Jo - 20 smth - she/her Feel free to send me requests or just talk to me in general. Find my masterlist here. And my taglist form here. This is a sideblog, likes, comments, reblogs and follows will be from my main blog thesundrop
I took the good times, I'll take the bad times II Joel Miller
Summary: Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (I always try not to describe the reader physically, if I missed something please let me know so I can change it and make this "applicable" to every reader. Thank you!)
A/N: This is my entry for the dear-uary challenge by @jolapeno . My prompt was "Character A keeps finding X and traces them back to Character B, who might be leaving them intentionally—or not." And I chose Postcards as my form of epistolary.
TW: This is mostly angsty fluff. There is some talk of self doubt and loss of a child but I think that should be it.
Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.
It all starts with a simple postcard tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Joel almost doesn’t realize it’s there, folded twice into a tiny square. It’s only when he’s looking for the list Maria gave him of all the things to look for on this run, that he grabs a hold of the card.
His gloves make it hard to unfold the small paper but it’s way too cold to take them off. Joel was never big on winter and snow, even before everything went to shit. He doesn’t like the way it lingers, the way it consumes you from the inside out. Now, an unforgiving cold is all he feels as a thick blanket of snow has settled upon Wyoming.
Bold bright letters scream out to him from the wrinkled paper “ Greetings from Tampa Florida. Wish you were here!”.
It’s one of those campy vintage ones where the letters are filled with drawings of landmarks and beaches. He remembers sending one just like this to his High School girlfriend when Dad took him and Tommy on a trip to Nashville when Joel was 16 maybe 17. It was a good trip, the last one they ever took together. Sometimes Joel wonders how his dad would deal with all of this. This new reality. This fucked up world. He always seemed so strong, so fearless. That man was unstoppable force and immovable object all at once. Every vulnerability Joel finds in himself, he’s sure was absent in his father. Maybe if he was a little more like his own dad he could’ve saved Sarah, could’ve spared Ellie the pain of living in this limbo of knowing and not knowing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Joel moves closer to the fire, his only light source other than the stars. There’s writing on the back, blue ink on off-white paper. It’s not a handwriting he knows and for a second he wonders if the card has been there ever since he found the bag years ago, back in Boston. But he would know that, right? Would've found it by now. This must be new. This must be meant for him.
“ I know you hate the cold. I know it makes you sad and gloomy, well gloomier than usual. So let me tell you about the hottest day I ever experienced. I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 and my mom took me to Florida. Not Tampa (it was the only postcard I could find at the library), but Orlando. We went to fucking Disney World!! We didn’t have a lot of money back then so mom must’ve saved a long time for this. Anyway, Joel, it was so hot. Unbearably hot. My clothes stuck to my skin and my hair got all frizzy. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to go. The air was so thick and heavy, so moist (ew). It felt like breathing in honey, syrup maybe. I still had the best time. I know it doesn’t take away the cold but I hope I can take you away to that hot and humid Florida summer for one small moment. If not, there’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag. Made it myself. You never told me what your favorite color is. I hope you like blue. xx
P.S.: I wonder what happened to Disney World.”
A chuckle falls from Joel’s lips and forms a cloud against the sharp winter air. He's never been to Disney World. The Millers just weren’t a Disney World kind of family. They were more of a local fair kind of family. All corn dogs and funnel cakes and first kisses behind the bumper cars. Sarah would’ve loved Disney World though. Ellie too. Ellie who doesn’t even know what the hell Disney is. 14 years and the girl has no idea who Mickey Mouse is. What a surreal thought. What a strange world. More than 20 years and it still feels strange. Joel wonders if life will ever let him settle in this new reality. If one day this feels like home and not a bad dream. Not a cosmic punishment. A bad joke that no one’s laughing at anymore.
His eyes travel back towards the blue swirly writing. It’s not Ellie’s bad chicken scratch, he could pick that out of a line-up any day. This looks much neater, more deliberate, and thoughtful.
“There’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag.”
Quiet, as not to wake up the others sleeping just a few steps away, Joel opens the zipper on his bag and rummages through it with a gloved hand. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, food rations, ammunition, a second pair of gloves. Going on supply runs is not something Joel enjoys but it is a way for him to give back. To Tommy and Maria and the entire community. Jackson and its people have taken him and Ellie in as one of their own without much hesitation. They provided them with food, with shelter, with trust. He has so little to give in return. Going on a supply run to look for medicine and other necessities, that’s the least he can do.
Something soft and squishy meets his hand and he pulls out a dark blue woolen scarf. There are so many holes and even in the dim light of the campfire, Joel can tell those holes are not there on purpose. Maybe it was Ellie after all, but then she never showed any interest in knitting, and the idea of her doing just that is far too ridiculous. No matter how imperfect it is though, Joel has to admit the scarf does make him feel warmer as he wraps it around his neck.
“Hey,” Adam, one of the other guys on the run, speaks up from beside Joel, “you can catch some sleep if you want. I can take over the watch.”
It’s a strange thing, how sometimes you don’t notice just how tired you are or how hungry you are until someone points it out to you. Until they offer to take it from you. Then it hits you like a brick to the face. A wave pulling you under.
Joel feels his eyelids grow heavy and nods at the younger man. "Thanks".
This mystery, it can wait until tomorrow. Until then he will bury his face in the warm soft wool of the scarf and think of that Florida sun. And though it most definitely is just his imagination, Joel could almost swear the night feels a little less cold.
His boots leave deep imprints in the white icy blanket as he makes his way past the Tipsy Bison and the community hall further towards his house. His home.
No place has really felt like home in years. Not since all of this started. Everything was temporary. 4 walls and a roof. He wonders if this place will ever start feeling like home? Will he ever get to a point where he doesn’t wait for the second shoe to drop? It all feels like he’s Charlie Brown and life is Lucy pulling the football away at the last second. And it always ends with him falling. He’s so tired of falling. So tired of getting back up.
Joel almost expects the house to be silent as he steps inside. Ellie is slowly making friends with the other teens living in the settlement and is spending more time at their houses than she is at home. He can’t blame her. If he was more like his father he’d find it in himself to start conversations with people, get to know them, forge connections, make friends. Of the Miller boys, Tommy is the one who inherited their dad’s social gene though, Joel only got the snarl and the crippling inability to talk about his feelings.
Laughter echoes through the house as Joel rounds the corner connecting the entryway to the living room. Ellie’s laughter, loud and bright and light. As if for a moment all the horrors and the pain and the trauma have been taken from her.
When he steps into the kitchen, Joel understands.
(Y/N) is standing by the counter, a smile on her face so soft and radiant it might just rival the sun. That joy she brings out in Ellie, it’s familiar to Joel because he feels it too whenever (Y/N) is around. Not always but sometimes. It’s a spark of warmth that starts in his chest and crawls up his spine. It settles in his lungs, his heart, his brain. Like a parasite. Like a virus. Like a wonderful dream. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it all the time but sometimes, sometimes he can’t deny himself this little bit of warmth.
Joel can’t even remember when exactly (Y/N) became a part of their life. It’s like one day she was there and refused to leave. And really that’s kind of how it went. She works at the library and the school, lives across the street from him and Ellie and for some reason, she’s taken pity on them. Joel isn’t sure if it's him or Ellie she pities. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, she brought over some soup one day and that’s the beginning and end of it all. She’s wormed her way into Ellie’s heart and by extension his too. Whether he likes to admit it or not. Doesn't hurt that she's so damn beautiful too.
“Joel, you’re back!”
Ellie pulls him in a tight hug. It’s something Joel still has to get used to. Ellie isn’t a particularly affectionate person. She’s definitely not a hugger. And neither is Joel — not anymore at least. So when they do hug, it’s still a little strange. Not bad strange just unfamiliar.
“Yeah, I’m back.
“How did it go?” (Y/N) asks and meets his eyes over Ellie’s head. A silent conversation happening between her and Joel. It’s that thing she does where she doesn’t need to say a single word but Joel can tell exactly what she’s thinking just by the look in her eyes. He sometimes wonders if this is a them thing.
“Did someone die” her eyes are saying. “Did someone get hurt?”
“Did you get hurt?”
He quickly shakes his head answering her unspoken questions. Not this time.
“Good. It went good.”
Maybe the relieved sigh he sees her let out is just his imagination. But Joel doesn’t think so. Joel thinks it's very real.
“Did you bring us something? “
He can’t help but smile at that. It feels good to smile. In a world that gives you grief and sorrow, you start to count the moments when it gives you a reason to smile. They are few and far between but the number has surely increased since Ellie stepped into his life — and since (Y/N) did.
“I brought food and medicine. Isn’t that enough? “
A determined “no” falls from both their lips in a chaotic harmony.
“Geez, you guys are demanding.”
“Well — did you bring us something?”
Joel just rolls his eyes and rummages through his bag for the goods.
“For you— “ he says and throws the old wrinkled comic book towards Ellie who regards it with that endless sense of wonder she does possess. It’s the kind of spark that flickers and dies once you grow old. Or maybe just his did. Maybe grief leaves no room for wonder.
Placing his bag on the ground, Joel moves into the kitchen and holds out his loot to (Y/N). Green background. White goats. Yellow bubble letters.
“Oooooh, you did get me something. Pet Sounds, nice!”
There’s a spark in her too. Dulled and dusted from time but it is there and it flickers and grows every time Joel brings her a vinyl record from his trips outside of the settlement. In a world with so little joy, music seems to be one of the few things that hasn’t changed. In the face of immeasurable pain, humans turn to music. They have done so for a long time and judging by the world as is, they always will.
