there was no moving past that for either of us. I didn’t want to try to make it work after that. And even if I had, he chose her, so it didn’t matter.”
Avery saw Michael’s jaw tighten and she knew he had felt that similar pain in the past. As a musician, she assumed they all had at least one story like that. “Fuck…” he muttered. “And Ash? He knows?”
“He knows the basics. That Drew and I dated. That we broke up. And that Drew is now engaged to the girl he left me for.”
Michael whistled low. “That’s fucked.”
“Yeah. But Ash doesn’t know that we broke up because Drew cheated. And it’s not even that I’m still hung up on Drew. But the engagement happened literally the day we all started working together, so it’s like a new pain if that makes any sense.”
“No, yeah, that makes sense.”
“Yeah. And then he and his fiancée showed up at the beginning of the tour. And… I know in my head that Drew and Ash are not the same person. I know that I can trust Ash. But…” her voice trailed off.
“It’s a risk,” Michael said knowingly. “A risk that you got a fresh reminder of. But take it from someone who’s known Ash a long time. He’s going to put in the energy he wants returned. He won’t give ultimatums because he doesn’t want to get ultimatums. He won’t make his partner compromise on their dreams for his benefit because he doesn’t want to have to compromise on his dreams for theirs. Plus, he’s totally smitten with you.”
Avery smiled and rested her head affectionately on his shoulder for a minute.
“And how do you know all this stuff?”
“You think it was a typo you got to that pool party 2 hours ahead of everyone else?” His green eyes danced with mischief and trouble.
“That was you?!”
Michael laughed. “It was Cal, actually.”
“You’re much more observant than you let on, Mike. Should I be worried?”
“Nah. I only use my power for good. Pinky swear.”
They were still laughing when Ashton finally stumbled sleepily from the bunks. His shirt rode up as he raised his arms above his head in a stretch, his mouth dropping open in a yawn. Michael’s thumb swiped at the corner of Avery’s mouth. “Stop drooling,” he whispered low so Ashton couldn’t hear, winking as he did so.
She slapped his arm playfully, laughing loudly. “Can you blame a girl?”
“Oh, just make a move. Speaking of moves, wanna play chess? Playing against Luke gets old.”
“Love to,” she chirped.
Ashton watched as Michael pushed himself off the couch and started searching for something. “Videogames already Mike?”
“Nah, were playing chess,” Avery answered.
“Aw, I lost my morning buddy?” Ashton fake pouted.
“Seems like it,” Avery laughed.
“Sorry, mate,” Michael shrugged, his green eyes surprisingly apologetic.
“Nah, no worries. Might get breakfast made quicker without having to help the tiny one reach the plates and cups every two seconds,” Ashton teased, winking at the woman who rolled her eyes and scoffed. He laughed as he got breakfast going, and they set up their game.
“How’s it going?” he asked a little while later, sitting down beside Avery.
Her eyebrows were pulled together, her tongue poking out slightly in the corner of her mouth. “Good,” she said as Michael slowly moved a piece.
“Where’s mine?” Michael asked, looking at the two coffee cups and a large plate of food Ashton placed on the coffee table.
“Bread’s in the cupboard, eggs are in the pan,” Ashton told him while Avery took a bite from one of the pieces of toast, smiling at Ashton in thanks.
Michael rolled his eyes. “Your move,” he told Avery as he got up, muttering under his breath something vaguely that sounded like “And I don’t mean chess.”
If she heard Michael’s less than subtle second statement, she gave no indication. Instead, she wiped the crumbs from her mouth before reaching for her mug to take a sip, studying the board methodically. “Check,” she said, moving a piece and taking another bite of toast.
“Check?!” Michael asked bewildered, leaving his plate on the counter, and rushing back over to look at their game. He quickly moved his king out of harm’s way. “Uncheck!” he said, sticking his tongue out at her before going back to make his food.