“I hope it works still. Didn’t really have a record player to try it out.”
“I’ll try it out as soon as I get to the library. Feel free to come by and listen with me.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you, Joel. I hope you didn’t have to do anything stupid to get this.”
He didn’t. Not this time. He would’ve though. It scares him how willing he is to put himself in danger just to get her something that will put that radiant smile on her face. He’d walk to the end of the earth if he knew there was a record there she wanted. That thought scares the shit out of him. It’s bad enough he cares so deeply about Ellie, about Tommy. The more people you care about, the more you open yourself up to hurt. Losing either of them would tear him apart. Joel is not sure he can handle opening his heart to yet another person no matter how much his heart wants just that.
“ Nah. No issues.”
“Good.”
She just looks at him for a moment. All soft eyes and gentle smile. There must be something she sees in him, Joel thinks, something he doesn’t see. A version of himself that he isn’t, that he will never be. A version he once was, maybe. A version he so desperately wishes he could be. For her.
“Well,” (Y/N) says and snaps him out of her enchantment “Ellie and I made some stew. I know you must’ve been freezing outside, some good warm stew might help warm you up a little.”
“It smells great.”
“You have impeccable timing because we just got done. So, dig in. And uh — I guess I’ll see you guys at the movie screening?”
He doesn’t want her to leave. The devil and the angel on his shoulders are both screaming at him to ask her to stay. And if he was any stronger a man, any more like his own father and more deserving of good things, he would ask her. To stay for dinner. To stay forever.
But he isn’t. And he doesn’t ask. Just watches as she wraps a scarf around her neck and slips into the thick jacket that's a few sizes too big on her.
“I left the recipe by the fridge. Just in case you ever want to cook it yourself.”
“Thanks.”
And he really is grateful. For her. For everything.
“Oh Joel,” she says and stops in the doorway. “I like that scarf. Blue looks really good on you.”
And then she’s gone, swallowed by the cold winter air.
Joel hasn’t thought about his favorite color in forever. It’s something you stop thinking about once you start growing hair on your chest and fantasizing about girls in a way you haven’t before. Kids talk about their favorite colors all the time. Sarah did. It’s just once you grow old you lose that sense of self, define yourself through different things.
Looking at the scarf now, all holes and imperfections, there is no doubt in his mind that his favorite color is blue.
“Have you ever been to Paris?”
The lights are dimmed in the big community hall, the movie playing on screen providing the only source of light as the people of Jackson have gathered for another movie night.
A glimpse into a world that was but no longer is and never will be again. And for some of them, like Ellie, a world that never was to begin with.
Ellie is sitting in the front with some of the other teens, her friends, Joel supposes. She has friends now.
“Joel, have you?”
A soft hand rests on his arm, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts. (Y/N) sits next to him, eyes focused on the pictures dancing across the screen. Ilsa and Rick, falling in love over and over again in Paris. The beginning of a love story doomed from the start.
“I uh — no. Never.”
“Me neither. I would’ve loved to go though. It looks beautiful.”
He doesn’t know why or how it happens but the words just flow from his mouth like a waterfall. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wanting to talk more. About the past. About Sarah.
“My daughter, Sarah, went to Paris once. Some school exchange program. They don’t usually do it until later but her French class was above average and I guess they won some contest. I don’t know it was a long time ago.”
“Sounds like she was a smart cookie.”
"Oh, she was. Too smart for me, that’s for sure. Was hard letting her leave and fly to a whole different continent though. I was scared out of my mind until she was back home. Drove Tommy crazy for a whole damn week.”
(Y/N) turns her face away from the screen and regards him with that infinite sense of something more. Soft and endearing. If he was a different man he would call it love. He would see the way she looks at him and he would kiss her stupid and life would be all sweet dreams and gentle touches.
But he is the man he is. Not worthy of whatever she is willing to give.
“What’re looking at me like that for?”
“It’s just sweet how much you care. About everyone. I think you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time.”
“Do what?”
“Care for others. For Ellie and me and all of us. You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for a change.”
He doesn’t need to be taken care of. He can do it all on his own. And anyway, he is not as good of a man as she thinks he is. Good men don’t have the blood of their loved ones stuck to their hands. Good men don’t let their daughters die in their arms. Good men don’t kill. Good men don’t do all the things he did.
Joel doesn’t want to be a good man. He just wishes he was good enough a man to allow himself to be with (Y/N).
“I ain’t a good man. And I don’t need someone to take care of me.”
“You wore that scarf, did you not? You allowed me to take care of you then.”
That damn scarf. He had a hunch it was her. The handwriting on the postcard matched the one of the recipe stuck to his fridge an awful lot. But it’s something else entirely to hear her say it outright.
“That was you, huh? Had an awful lot of holes that thing.”
“Hey, I never said I was good at knitting. You wore it anyway.”
Joel turns back towards the screen as Rick and Ilsa share a loving kiss.
“Yeah, I wore it anyway.”
And to the sound of bombs and tanks, (Y/N) rests her head on his shoulder.
That’s what you do for the people you love. Even if you don’t allow yourself to love them.
You wear the scarf anyway.
The mailbox flag is up. Bright red against the sharp white of the winter's day.
It’s never been up. People around here don’t get mail. It’s but an ancient relic of a life they used to live. Remnants of a society long gone.
But Joel is nothing if not curious. So he stomps up to the mailbox, leaving deep imprints in the freshly fallen snow.
It’s another postcard. Only this time it doesn’t come with a mystery. This time it comes with that silly little feeling that makes his heart beat just a little faster. That makes his head swirl with stupid thoughts of stupid dreams.
“From Paris with love,” it says on the front. Fucking Paris, of course.
Sometimes the way he feels about her is infuriating, confusing, scary.
And sometimes, like right now, it feels like a ball of warmth settles in his ribcage and warms him from the inside out.
“Dear Joel,
We’ll never have Paris. Not in this life at least. And while I would’ve loved to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle with you and make you eat a croissant (which you would’ve pretended to hate but I think you would’ve enjoyed it secretly), I am glad to get this life with you at least. Or alongside you. Whatever it is we are, I am glad this life gave me that in between all the pain. Despite what you like to tell yourself, Joel Miller, you are a spark of fire, a light in the dark. You are more than the sum of your failures, you are more than your pain. All the good that is in you, that counts. That’s all that matters in the end. And there is so much good in you.
I wish you’d let yourself see it.
We will never have Paris. But we’ll always have Jackson and that is enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you.
Here’s looking at you kid! ;) “
There’s a tragedy in knowing someone else sees all your good parts and none of the bad. A tragedy in knowing how much they like those good parts and being awfully aware that seeing all the bad parts would destroy them.
A tragedy in still wanting to show them all of you, even the ugly soul-destroying parts.
But if she thinks he’s a good man, then Joel needs to be just that. A good man who keeps those ugly parts hidden and away from her. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants.
“What’s that?” Ellie speaks up from beside him, a curious look on her face.
“Postcard.”
“Like what people would send from vacations and stuff?”
“Yeah, how do you know about that?”
She rolls his eyes at him and it’s one of those moments where he feels like a dad again. Those little moments that mean the world to him because he gets to feel like the old him. The Joel he thought was long dead and buried beside the bones of his own child.
“I watch movies? I talk to people? I read books? Take your pick.”
“Wow, when did you become such a smartass, huh?”
She shrugs his shoulders at him “Was born that way. Nothing I can do about it.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Hey, you’ve grown to love me! You wouldn’t want me any other way.”
And she isn’t wrong. Ellie, with all her curiosity and her bravery and her lust for life, whatever that life may look like, is exactly what he needed. Which makes him wonder if saving her from the fireflies was ultimately more of a selfish act than that of a heroic savior.
“Who’s it from?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh, so (Y/N).”
His eyes flick up and he is met with that satisfied, mischievous grin that is so uniquely Ellie.
“What makes you think that?”
“You always change the subject when I bring her up. And that way you just jumped when I mentioned her? Yeah, you’re not slick, old man.”
“Hey! Who are you calling an old man?”
“You! Old and scared!”
“I’m not scared!”
Like hell he is. Terrified even. But there ain’t no way in hell he’ll admit that to Ellie. She’ll never let him hear the end of it.
“Then go talk to her! She likes you, you like her. Why do you have to make it so complicated?”
If only she knew all the ghosts swirling around inside of him threatening to break free. Things could be so easy. Only nothing ever is.
“Mind your own business, kid! Anyway, don't you have someplace to be? Think Dina came by earlier asking for you. You two are getting along well, huh?”
“Aaaand on that note. See you for dinner, old man!”
She’s gone before he can even hurl a reply at her. It pulls his lips into a smile. There’s no better way to get a teen to shut up than to bring up their crush. Nice to see that some things never change.
Another run. Another record.
Joel feels silly, standing here in front of her door with his heart beating fast and heavy as he clutches the vinyl record in his hand.
If Ellie saw him now, she’d surely make fun of him. Tommy too. Sarah even.
What happened, Joel? You used to be so brave. What makes you so afraid now?
Life, he thinks. Life has made him scared and bitter and sad.
“Did you wanna knock or — ?”
Joel turns around as the voice calls out to him. There it is again, that softness, that smile.
“Uh, yes.”
“Okay, good. Did you come to see me? Sorry, I was helping Maria at the farm.”
“Yeah no uh — don’t worry about it. I just came to drop this off”
Her eyes grow wide as she catches sight of which record it is he’s holding up.
“No way! The stranger! You found it.”
“ I did.”
He had to clear an old dilapidated bar full of clickers to get that record. Almost lost his damn arm in the process. But her smile, that god-damn, life-ruining, world-shattering, heart-beat-faster, smile of hers makes it all worth it. He would give both arms, all of him. He would give it all to see her smile.
“Do you wanna come in and listen to it with me? Got my player fixed so I don’t have to use the one at the library anymore.”
Say no. Just say no and go home. Be a good man! Be a better man!
But he’s not. For this one moment, he can’t be that man. He’s just as weak as the rest of them.
“Sure.”
This feels so — normal. So before everything. Different and twisted and warped. But normal.
It’s scary and comforting all at once. Like a tipsy dream when you know you’ll wake up with a headache for sure.
(Y/N) is twirling around her living room, a beer in hand and a smile on her face. Joel leans against the door connecting her living room and her kitchen and all he can do is stare. At this woman who means so much to him. Too much for him to ever put into words. If he even knew how to. He’s never been a poet.
“I said I love you, that's forever
And this I promise from the heart, mmm
I couldn't love you any better
I love you just the way you are, right”
“I love this song. Can you imagine someone loving you enough to write something like this about you?”
Yes, he thinks. If only he WAS a poet. He would write a hundred songs. A thousand. And all of them would talk of her smile and her eyes and the way there is no single thing about her he would change.
But words fail him. They always do.
So he just nods.
“Joel,” she says and moves closer. The bottle of beer now placed on her couch table, her hands find his chest. So warm. So soft. And all he does is stare.
“I know you got my postcards. I know you know how I feel. And sometimes I think you feel the same. I see the way you look at me. I know the dangers you put yourself in to get me those records. I just — you never say anything. So am I making a fool of myself here? Please tell me if I — “
“You’re not.”
Wow, so eloquent.
“I’m not?”
Her voice sounds so small. So unsure. He hates that he’s the one who put the uncertainty there. Be a better man, Joel! Be a good man for once!
But all he does is stare. Words fail him. Again. again. again.
“Then can I — can I do this?”
(Y/N)’s gaze falls to his lips then back up to his eyes. She is so close. He can feel her warm breath on his skin. Can smell the scent of her shampoo. Notices the tremble of her fingers as her hands rest on his chest.
And he wants to kiss her. Every version of him that ever was and ever will be wants to kiss her. But all he does is stare.
All he does is stare and pull away.
And it breaks his heart to see hers break in that moment.
“I uh — oh I’m sorry Joel.”
Tears gather in her eyes, fill them with sorrow, fill his heart with rage. He can’t do anything right, can he? Everyone he’s ever loved, he’s disappointed. But how can he let himself love her, how can he let her love him, when he is so broken? When all he does is break things? Taint them with this infinite sadness that lives and grows inside his bones?
“It’s not you.”
“Oh please, Joel. I made a fool of myself already. Don’t make it worse.”
“I ain’t trying to. It just ain’t you. It’s all me. It’s always been me”
His palms are sweaty and he feels like someone has reached into his ribcage, cracked every rib on the way to his heart, and ripped it out with bare hands. Snapping veins and arteries and all.
“I want you. I want this but I can’t have it. You think I’m a good man but the truth is, I am not. I do bad things all the time, over and over again and time and life have made me so numb to it. But you, you are so good. You deserve someone better. Someone whole.”
It’s like once he’s started it all comes flowing out like a fucking waterfall. All his fears and insecurities and pain. It’s all there for her to be disgusted by. Because god knows there is no way she won’t be. He is. All the time.
“I have not been the same since this all started. Since Sarah — since she died. I live with this immense grief. It surrounds me. It IS me. All of me. And I so desperately want to claw my way out of it. Rip it apart and leave it behind. But at the same time, I want to bury myself in it. Because what if I do leave it behind and I start to forget? Her and all that she was? How is it fair that I have to remember her far longer than I got to know her? So if I get better, if I become the man I need to be to be worthy of your love, am I still gonna be the man she knew? Can I still remember? Because that is all I have. And that is not a burden I can put on you. Not you and not Ellie.”
Joel takes a breath then another but it does little to calm him down.
“You two mean everything to me and I am sorry I am bad at showing it. That I can’t say it. I need you to know, it’s all me that’s the problem. It was never you. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t wait for her to say anything. He doesn’t think he has the heart to hear a reply anyway. It’s like he just ripped himself open and spilled all his guts, his heart, his lungs, and all his inside out on her living room floor.
If he was any better of a man he’d pick them up and try to rearrange them.
But he is not a good man. Maybe he never was.
“There was something for you in the mailbox” Ellie exclaims and slumps down on the couch next to him. “I was this close to opening it but I didn’t want to make you even more grumpy than you already are.”
“I’m not grumpy”
He has to admit, the tone in which he said those words does not do much to counter her point. Ellie knows too, judging by the way she raises her eyebrow “Sure, you’re not.”
She drops a sunflower yellow envelope on his lap. ‘Joel’, it says in that swirly handwriting he’s become so familiar with.
It’s been a few weeks since he’s seen (Y/N). Since he spilled all his sorrows and worries to her and then ran. And, surprisingly, Jackson makes it very easy for someone to avoid another person if you only try hard enough.
Maybe Ellie has a point, maybe he has been exceptionally grumpy lately. No correlation to any recent events though. Absolutely zero.
“Sooo are you gonna open it?”
Ellie looks at him with curiosity and that little spark of mischief as if she knows something he doesn’t.
“Not with you watching over my shoulder, I ain’t.”
“Why?”
“Cause it’s none of your business.”
“Excuse me? I have to live with your grumpy ass because you guys can’t get your shit straight. I think it very much is my business.”
“Jesus, Ellie. Language!"
“Sorry,” she says and gives him that pseudo-sheepish look he’s grown familiar with. “You guys need to get your stuff straight.”
He used to scold her for it but really, he isn’t one to talk.
“Anywayyyyy, I’ll go stay at Dina’s tonight … just in case you decide to go over and apologize for whatever it is you did and you guys finally sort it out and need some privacy later.”
“Why do you think I did something?”
And there it is again that sassy eyebrow raise. The same one he’s seen on Sarah so many times before. It truly is a woman’s world and he’s but a fool living in it. And they let no opportunity pass to remind him of just that.
They are also absolutely right.
“My lawyer advised me not to answer that question. Anyway, be nice. Have fun. Byyyye”
Her voice trails off as she grabs her bag and rushes outside leaving Joel alone in this big empty house with nothing but his demons and this mysterious envelope.
Carefully he opens the seal and shakes out the contents. A postcard, a photo, and a — cassette tape?
His eyes find the photo first. It’s a polaroid of him and Ellie and (Y/N). All 3 of them smiling, yes even him. He remembers that day back last summer. It was one of those warm but not yet hot days. (Y/N) was wearing that agonizingly beautiful red sundress. The one that made his heart beat twice as fast. She brought over a whole basket full of cherries from the tree in her garden. A pie too. And that damn Polaroid camera.
Of course, Ellie was enamored by it, wasted almost the whole damn film.
“Come on Joel, let's take a picture together,” she had called out to him and pulled him to sit down next to her and (Y/N) on the blanket they had placed on the lawn.
“I’m not a picture guy,” he had grumbled, “ ain’t nobody want to see my old mug.”
“Oh shut up. Joel, you are so handsome, don’t even pretend like you don’t know that.”
It was the first time (Y/N) had ever called him handsome. It was hard for him to believe it then, hell it still is. But she has done it a lot more since then. Calls him handsome and gorgeous and pretty all the time. At first, he thought she was just humoring him but slowly but surely it dawned on him that she meant it. Means it still.
“We don’t know how many good sunny days we have left. Ain’t no shame in trying to remember this one, right?”
Her eyes held so much honesty then. Vulnerability too. And gratefulness for all they had then after all they had lost. It made him smile then and it makes him smile now.
The Postcard is next, big bold letters spell out TEXAS and in the corner, there’s a drawing of the Texas State Capitol in Austin.
When he turns the Postcard over, there it is again, that swirly writing he’s grown to love so much.
“Joel, the ‘Postcards from around the world’ book I got from the library didn’t have an Austin one but it did have a Texas one so that’ll have to do. I’m not even sure if you're going to read this. I hope you do because you didn't give me a chance to say my part when you stormed off & I think I deserve that.
You're not the man you were in Austin, you lived through the worst thing imaginable and it changed you. But you are not just your pain. It is part of you but it doesn't define you. I know you see all the bad but none of the good but believe me I see it! Ellie does! You are your pain but you are also the smile on Ellie's face when you bring her a new comic or teach her a song. You're the guitar chords echoing through the air on a warm spring afternoon. You are those fluttery feelings in my heart whenever you look at me.
Joel Miller, I understand if you don't want to be with me but if it's only because you don't think you're good enough then I think that's a choice I get to make. Taking that from me is a dick move.
You said you're bad at showing love but you're not. You showed me through all those records. Through all those songs. Now let me love you back.”
Joel can’t quite name the feeling spreading through him. It’s both foreign and familiar at the same time. Like an old friend. A hazy memory. Pictures blurred and dulled by time and age.