“Actually, it’s checkmate,” she replied, moving to block his king in so he couldn’t move it. She leaned back against the couch, her side pressing into Ashton’s. He draped his arm over her shoulders and returned the smile she tossed his way. Ashton swallowed the urge to kiss the side of her temple, not wanting to ruin the soft moment they were creating.
This time Michael didn’t come running back. He just kept making his plate, shaking his head the whole while. “Rematch?”
“You’re on,” she grinned, quickly leaning forward to reset the board. Michael kept shaking his head, but this time Ashton didn’t think it had to do with him losing at chess.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s a great crowd out there,” Avery grinned at Ashton as she came off stage.
“You say that every time,” he told her as they stepped off to the side. Her hand found his heart, and his found hers, feeling it pound wildly with adrenaline.
“That’s cuz it’s true every time. Best fans in the world.”
“Every artist says that, too.”
“Again, that’s because it’s true. It’s fuckin incredible to be able to create something that people can relate to, and that they love it enough to want to relate to it.”
“Well, you’re pretty easy to love.”
Her cheeks flushed and her eyes widened.
“Your work,” Ashton rushed, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he just blurted it out like that… “Your work is easy to love. The way your mind works is beautiful to witness.”
Her cheeks flushed more, and she ducked her head. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “You’re pretty great yourself.”
They lapsed into silence, her heartbeat slowing to match the pace of his, the thoughts they wanted to voice trapped in their throats, eyes searching for understanding in the other. Out of all the tour rituals Ashton had, his rituals with Avery had become his favorite. There was a palpable ache in him to know that tour would end far too quickly for his liking. That one morning very soon he was going to have his morning coffee and not have her giggling at him from across the table. That these moments of finding stillness in each other’s beating hearts, reminding them that they were very much alive were limited. At first Ashton thought that he didn’t want to give it up because it was a hard transition going from the chaotic sound of touring to the deafening silence of being home. But the more moments he shared with Avery, the more he realized it was her that he didn’t want to give up.
Avery didn’t want to give Ashton up either. Ever since the second show, her attention had continued to drift to be centered on Ashton. She could only hope that her trust wasn’t being misplaced; that she wasn’t someone misreading all the signs. But in the middle of the doubt, there was reassurance. Reassurance, and the much-needed comfort that came from the predictability of her routine with him. And she appreciated his patience as she grappled with her lingering hesitation more than she would ever be able to properly express aloud. But maybe everyone was right. Maybe it was time to make a move. A clear, no-room-for-misinterpretation move.
When the stagehand came up to give Ashton a minute warning, Avery and him reluctantly stepped apart, their hands dropping to their sides. “Don’t forget to put your contacts back in after your shower,” he reminded her.
“Thanks,” she smiled softly. “Hey, Ash?” she asked as he started to turn away, her fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“Yeah?” he asked, turning back around. The hand on his wrist tugged Ashton downwards, while her other hand snaked around his neck. She stretched up on her toes and Ashton didn’t hesitate to meet her halfway. With one arm wrapping instinctively around her back, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, before cupping her face gently as their lips met. Electricity surged through him as the kiss went from tender and timid to hungry and passionate. And damn it all to hell, as quickly as they started, they had to stop.
“Break a leg, rockstar,” she breathed.
Ashton’s cheeks were already sore by the time he got behind his drum kit, every part of his body tingling. Whatever buzz he got from playing was nothing compared to the high of kissing her and the way she managed to be both completely in control while surrendering herself to him in the same breath. It was the confidence of a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to give in to those wants. And fuck if feeling wanted wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world.
I’ve got the best friends in this place,
And I’m holding on!
“Thank you! We’re 5SOS!” Luke shouted into the microphone.
“And we’re Lucky Mess! Good night. Houston!” Ajani finished.
They all took a bow and as they walked off, Ashton wrapped an arm around Avery, pulling her into him and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “You killed it, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear.