Maybe he was wrong, and he hates admitting that. Maybe he ain’t a good man but maybe that is hers to decide. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
He takes the cassette tape in his hand and squints his eyes at the tiny writing on the label. God, he really is getting old. Those eyes ain’t what they used to be.
God only knows - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds
You’re my best friend - Queen - A Night at the Opera
Just Like Heaven - The Cure - Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (you should!)
In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel - So
Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper - She’s so unusual
Your Song - Elton John - Elton John
Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis - Blue Hawaii
Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton - Slowhand
The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (!!!! LOVE SONGS!!!)
Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel - The Stranger
"You gave me all these records with all these songs and all these words to tell me you love me and I’m not sure you even knew.”
And she’s right. He got her those records because he knew they’d make her smile. Because that smile means everything to him whether he wants to admit it or not. He got those records to show her that even when he’s gone on a run, she’s always on his mind. He believed it to be a curse, a ghost haunting him for all his past mistakes and taunting him with what he shall never have.
But maybe it’s not a curse.
Maybe it’s a blessing. A sweet song to remind him that someone back home is waiting. A gentle reminder that life can and will go on and good things can come from immense tragedy. And moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, in fact, it means remembering. Remembering the bad and believing that there can and will be good and that it’s worth it to go on. Even if you are a different you. Not worse or better, just changed. And that you deserve love. And kindness. And warmth.
Joel drops the envelope and its contents on the table and grabs his thick winter jacket as he rushes outside. The cold feels only half as bad as it nips at his skin, he barely notices. There is a fire inside him now, burning away all the doubts and hesitation.
He’s back at her door, only this time he doesn’t wait to knock. He’s spent so much time denying himself the one thing he wants that he can’t lose just one second more. The rapping of his knuckles against her door echoes through the winter day. Oh, how he can’t wait for the spring and the summer and her in that gorgeous dress.
“Joel?”
Back before — everything, Joel remembers a movie night with Sarah. She got to choose and despite being an avid fan of trashy action and horror movies, that time she chose a romantic comedy. All things considered, Joel can admit that when Harry met Sally wasn’t the worst choice but he still would’ve preferred Star Wars or Terminator.
He does remember the ending though, the grand finale. He remembers Sarah trying to wipe away tears without him noticing. And he remembers Billy Crystal’s words “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
Back then he thought it was some silly, cheesy movie speak. No one feels that way, right? It’s grandiose and kitschy for the sake of movie magic.
But no, he’s sure now, that one is true. Because it’s how he feels.
“I love you!”
That confession should come with ribbons and flowers and fireworks but it doesn’t. It comes with honesty and that is all that matters. It comes from the heart.
“Huh?”
“I got your postcard. The photo too and the tape. And I love you.”
“I know. Took you long enough to figure it out.”
“I’m sorry. I — I still believe that I am not a good man and that you deserve better. But it would be selfish to punish you for my own insecurities. I love you and I want to let you love me. If you still want to, that is.”
“Joel Miller?”
“Yeah?”
“Please just fucking kiss me.”
Joel remembers a lot of kisses in his lifetime. Some rushed, some clumsy. Quick kisses in secret. Long drawn-out smooches in smokey bars. Loving, fast, aggressive, and soft.
This one is different, as cheesy as it sounds.
This kiss makes him feel like all he’s ever been and all he ever will be can live in peace with one another. This kiss makes him feel like none of it matters as long as he has her.
She tastes like peppermint and sunshine and he’s sure he’ll never get enough of her. The feeling of her skin against his as he gently cradles her face in his hand. The soft movements on her chest as she breathes. The twitch of her lips as she smiles into the kiss.
For the first time in his life, Joel is sure that a kiss is more than a kiss. It’s a healing hand on a shattered heart. It’s a new path to a new future. It’s sunshine melting the ice from his bones.
It’s a promise to try every day and to be better and to be enough. ---
Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary
Chapter Three — Vienna
Chapter Summary: Stevie and JJ help out her mother with a sweet favour and talk about the past ... and the future ... and the present.
“Holy shit”
JJ’s voice echoes through the entrance hall of Richard’s fancy Figure 8 home. Her mother’s home. It still feels weird and Stevie wonders if it will ever stop feeling weird. This is so different from everything she’s ever known. The house she grew up in would probably fit inside one of the 6 guest bathrooms. And while it is not resentment she feels, there is a certain disconnect gnawing at her. This is her mother’s new reality, her new life. What if there is no space left for something that isn’t perfect and polished? For someone that isn’t?
“Told you, full kook.”
“Nah, this is more than just full kook. This is ‘I hired a kook to clean my pool’ kinda rich.”
“Yeaaah. But mom is happy so — “
“Yeah, she seems like it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Uh, we live in the same place? I see her all the time. We talk. I’m her favorite, remember?”
Stevie does remember. Sometimes she wishes she didn’t remember all that much. That some memories would vanish and become part of the universe of forgotten things, like passwords to accounts you made at 14 or that genius idea for a new book you never bothered to write down because for sure you’ll remember later on and then you don’t.
Her mother has always held a soft spot for JJ. Maybe she can see the same magic in his eyes and the same vulnerability in his heart. Or maybe she is just so good at being a loving mother that it feels like a waste of love not to extend the sentiment to the boy who was never loved in the way he deserved.
“Oh, I remember. Every time we came home drunk after a party she gave me a disappointed look and you got a glass of water and an Advil.”
“Well, it was always you who talked me into going to the parties in the first place so…”
JJ can’t even finish the sentence without losing himself in a fit of laughter. It’s infectious. Radiant. As the harmony of their laughter sounds through the halls of this plastic palace, it feels like for a moment she is 16 again and life is easy and light. Laughing with JJ is a soothing kiss on the top of the head. It’s home.
“Stevie?”
Her mother’s voice cuts through the haze of nostalgic joy and seconds later a smiling Leslie Collins rounds the corner. Her mother really does look happy. She’s wearing a flowy silk summer dress that must’ve been expensive. This, Stevie thinks, is the kind of person her mother always deserved to be. She has always been selfless and kind, soft and gentle but life never returned the favor. Not until now. All the shit she had to go through, all the fighting and the trying to stay afloat has finally paid off. Now she gets to live in a big house and wear nice expensive dresses and dance through life with a smile on her face.
“Thank god you’re here. Oh and JJ you too! Even better. Two opinions I can count on, perfect.”
Her mother embraces her then moves to JJ and pulls him into a hug. Back when they were kids JJ had a hard time accepting physical touches. When you always expect a slap to the face it must be hard to open up to a gentle stroke of the cheek. He has learned to trust them though, trust her and mom and his friends. And now, the man before her returns the hug with enthusiasm.
“Mom, what are you talking about? Opinions on what exactly?”
“The cake!”
Seeing her mother’s expression, Stevie wonders for a second if she forgot about something. Was she supposed to pick up a cake? No that can't be right, the wedding is still quite a while away and she does remember her mom talking about narrowing down the selection but still not deciding on the actual flavor quite yet.
“The cake?”
“I love cake!” JJ chimes in which grants him another smile from Stevie’s mom.
“Yes, the cake. Richard and I were supposed to go sample our selections again and make a decision but now some of his family is in Charleston and we are going over to have lunch with them but we can’t reschedule the appointment with the bakery sooooo I need you, my sweet darling child, “ she explains and gives Stevie a teasing tap on the cheek, “and you JJ, to go and try the samples for me and make notes and help me with my decision. I have my favorites and so does Rich but we also want our guests to enjoy the cake so having some help with our decision would be great. You don’t have anything else planned, do you?”
There is a nagging pain in the back of Stevie’s head, not a full-on headache but a sting, annoying and grueling. Mom isn’t to blame, it is true after all. Stevie has no plans. Nothing on her plate. Just time and time and time and nothing meaningful to fill them with. No jobs lined up. No ideas. Nothing. It still hurts when her mom says it so nonchalantly.
“We’re so in! Trust me, Leslie we will give you a very detailed list of all our favorite flavors. I’ll try them several times even, just to make sure I give you the most accurate description.”
“How selfless of you, JJ. Stevie, is that okay with you?”
And how could she say no to that? How could she ever say no to her mom counting on her? Or JJ smiling at her like that? How could she ever say no to free cake?
“You know we could’ve just taken the car right?”
JJ shakes his head as he walks down the little dock behind his house. It’s a cute house, small and homey and from the outside Stevie can tell that JJ has fixed up a lot of it himself. He lives here with John B. and Sarah. Not because he couldn’t afford to buy it for himself but because he doesn’t want to be alone. It breaks and mends her heart all at once to hear those words from him. And it makes her infinitely thankful for John B.
“Absolutely not! We are going to a cake tasting at the country club bakery. The same place we worked at years ago and had people treat us like shit. We’re going to arrive in style and they will fucking hate it.”
“Okay, yeah. You have a point.”
JJ leads her down the dock towards a small Fountain Sportfish Cruiser. All shiny blue and white and not unlike his father’s old Phantom.
Stevie lets out a whistle as they approach the boat. “Look at that beauty.”
“She’s my baby. Saved all my money after we opened the Shack and got her the moment I had enough. So let me introduce you to this jewel of the sea.”
He always had a flair for the dramatic and in another life maybe JJ could’ve been an actor. He had that kind of unhinged theater kid vibe to him. But this was no other life, this was right here and now and so his eccentrics get channeled into his antics as he steps aboard the boat and holds out his hand to Stevie.
“Baby, this is Stevie, my wife.”
Hearing those words will never fail to send a flurry of fireworks going off inside her. No matter if the days are numbered, Stevie takes a certain kind of pride in holding that title. She admits and acknowledges that the whole marriage was a silly little dream dreamt up by some silly little teenagers. Stupid, possibly. Irresponsibly, most definitely. But it felt right in that moment and she can’t blame her younger self for it. Being called JJ’s wife has a certain something to it. Still does.
“Stevie, this is Iris.”
In a swirly font, dark blue on white it says “Iris” on the side of the boat and Stevie forgets how to breathe for a second.
JJ has that look on his face, that one that makes time stop. He’s waiting for her to say something, to acknowledge the roots of their past as they tangle themselves around the letters on the side of the boat. To see if she remembers. As if she could ever forget.
Suddenly images flood her mind. JJ and her, only much younger and with hearts less scarred. It’s a warm sunny day in that enchanted space somewhere between spring and summer where the world is still new but the air is heavy with the possibility of all the adventures yet to come. Stevie is in a pair of cut-off jeans and one of JJ’s sweaters. JJ’s hair is tousled and unkept and longer than usual. It was the year he tried to grow it out which only lasted a few weeks before he got annoyed with it and cut it shorter again. Stevie thought he looked like a Disney prince.
“Mom says to tell you thanks for helping with the garden the other day.”
The rays of sunshine feel warm against her skin as she lays on a blanket spread out in her backyard, JJ next to her.
“No problem. Garden looks great by the way, she did real good this year with all the flowers.”
“Right? I think so too,” she lets her gaze wander around the yard, a kaleidoscope of colors. Pinks and Reds and Whites and Purples. “Which ones are your favorite?”
JJ leans up on his elbows and surveys the yard for a moment. “Those purple and yellow ones”.
Stevie remembers so vividly the spark of warmth spreading through her heart as he said those words.
“The Iris! That’s my favorite too!”
“Really, not the roses?”
“No, I mean I like roses, who doesn’t? But my mom has been planting Irises in our garden since I was little so they always remind me of home. I think — never mind.”
“Hey, uh-uh. What did you want to say?”
“It’s stupid.”
But JJ never thought so and if he did he never let her notice. JJ always gave you the feeling of being the most interesting person on earth with the way he listened so intensely.
“Never. Come on, spill.”
“I think I might want to call my future kid Iris. If I ever have a daughter that is.”
He’s quiet for a second, contemplating, then scrunches his nose. “Nah. Doesn’t match with the last name.”
“Iris Collins? You think that doesn’t match?”
“Not Collins. Maybank.”
“Maybank huh? You stealing my hypothetical future kid’s name now?”
“Nah,” JJ replies and pulls Stevie into his arms. “Just think if we’re talking about hypothetical future kids — they might as well be ours. Because I’d really like to spend my hypothetical future with you. Marriage and kids and all.”
It’s the first time they ever talked about this. Of course she wanted this, at 15 it feels like your love is all-consuming and everlasting. But this is the first time they truly ever mentioned it. The first time JJ ever mentioned it. And it means everything.
It meant everything then and it means everything now that she is stepping on a boat named after their silly little fantasy.
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thanks. Named her after a dream I once had.”
“I feel so bougie this is weird.”
“But a good weird, right?”
The patio of the country club is drenched in sunlight, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore mixes with the gentle hum of the jazz music coming from the overhead speakers as more and more cake slices get placed on the table in front of them.
Stevie and JJ are both well familiar with the fancy white dishes with the silver trim around the edges. So many hours have been spent carrying plates to and from the tables, fake smiles plastered on their faces in order to hopefully get a little tip from the guests. It hardly ever worked. Tourists were the only ones who would tip them well, the local kooks just stuck up their noses, sometimes adding a mean comment to the mix for good measure.
“Yeah, a good weird. If the kooks could see us now, they’d hate it so much. Kelce and Ruthie and all those assholes.”
“Imagine if our younger selves could see us now, I don’t think they would believe it.”
JJ takes a sip of the complementary champagne that was provided to them — actual champagne! Not sparkling wine or prosecco. Champagne! Though Stevie must admit she much prefers a can of ice-cold beer by the lake to this fizzy concoction. Still feels nice to be fancy for once.
“Uh, yeah. I promised you one day we’d be the ones they’d serve fancy food to on fancy plates with their fancy bow ties and their fancy fizzy drinks. I always knew we’d end up here one day.”
“When did you ever say that, JJ?”
“It was right there,” he says and points to a bench by the side of the building a bit further away and outside of the few of the guests. “someone had just spilled red wine on you and made a stupid comment and you were crying and this close to quitting. And I said — “
“Oh, I remember! It was that bitch Abby who spilled her wine on me, on purpose.”
“Right! Well, remember what I said?”
“You said Pogues ain’t no quitters.”
“True.”
“And you said to let them talk because one day we’ll sit right there and drink champagne from crystal glasses and eat food out on the patio and they will hate it.”
“Mmh.”
“And if I remember correctly you said it might take until we’re in our 40s and your hair will be all gone and my boobs might be saggy by then.”
JJ laughs before combing one hand through his golden sunkissed hair.
“Thank god I was wrong about the timing. Hair is still all intact and your boobs are still phenomenal.”
Another plate is placed before them and a silent understanding passes as they both reach for one of the ridiculously tiny forks provided. An understanding that some things can stay unspoken. That sometimes life gives you moments that are all yours to feel. Where the younger version of you is watching from somewhere deep inside your heart and all you get to feel is pride and happiness.
“Holy shit, this raspberry and white chocolate one is amazing. That’s my favorite.”
“JJ, it’s the first one you tried.”
“Sometimes you know right away.”
Yeah, she thinks looking into his eyes as they are filled with undiluted joy, sometimes you know all along.
“Are you ever sad we didn’t have this?”
“Hmm?”
Stevie is looking up at JJ now, surprised by the change in tone. Where just seconds ago he was joking around now there is a sense of sincerity and vulnerability.
“You know, for our wedding. The whole big ass cake and invitations printed on thick paper and a real proper reception.”
As most little girls do, Stevie had thought about what she wanted her wedding to be like from the moment she had first watched The Little Mermaid on VHS. Big poofy dress, a cake at least 4 layers high with little figurines on top resembling her and her husband, and maybe having it happen on a big ship wouldn’t have been too bad either. But those ideas changed as she got older, warped and vanished, and got replaced by different ones.
And then JJ shook it all up in the best and most unexpected way.
“I loved our wedding, JJ. It was perfect.”
“But did you not want this? More?”
“No. It was you and our friends and that’s all I needed. If anything I think I might have wanted my mom there and Syd.”
“Well, next time I’ll give you a big wedding and we’ll invite everyone we know.”
“Nex time?”
“Yeah,” JJ says and nonchalantly shrugs his shoulder before stuffing his mouth with another bite of cake — carrot cake with vanilla buttercream. “I thought I was being obvious. I’m gonna make you fall head over heels back in love with me and then obviously we’re going to have to renew our vows. And now we actually have money to throw a big wedding soooo.”
Leave it to JJ to say something earth-shattering like this that makes the earth stop spinning all while looking unbothered and sampling another piece of cake — lemon cake with lavender buttercream. “I don’t like this one. Tastes a bit soapy.”
“JJ.”
“Huh?”
“We — you can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Sorry. Does taste soapy though, no offense to the baker I’m sure it’s on purpose.”
“Not that. The other thing!”
“Oh,” he replies and wipes some crumbs from the corner of his mouth “Don’t freak out. I was just joking. Obviously.”
He tries to underline his words with a smile, a shrug of the shoulders. But Stevie is not sure she believes him. Not sure if a joke was really all that was.
And she’s not sure why his words being a joke feels so damn devastating to her.
“Okay so top 3”
“Raspberry and white chocolate”
“Yup.”
“Key lime and coconut ”
“Agreed.”
“and third is French Vanilla with Sea Salt Caramel”
“Absolutely!”
The sun is about to dip behind the horizon painting the sky in vivid shades of orange and gold. Stevie always loved this time of day. It feels special. The heat of the day is cooling down just a little and the cicadas start to sing.
Her back rests against the wooden swing on JJ’s porch. “Every porch obviously needs a porch swing, it’s science,” he told her. It makes perfect sense in every which way you want to look at it.
“Your mom is going to be so proud of us we nailed this list. Everyone at the wedding is gonna be like ‘damn who chose those delicious cakes?’ And we’re gonna be like ‘It was us, you’re welcome’!”
Stevie takes a sip from the ice-cold beer clutched in her hand. There’s just something about sharing a beer with an old friend on a warm summer evening. An old friend who is also your husband and probably the love of your life? But those are feelings Stevie is not ready to face. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Well, least something she can be proud of me for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Work has been going pretty shit lately. Mom made all these sacrifices to support my interests and send me to all these writing classes and everything. She believed in me and my talents and what do I have to show for myself? Fuck all. I want to write a book so badly but all my ideas get stuck somewhere between my head and my hands and end up in this endless nothingness. So I keep a roof over my head by writing about horoscopes and D-list celebrities for sketchy clickbait blogs. And oh I forgot the last thing I wrote was a quiz telling you what kind of cheese you are based on your favorite Taylor Swift album. So much for that great writing career, I was dreaming of.”
“First of all, that quiz was great. I’m brie, if you’re curious.”
“You did the quiz?”