“Couldn’t have done it without you, rockstar,” she beamed up at him. And he knew she meant the song, but he also knew she meant more than that. And Ashton couldn’t help himself. He spun her into him, both of his hands cupping either side of her face and kissed her the way they would have kissed each other earlier if they had more time. They giggled against each other’s lips as their friends whistled and whooped their encouragement. One of her hands left Ashton’s hair to bat them out of their way as they made a beeline for the bunks, collapsing onto the covers and into each other. There was no way in hell they were giving each other up now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was no need to voice what Ashton and Avery became to each other after that night. It felt good to just know where the other stood without having to say a single word. To know that they could just be two people finding a stillness in the other in the form of warm coffee mugs, stolen kisses, hearts beating in time, and nights spent tangled up in each other.
“Seems like things are going pretty well with you and Ash,” Calum spoke up as they all hung around the bus on one of their nights off, not looking up from his phone. Ajani was next to him doing Luke’s makeup while Michael and Avery played chess at the kitchen table.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Avery answered, not bothering to look over at the man.
“Good, cuz the whole world knows. Someone posted that little smooch he gave you last week at our Houston show,” Calum explained.
“Oh?” Avery asked while Ajani snatched Calum’s phone from him with a “Gimme that!”
“Rank?” Avery asked her.
“Off the charts. It’s really good.”
“And what are people saying?”
“Good things,” Ashton’s voice told her before pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Oh, look at you all dressed up,” Avery told him grinning. His hair was damp from a quick shower, a short-sleeved pink button-up unbuttoned to a dangerously low level, and black dress pants. “Got a hot date?”
“Yes?” he asked in a hopeful tone, the green and gold dancing in his eyes.
Avery laughed. “Alright. Let me go grab my things.”
“What about our game?” Michael asked, crossing his arms.
“Hmm…” Avert looked at the chessboard, her tongue clicking in her cheek. “Checkmate,” she shrugged, moving one of her pieces and ending the game.
Michael’s green eyes blinked once before going wide. “How?! How do you always win?! Luke, stop getting pampered and come play with me!”
Avery laughed more as she got up from her seat and grabbed Ashton’s hand in hers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“This is actually really nice,” Avery told Ashton as they walked around downtown. “To do something we’d be able to do if we were home.”
“Complete with slack-jawed strangers,” Ashton joked, jerking his chin at the people whispering and pointing as the two of them walked by.
Avery laughed, pushing his shoulder. “Oh, be nice. At least no one’s alerted the press yet. Did you ladies want a picture?” Avery asked, turning around to the group of about five or so young women. They’d been following the pair for about the last block or so, trailing about fifty feet behind, giggling as they tried to gather the courage to speak up.
“Oh, my God, could we?!” one of them asked, while the others dug around for their phones.
“Yeah, of course.” Avery waved them over.
“So, are you guys like dating?” another one of them asked nervously as they started taking pictures.
“Yeah,” both Ashton and Avery answered, smiling at each other.
They continued to make small talk as pictures were taken. Then the group of women thanked the couple for their time and wished them well with the rest of tour.
“So, dating, huh?” Avery teased as they started walking again.
“You said it too,” he reminded with a giggle.
“Well, it’s the truth, right?”
“Course it’s the truth.”
“And it’ll still be the truth when we get back home, and all this goes away?” Avery asked, biting into her lower lip. She was realizing now that she hadn’t wanted to have the conversation of labeling what they were not because she was secure in what they had, but because she wasn’t. She didn’t want to hear the truth if the truth was that this meant more to her than him.
“Hey, look at me,” he said, stopping and spinning their bodies so they faced each other.
Avery held her breath as he leaned down and she stretched up on her toes to help him close the distance. His lips found hers, then her cheek where he licked a long stripe up the side of her face. “Ashton!” Avery squealed. “The fuck did you lick me for, you fuckin weirdo?!”
“There!” he grinned in triumph. “I licked you, so you’re mine now.”
“I am my own person, thank you very much, sir,” she grumbled, wiping at her face.
He giggled, “But?”
Avery grabbed his hand and sloppily licked the top of it. “But, if we’re marking things as ours, you’re mine, too.”