“Yeah,” he says and throws his empty beer can towards the trashcan by the door, missing by a mile. “I read everything you write. Just because you disappeared doesn’t mean I didn’t keep tabs on you even if all I got was clickbait articles and fun quizzes. Was enough for me to know you wrote it. I was always your biggest fan, that hasn’t changed.”
Back when they were kids and Stevie started writing little nonsensical stories, JJ was always the first one who got to read them and he would give her actual feedback on them, always honest but never mean. JJ was her first fan, her first supporter, her first reader.
“Thank you, JJ. It’s — It feels good to hear that.”
“Sure. You always had my back, not sure I ever really told you how brilliant I think you are.”
“Well at this point you are the only one thinking that, unfortunately”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you of all people have to be reminded of what Billy Joel says.”
“Huh?”
“You made me listen to Vienna ad nauseam and now you don’t remember the words? ‘Slow down, you're doing fine. You can't be everything you wanna be before your time'. Those words mean anything to you?”
Stevie is unsure what surprises her more, his statement or the fact that he knows the term ad nauseam and how to use it correctly. Either way, him quoting Billy Joel to her sends tiny sparks up her back.
“I just feel so lost. What story do I possibly have to tell that the world needs to hear?”
“Us. You should write about us.”
Stevie raises her eyebrow in confusion. “You and I?”
“No. Well, yes. But not just us. All of the Pogues. About our life here, our adventures, our family. I think it’s a story people would like to hear and who better to tell it than you? Princess Pogue herself?“
There’s nothing sexier, nothing more gut-wrenchingly wonderful than a person who believes in you entirely and irrevocably. Even when you don’t believe in yourself. Especially when you don’t believe in yourself.
“That’s — not a bad idea actually.”
“I do have those occasionally. Now you have to dedicate the book to me though, you know that right? It’s important to me to hear you say that.”
As if moving on autopilot, Stevie leans towards JJ and places a soft kiss against his cheek.
“I promise.”
His words from earlier come swirling back through Stevie’s mind. “I’m gonna make you fall head over heal back in love with me”
And for the first time since she’s back in the Outer Banks, Stevie allows herself to entertain that thought. Just for a second. And then one more and one more.
And she doesn’t stop thinking about it during her entire way back to the plastic palace.
And she still hears his voice as she closes her eyes and falls into a dreamless sleep.
Long time no see. Sorry I was gone for a while, life happened and I have not felt very inspired to write.
But that changed when I watched the latest season of Outer Banks. Wtf was that?! So out of spite I decided to continue my JJ fic.
Chapter 3 is written and will be edited and posted either tomorrow or sunday. Until then please feel free to catch up on the first two chapters of A Beautiful Somewhere.
Series Masterlist x Series Summary
This is a JJ x OC story as I wanted to give the character a detailed backstory. However I will also use the JJ x reader tag to get the word out for this one post. If that bothers you feel free to block me. Thanks :)
Summary: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.
Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fluff, sfw
4.8k Words Master List
“Just do it.” Robin said, following your line of sight to the booth in the corner of the Hawkins cafeteria. It was a simple table with a red cloth thrown over it and a handmade banner that read ‘CANDYGRAMS $1’ and was decorated with tacky hearts.
Every time you glanced over at the booth, your heart would start pounding and your stomach would twist in knots. You had never considered yourself to be shy before, when you first moved to Hawkins a few years ago, Robin had joked that you didn’t need a welcome wagon because you had thrown yourself into band and had introduced yourself to everyone with ease.
You had masked your anxiety over being the new kid with an overinflated sense of confidence and it had worked out really well for you until you caught feelings for the freak who sat next to you in remedial science.
“I think... I would rather chug formaldehyde.” you said slowly, staring so hard at the offensively pink and red booth that Robin was sure it was going to catch flames.
“Either go up there and buy a candygram or I’m going to do it for you.” Robin said. “If I have to hear you waffle about this for one more day I’m gonna rip my hair out.”
“But if I send him one, then he might actually acknowledge me and realize I might have something resembling a feeling for him, and that’s just not really cool, you know? Goes against my chill and mysterious personality.” you said, leaning back on your chair with a cocky grin.
“Last night I saw you and Steve cry over Bambi.” Robin deadpans.
“Okay, so we were drunk and also shut up.” you snorted, rubbing your face.
“How are you going to know if there’s anything there if you don’t even take the chance?” Robin scolds. “Come one, I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’m surprised the whole school doesn’t know-”
“Again, cool and mysterious personality.” you tried again.
“Plus I know he’s just as weird as you.” Robin continued, ignoring you. “I mean, last week I saw him get Jason Carver to back off one of the freshmen by pretending to exercise a demon out of him!”
You stared at Robin for a beat before thunking your head on the lunch table. “I’m going to marry him. Holy shit, he actually tried to expel the demon lurking in Carver?” You were laughing at the thought.
During your first senior year and his second, Eddie Munson had caught your eye when you had the same lunch period. He was loud and energetic and so fucking weird you couldn’t help but to be drawn to him. Had your parents not forced you to stick with band, you would have considered joining Hellfire. Unfortunately even with this last go-round as a super senior, they still made you stick with it despite your senioritis reaching terminal levels.
You never had a good opportunity to talk to him, and the more time passed the harder it became to justify just randomly approaching him. This semester you finally had your opportunity when you’d been put in the same class and sitting next to each other no less. Still, the most you’d been able to say was “yeah, sure” when he’d asked you for a pencil once.
Four weeks sitting next to Eddie, and you had barely spoken to him while noticing every little thing about him. He read a lot in class when he could get away with it, and doodled in his notebooks constantly, especially dice and dragons seemed to be the biggest theme. His school notebook wasn’t nearly as filled in as his Hellfire notebook, and he was always fidgeting in class. He also didn’t talk much, and at least once a week he’d end up falling asleep in class with his head in his hand.
“There’s not gonna be a wedding if you can’t even talk to the guy.” Robin said. “He’s not even scary! Dustin comes in to talk to Steve all the time about Hellfire. He’s just a dork.”
“I know and that’s the problem.” your voice was a strangled laugh mixed with a groan.
“You showed up the first day of band and introduced yourself to everyone, even if they weren’t in your section. What is the hold up with you talking to Eddie?” Robin pried.
“Because back then, it didn’t matter.” You looked over at Robin, poking at your mystery meat. “When I first got here it didn’t matter if anyone liked me or not. I was only supposed to be in this school for a few months and then graduate. Then I didn’t. I could handle it if someone didn’t like me. None of you were really supposed to matter to me. No offense.”
Thankfully, Robin didn’t seem offended. “You were just making nice with the inmates until parole.” she joked and you nodded.
“Yup, and then when I realized that I was going to have to actually have a full other year of school, that meant that I was going to have to care if I was ever gonna graduate.” You continued. “Luckily you saw through all my bullshit bravado and started dragging me to movie nights with you and Steve.”
“Yeah yeah, we love friendship. So what does any of this have to do with Eddie?” Robin said, not needing you to explain the backstory that she had been present for.
“It means that with Mr. Munson, I unfortunately, care so fucking much what he thinks of me.” you relented. “He’s the biggest freak in school, and the dorkiest loser, and if I try and talk to him and he’s not interested in talking back I won’t be able to take it. Robin, I will simply lay down and be dead for the rest of my life.”
“That’s not how that works, you can’t be dead for the rest of your life.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “Because if you’re dead then... you’re not alive”
“Schrodinger's corpse then. Alive and dead at the same time.”
“Look, just send him the stupid candygram. The worst he can do is say no.” She stood up from the table and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”
And that’s how you ended up at the booth, jotting down Eddie’s name on a piece of paper and shoving a few quarters in the till with Robin looking smug. “I doubt he’s ever gotten one anyway, if anything he should be thrilled that someone wanted to send him one.”
“If this kills me, Steve’s in charge of the music at my funeral.” you sighed.
---
Candygrams were being handed out and delivered through the week. You weren’t paying attention to what period they were supposed to be handed out, and so when two students in obnoxious heart shirts and fake wings burst into your science class with Eddie right next to you, you were about ready to throw yourself out a window.
No one was surprised when Janet and Charlie were tossed a few candygrams, but everyone’s head whipped around when the red heart shaped lollipop and card was set on Eddie Munson’s desk. Eddie himself seemed more surprised than anyone.
He had the lollipop in his mouth before he even opened the note attached and you were seconds away from bolting out the door. With any luck, maybe he didn’t know your name even after weeks of sitting next to each other.
“Who’s it from, freak?” asked Patrick, the basketball jock who sat a few rows ahead. That earned a few snickers from the class.
“It’s from your mom.” Eddie said without missing a beat and taking out the lollipop. “Tell her I say thanks.”
More laughter from the class as Patrick stood up as if ready to fight, but the teacher quickly told him to sit down.
Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You felt a bit guilty that your candygram had kicked up a fuss, but at least Eddie didn’t out you as the person who sent it to him. In fact he wasn’t looking over at you at all.
You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the card around, as if looking for something. All that was written was his name and “YOU’RE SWEET!” written in cheesy font and his name scribbled in your handwriting.
And nothing else.
You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry at your stupidity. You’d been so jumbled and nervous that you’d forgotten to sign the damn thing. Robin was gonna have a field day with this one.
Eddie kept fidgeting with the card through the rest of class, twisting it and bending it until it was as crumpled and torn as your heart felt. He shoved it in his pocket and didn’t even glance at you as the bell rang and he stood up and tossed the eaten lollipop stick in the trash.