They were still giggling when they started to walk back up to the venue, finding paparazzi milling around. “You good?” he checked, pulling Avery closer to him.
“Are you?” she countered playfully. “Ash, it’s just some people with cameras. I’m used to this, or did you forget that your girlfriend also happens to be a talented musician?”
“I could never forget that.”
“Ashton! Avery!” they called out as the drummers got closer, cameras flashing. “Where’s everybody else?”
“Probably having a quiet night in,” Avery shrugged.
“And where are you guys coming from?”
“Just getting back from our date,” Ashton told them.
“Date?! Are you guys dating now?!”
“Yep,” they both answered. “Enjoy your night, guys.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Between the kiss at the Houston show, and the run-in with both fans and the paparazzi a week later, the news of Ashton and Avery dating spread like wildfire. So, when Avery's phone rang a few weeks later with a number she recognized despite deleting, she was slightly taken aback but not completely shocked.
Avery knew she should decline the call, but she hit accept. “Hello?”
“Hey, Av. You got a minute to talk?”
“I answered the phone, didn’t I?”
Drew let out an exasperated sigh. “Can you set aside the anger long enough to listen to what I have to say?”
“What’s left to say?”
“A lot, actually. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since LA. Seeing you again… I just miss you. I miss watching you in your element. I miss… everything. Everything about what we were. What we had. And I know I’m the one who fucked everything up. I made my peace with that a long time ago. But I want to try and stop myself from making another mistake. So, I broke up with Madison. Because I realized I didn’t want to give her the life I wanted to have with you. And… I guess I’m saying that life is still yours if you want it.”
“You are… unbelievable. You had years to realize this. Years to have this conversation with me. So, the fact that you’re having it now that you see me finally moving on—"
“I know,” he cut her off. “If I’m the villain in your story… That’s on me.”
She sighed. “You’re not the villain in my story. We just weren’t meant to be, and I finally learned why.”
“I really am sorry for how our story played out. And I wish you nothing but the best. I hope you can at least believe that much.”
“Thank you. And for what it’s worth, you’re not giving Madison my life by being with her. So go rectify that mistake while there’s still time. Bye Drew.”
“Bye Av.”
The line went dead, and Avery wiped at her face in irritation, letting out a small scream as she did so.
“You good?” Michael asked. With everybody off doing their post sound-check/pre-show routines, Avery had almost forgotten Michael was seated a few feet away from her playing on his Switch.
“Life would be a lot easier if you could just hate some people, you know?”
Michael laughed and set the game aside. “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t be you. So, he saw the pictures of you and Ash and finally realized he lost you for good, huh?”
“I swear do you guys just operate from the same script?” Avery asked as she moved to plop down beside him on the couch. She was grateful it was Michael instead of Ajani who had overheard the phone conversation with Drew. As much as Avery loved her best friend, she didn’t need a reminder that she was stupid for wasting any amount of energy mourning the man who had single-handedly blown up any future they might have shared.
“Yeah, we get this nifty little instruction booklet once we hit puberty. The ‘call her up and beg for a second chance once she’s moved on’ is right between ‘break her heart because you’re intimidated by her success’ and ‘what to do when she gives you a taste of your own medicine.’”
Avery laughed, then sighed. “Is it bad that I don’t hate him? I mean I hate what he did. But I don’t think that makes him a bad person. A bad ending doesn’t mean it was a bad story, you know?”
“Yeah, I get what you mean. I think breakups get a bad rep. That they’re these pressure cookers of angst. That the only way to ever get over it is to learn to hate them. But I think that’s a bunch of crap. Like some relationships don’t work. Doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the good anyway.”
“Sometimes I still think it’d be better if I could hate him, though. So, I don’t feel like this…”
Michael furrowed an eyebrow. “Uh-oh… can I not be your friend anymore because you’re about to break Ash’s heart? Man, I really liked having another only child friend to hang out with, too.”