It’s not personal. You told yourself. He has no idea who sent it to him.
That’s when you had a horrible idea, so stupid it might actually work.
---
“Explain how this is going to work again?” Robin asked. “You’re going to keep sending him lollipops this week until he notices you?”
“Sort of.” you said, buying another candygram. “I’ll just send him a few joke ones as a feeler and if he responds positively I’ll come clean. If not, I keep my dignity. It’s a win-win.”
“Since when do you care about your dignity?” Robin sorted.
“Since I caught feelings for the least dignified guy in school, I guess.” You knew it was stupid, you knew it was ridiculous, but you already messed up once so you might as well lean into it. You scribbled his name down, this time signing it with a satisfied giggle. “This is so dumb.”
Oh, but it was so worth it. You had bought it before school started, guaranteeing that it’d be delivered the same day, handing over a crisp dollar to Nancy Wheeler who had volunteered for the booth. If Eddie had been surprised the first time, he looked almost shocked now.
Eddie, sorry I forgot to sign the first one! This card said, once again not giving away any sign of who it was actually from. You saw his eye sparkle in amusement as he ate his lollipop, and this time the card was read over a few times before being carefully tucked into his dungeon master notebook.
By the third day, the novelty of Eddie Munson getting candygrams had worn off with the rest of your class, but Eddie’s grin only grew wider each time.
“Anything for me, Cupid?” Eddie asked as the student council members walked back in to hand out more lollipops.
He whooped as another one was dropped on his desk and he snatched up the card quickly and you had to cover your face and bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his excitement.
Eddie, sorry I’m so bad at remembering to sign these things! I just get way too excited about sending them out that I lose focus. So anyway this card is actually from-
You had carefully spaced out your writing on the small rectangle of paper so that it left absolutely no room for you to sign your name. Eddie looked downright giddy as he read the note over and over. Seeing him so happy made your stomach burst into butterflies and even if he decided after this he wasn’t interested, this was enough. Knowing that he was smiling because of you was enough.
Someone said your name and you looked up, surprised to see one of the student council members standing next to you and handing you a candygram. Your eyebrows shot up as you took it with a thanks and opened up the card.
Who had sent one to you? You’d been so wrapped up in your little scheme you didn’t even consider that someone would try and send you one either.
A smile tugged at your lips as you saw your name and a small drawing of what looked like an egg in a nest as the sender. Robin, of course. Probably making fun of you for sending candygrams to Eddie without signing either.
You tucked the candygram in your own notebook safely and dared a glance over at Eddie again. You hadn’t expected for him to be looking back at you, and your heart jumped in your chest. He unwrapped his lollipop and lifted it slightly as if he was trying to toast. You held yours up as well to him, an off sense of camaraderie between two people who had their day temporarily disturbed for commercialized love.
Thursday came around, Valentine's day proper, but they’d be doing one last day of candygrams on Friday as well. This was a fundraiser after all, and capitalism trumps any semblance of real sincerity. Well, you said that but that wasn’t exactly going to stop you from continuing your little plan.
Today was the day you were going to pull out the big guns. You handed over a full $5 to have a carnation sent to Eddie, as well as a return to sender card to Robin for being a good friend.
“Shouldn’t he be the one sending you a flower?” Nancy asked, handing you the card to write on. You wondered how Nancy had time for all of the extracurricular activities she had going on, working with the student council and the school newspaper.
You just shrugged at the question, not realizing how wide you were smiling or how obviously warm your cheeks were. To anyone with two eyes, you were glowing and to anyone with one eye, you were phosphorescent.
The disinterest that your classmates had from the last two rounds perked back up with a flower was delivered to Eddie that afternoon.
“For little old me?” Eddie said, batting his eyelashes at the delivery boy as he took the carnation. You giggled to yourself as he opened the card again.
Man, I’m bad at this aren’t I? Don’t worry, this time I’m writing very small so I have room to sign this card. Seeing you light up when these get delivered has made my whole week, and totally worth it. Anyway this is from-
To be fair, you had actually signed your name this time. However this time you had made an attempt to erase it with one of those erasers. The horrible stiff ones that only made big smudges and made the mistake worse and nearly tore through the paper. You had carefully looked at your smudged signature for a long time before deciding it was illegible enough to send.
Eddie faked a swoon in his seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor. “Come on!” he laughed, pushing himself back upright, smiling with his whole face. He looked over the note again, something clicking in his brain and you quickly looked down at the book you were currently pretending to read.
“It’s someone in here.” you heard him mutter to himself and your heart started pounding in your chest. You focused on your breathing to try and stop yourself from giggling and giving yourself away.
“Stop sending yourself stuff, Munson. It’s pathetic.” Patrick called out.
“If you wanted me to be your Valentine, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask nicely.” Eddie said, but he sounded distracted as his eyes scanned the room for any hint of who this mysterious person is. “And next time, I’m more than happy with just the lollipop, it’s saving me on smokes.”
You didn’t even notice the lollipop on your desk until class had started back up. Unfolding the card you smiled to yourself, seeing that it was from Robin again. This time the egg in the nest had a crack in it and seemed to be hatching. You’d ask her about it later.
Nothing said during the rest of class even registered with you, every word was in one ear and out the other. This had been a fun week sending Eddie all the lollipops and flowers but tomorrow was the last day to have something sent to him.
Were you going to sign your name? That’s the million dollar question. You had told Robin that you would if Eddie seemed interested, and he had made it clear he was enjoying the attention.
But would he still enjoy the attention if he learned it was from you? You two weren’t exactly friends, but not complete strangers either. He didn’t seem to dislike you, after all he’d raised a toast with you with your lollipops the other day.
Well, if you were gonna put yourself out there, you were gonna do it on your own terms.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Robin said that Friday morning as you dropped a handful of ones on the table for one last hurrah.
“Nope, I’ve committed.” you said, taking the small stack of cards and getting to work.
“I’m going to have you committed.” Robin shook her head. “I mean, this is actually insane, you know that right? There’s no reason to go through all this trouble, when you could just talk to him.”
“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Buckley?” you asked, as you added one letter of your name to each of the cards. “Gotta make him work for it.”
“So you’re gonna give him a Valentine's themed word jumble as your big sign off?”
“Yup.” you confirmed, adding his name to each of the cards. He’d get them all in one go and then it’s up to him to unscramble your name and figure it out.
After that... well, the ball is in his court.
Besides, if he liked the lollipops enough that he’d reach for one instead of a cigarette then that’s good enough.
“You’re such a weirdo. You deserve each other.” Robin went on. “The Weirdo and the Freak. It’s like Beauty and the Beast except.. Not.”
“Robin, don’t you know three languages?” you snorted finishing up your stack and handing them over to be sent. “You are so much smarter than me, but this is where you lose words?”
“It’s Friday and I haven’t had coffee.” she pointed out. “Oh, thanks for sending me one by the way.”
“Yeah, of course. I mean you sent me one so I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging.” you nudged her playfully.
“I didn’t send you one.” Robin looked at you, confused.
“What?” You reached into your backpack and pulled out the notebook where you had placed the card and handed it to her. “But that’s a robin’s egg...?”
“It’s an egg, probably.” Robin agreed. “But I’m broke. I didn’t send any out.”
You stared at the card with new eyes. If she didn’t send it, then who did?
---
“Holy shit.” Eddie muttered as a bag of lollipops was dumped on his desk with no rhyme or reason, earning a round of laughter and snickers from the class. The teacher had long since given up on trying to keep the class’s attention when the Cupid’s showed up.
He sorted through the cards, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the different letters on the cards until he found one that had real words on it.
Figure it out, Sucker <3 Eddie’s face was a wonderful mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and mild offense.
One of the Cupid’s handed you another two lollipops as well. One was actually signed by one of your friends in band, and the other had another doodle of an egg. This time the egg was completely hatched and there was some sort of weird bird flying off.
Not a robin. You decided, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be.
You barely paid attention in class for the rest of the hour, your attention split between the three egg Valentines you received and the man next to you. Eddie had pulled out his Dungeon Master notebook to try and decode your message. You felt flattered that he was using his favored notebook to try and figure out your puzzle.
Eddie was sucking on one of the lollipops diligently as he scribbled down random letters. Now that you thought about it, you’d never seen him look so studious in class before. You wondered if this is what he looked like when he was working on his campaigns and your brain decided to give you a treat of a daydream where the two of you were sitting around in your room while he explained his campaign and how he’d love to have someone like you join Hellfire-
It was three minutes before the bell, and that meant just a few minutes until your last period and the weekend. With Valentine’s day falling in the middle of the week, most of your friends were going to be off doing things with their partners. Maybe you, Robin, and Steve- no wait, Steve actually got dates. Robin worked on the weekend.
Maybe Eddie- NOPE. Not going there, you were not about to get your hopes up for this.
You glanced over at him again, looking at his notebook to see if he was anywhere close to decoding your name. Eddie had the worst handwriting you’d ever seen and so you would be surprised if he could even figure out his own notes. Between unjumbling your letters, he had started doodling in the margins. You assumed that they were D&D monsters from the look of it, since none of them looked like actual animals except for the bats in the corner.
The only other thing you recognized was a dragon, drawn in a larger scale on the side of the page. It’s wings were expanded and it was flying off, and from this angle it looked like a weird...