“What? No!” Avery laughed. “God, no. I love Ash.”
“You do?!”
Avery blushed. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Have you told him?”
“I don’t know how. Plus, I’m scared. What if he doesn’t feel the same?”
Michael snorted. “For one thing, I doubt that. Ash is completely head over heels for you, trust me. And for another, aren’t you a musician?”
“Yeah?”
“So, we got a whole stage full of instruments to help you tell him. Or I can distract you by being really bad at chess while you work up the nerve.”
Avery laughed again. “You’re actually a pretty decent chess player. You’ve just been playing against a really bad one for years, but don’t tell Luke I said that.”
Michael laughed with Avery. “Alright. Should I set up the board then?”
“Think I’m gonna give that talking through music thing a try first,” Avery told him, standing up and patting his leg. “But set it up anyway and we’ll try to squeeze in a game before we go on?”
“Deal. And hey, Avery?”
“Yeah?”
“I know putting your faith in someone new is hard. Especially after what you’ve been through. But don’t let that fear make you push Ash away. I don’t want to have to pretend to not like you.”
“You’re a good friend, Mike.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ashton’s heart was racing in his chest as he caught his breath at the top of the stadium stairs. Fuck, this shit was steep. He used his arm to wipe the sweat off his face and when he turned to jog back down, he saw Avery making her way across the top of the stage.
Ashton frowned. Normally at this time she was tucked away on the bus, reading her way through the thick completed collection of Sherlock Holmes.
Ashton could see her pick up a guitar and start playing, but he couldn’t make out what it was as he started to jog back down the stairs.
I think that I’m all-in.
You’re perfect.
God, I need you.
Just say you need me too.
Her voice rang out. Why did she sound like someone just broke her heart? Ashton jogged faster down the stairs, jumping the last three at the bottom, his sneakers slamming into the concrete floor.
And I want you every night, to wrap my arms around you.
Say it a thousand times.
Come closer, oh come closer.
Maybe it’s a little too much. Whoa.
The more she sang, the less he recognized. Curious, and a little worried at the sudden burst of inspiration, he stopped, waiting for her to finish and notice him.
I don’t wanna fuck this up. Whoa.
I don’t wanna say too much. Whoa.
But I think, I think, I think.
I think I’m in love.
“Hey,” he said, smiled up at her. “Is that true?”
“Hey.” She returned the smile soft and a little sad.
“Is that true?” he repeated, nodding at her guitar. “What you were just singing?”
Her lips quivered as she nodded, a tear sliding down her face. She sniffed, quickly wiping the tear away. “Yeah.”
“Oh, sweetheart…” Ashton braced his hands against the stage floor, hoisting himself up. “Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” He kept his voice soft as he moved to stand by her.
“Because… Drew…” Her voice shook, the doubt taking over.
“What about Drew?”
“He cheated. That’s how our relationship ended. And I’ve spent the past two and a half years trying to figure out how to get past that. And then with you… Everything has been effortless. So different from everything I’ve experienced before. In the best of ways. So, when it came to letting myself love you… I’m powerless to stop it. It’s like loving you was something I was always destined to do. And that terrifies me. It terrifies me how easy it is for me to love you. Because if you don’t feel the same… The only thing I ask of you is that when you break my heart, you do it nicely.”
“That’s not fair,” he chuckled softly.
“What’s not fair?”
“You don’t get the first kiss and the first I love you.”
“You love me?” Her voice came out small.
Ashton wrapped his arms around Avery, pulling her into him, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Of course, I love you,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, seeing the swirling shades of green in her eyes that have transformed his life every day for the last eight months. “And I’m scared, too. I don’t ever want to fuck up what I have with you. Because you… Avery, you are worth everything I’ve been through. All of it, the good and the bad. And I want to keep facing everything with you, even if it’s scary. Because you’re my new beginning.”
Avery giggled, nudging her nose affectionately against Ashton’s. “That might be the cheesiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Ashton kissed her sweetly. “It doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, sweetheart.”