It looked like some bird
Some sort of weird bird
Your head snapped back down to the card in front of you. This wasn’t a weird bird. It was a dragon. A dragon hatching from an egg. An egg that hatched a dragon. A dragon that was drawn with the same pose as the one in Eddie’s notebook. Eddie’s notebook had your dragon no wait, your card had his dragon-
Eddie Munson had sent you the cards.
Eddie had-
“Oh.” You said out loud. You were nearly fighting back hysterical laughter at this, and you pressed your hands against your face, with your shoulder shaking with repressed laughter.
Why the hell had Eddie sent you those cards? The two of you had barely spoken to each other!
You did the same damn thing, dipshit. You reminded yourself. In fact you had gone way harder than he had. But what did this MEAN?
The bell rang and everyone scrambled to get out of the classroom, and before you could say anything, Eddie was off and running out of the classroom at the speed of light.
What was that about?
Robin was right. If you were ever going to have a chance with him, you were going to suck it up and talk to him, even if it meant possibly embarrassing yourself. Plus, finding out why he sent you three candygrams was currently trumping any fear of rejection. Curiosity killed the cat, but at least he died satisfied. You’re pretty sure how that saying went at least.
You knew that Eddie had Hellfire today, it was Friday and he and all of his friends had been running around in their club shirts. With a deep breath you...realized you had no idea where the hell they actually met.
This whole thing could have been planned better, actually.
You started walking around the school blindly for any sign of the signature baseball tee that they all wore. If you found one of them, they were sure to lead you to Eddie. God, you felt like a stalker.
There. Long dark curls against a stark white shirt with black sleeves. Your heart leapt in your chest, and you had to make the choice now.
“E... Eddie! Wait up!” you called out, walking quickly towards him.
When he turned around to look at you, you felt the air disappear from your lungs. How was it possible for him to be so beautiful and why the fuck did no one in this school seem to notice?
Eddie pulled the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth, surprised to see you.
“Hey.” he said. “Uh... you sit next to me in class.”
He was either playing dumb, or you were about to make an ass of yourself. But, like Robin asked, since when do you care about dignity?
You reached into your bag and pulled out the candygrams that had been sent to you and holding them out.
To your relief he gave you a bashful smile. “Guess you caught me, huh?” he asked. “You solved my Valentine’s puzzle.”
“I have a pretty high intelligence when I apply myself.” you said, which only made him grin wide. “But I gotta say, Munson. I’m actually a little disappointed. I mean, sadistic and scary dungeon master of the Hellfire club, and this is the best puzzle you could come up with?”
He crossed his arms and took a step towards you. “Well, I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” he said, and your stomach erupted into butterflies. “Had to start somewhere.”
“I guess I had to be sneaky and pay attention to you to figure it out. You’re hard not to notice, you know.” you admitted, crossing your arms as well to mimic him.
“Being The Freak means I fail most stealth checks.” he shrugged.
“High charisma though.” you threw out there, hoping that line would land and to your delight it did.
“It’s the Munson Magic. I come by it naturally.” Eddie’s smile was so wide it was cheesy but shit, it was working on you.
“Not great intelligence though.” you smirked at him.
“Oh? And how do you figure that?” He looked a little offended now, and you saw his shoulder stiffen as if he was waiting for this to suddenly go south.
“Spell my name, Eddie.”
You could see the lightbulb go off in his mind and his eyes widened.
“You- wait, you were the one who kept sending me the cards?” Eddie looked nothing short of bewildered and ecstatic. You had a feeling that if things went well, you wouldn’t have to worry about ever knowing what he was thinking as he wore every emotion on his sleeve.
“Surprise?” you asked, playing with the strap of your backpack.
Eddie licked his lips, chasing the last of the flavor of the sucker he’d been eating. He looked at you, as if searching for something, and you cut in before he had the chance to find it.
“Do you want to hang out sometime?” you asked, a little louder than you meant to. “Like, just us.”
“Do you think you can handle a date with The Freak?” Eddie asked, standing a little straighter. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I promise the worst of them are true.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eddie, I’ve always wanted to join Hellfire.” you smirked. “I’m sure there are worse things for a first date than sacrificing someone to Satan, or summoning demons, or joining a cult.”
“I’m a gentleman, I would never ask a lady to summon demons on the first date. That’s at least a third date activity.” Eddie held his hand to his heart and raised a hand as if making an oath.
Oh yeah, you were going to marry him. You were already picturing proposing to him and taking him away from this town.
“Then how about dinner at Benny’s?” you suggested. “Burgers and shakes on me and you can tell me more about Hellfire and dragons and I can give you a spelling lesson.”
Eddie ran his ringed fingers through his hair and you giggled as the rings got snagged and he struggled to untangle them.
“It’s.. a date then.” he said, but it came out as more of a question, as if he was asking if this was really happening.
“A date.” You agreed, handing him your number, having come prepared.
As you began to walk away, he called out after you.
“Wait! You said you wanted to check out Hellfire, right?” Eddie said and you turned to look at him. “I’m... I’m actually running a one shot tonight. Kind of beginner friendly enough. I don’t often do this in the middle of the semester but one of our usuals dropped out because he had a date so... we have an open seat at the table. If you think you can handle it.”
Your smile widened as you walked over to him. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”
Eddie offered his arm to you, as if he were a gentleman which you took eagerly.
“So... how do you actually spell your name?”
---
Dear Reader, I hope you have the easiest name to spell because that would make this fic at least 3% funnier. Also, I'm proud I got this done before Valentine's day because I never even finished my Halloween or Christmas fic. Be proud of me.
Please reblog if you enjoyed it <3
Tag List: @gagasbee, @ihaventgotaclue-really @tastefullyferal @anonymouskiwi @hellfiredarling
Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary
Chapter Two — Our Song
Chapter Summary: JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.
The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJ’s skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.
He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. It’s something he’s trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, it’s foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.
“Looks good, man.”
John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.
“Thanks. What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t mean to sound rude, he really doesn’t, but it’s a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.
“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.
“You know what I mean.”
“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”
“I don’t stress-build.”
He does. In fact, it’s one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he’s developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. There’s a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.
He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.
“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”
John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.
“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”
“Yeah, I’m asking.”
“Well uh let me think. Maybe you’re stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. “
Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.
“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”
“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”
JJ doesn’t have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesn’t remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.
He didn’t slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.
Fortunately, they didn’t hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldn’t breathe. It just wouldn’t come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.
He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.
The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that don’t work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.
“I — look I don’t know why I can’t do it. It’s not like I believe we’ll get back together or anything like that. We haven’t spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. It’s not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just — “
“Just what?”
JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.
This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.
And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.
“If I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I don’t want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesn’t mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just can’t bring myself to sign it,” JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. “I know it’s fucking dumb.”
“Do you still love her?”
JJ Maybank doesn’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple that’s only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.
“JB, I don’t think it matters.”
“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”
“Dude I — “
“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”
JJ’s eyes wander across the room. To the drywall that’s not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.
Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
Maybe John B. has a point.
“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”
The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.
In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. It’s quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.
Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.
The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. “You can’t think right if you’re cold. Your brain won’t work. Trust me, it’s science.” Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?
“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.
Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.
As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicago’s “You're the Inspiration” starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.
“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.
So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.
And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.
She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.
He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.
“Hey, do I know you?”
She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.
A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”
She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.
“Pretty sure.”
“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”
And when he smiles at her then it’s no teeth or danger it’s that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJ’s does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her.
“That’ll be 86 cents please.”
She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.
Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.
He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJ’s body. She remembers the fear in JJ’s voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldn’t be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.
Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife.
Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.
She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.
It’s morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, there’s not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things aren’t morally right but maybe that doesn’t mean they’re all wrong.
“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”
John B. isn’t a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesn’t even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. He’s the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.
The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. It’s sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.
Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.
Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.
“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.
“Yo, I don’t know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.” Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell there’s no malicious intent in any of his words. It’s pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.
“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”
“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”
“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”
His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like they’re but a blink of an eye.
JJ’s arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. It’s the same brand they’ve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. It’s nice to know fundamental things haven’t changed.
The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.
“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.
Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.
“Richard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didn’t have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.”
“When we sneaked into the country club to shit?” JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.
“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”
“Typical,” Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.
“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”
“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.
“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”
“He said butt stuff.”
“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.
“Sorry.”
“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”
Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic “Sounds good to me” and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.
“Well, let's drink to that!”
“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.
“To good friends.”
“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.
“To spending time with the people you love most.”
As those words fall from Sarah’s lips, Stevie can’t help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesn’t mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.
“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”
JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.
Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.
“To old memories. And to making new ones.”
Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping “Pogues for life” before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. There have been so many times she’s gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldn’t even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJ’s eyes.
“Cheers, sunshine.”
“Cheers, JJ”
What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.
The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.
Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.
“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.
“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”
“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”
His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and he’s got a red glow dusting his face. She’s not sure if it’s sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.
“I ran into your dad today.”
There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.
“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”
“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”
“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”
“Mmmh. Well, I was — god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just — freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.”
“What did you doooo?”
He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.
“ I slashed his tire.”
“You did not.”
“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”
“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”
“I learned from the best.”
The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.
“Hey, Stevie?”
The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. It’s funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly it’s but a dim light, barely a spark. There’s a metaphor there for their relationships, she’s a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she can’t quite seem to uncover it.
“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”
Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesn’t show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does it’s special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”
He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.
“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”
“Huh? How’s that?”
“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”
JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.
“That’s not our wedding song.”
“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”
He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJ’s phone.
“Our first dance,” JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. “wasn’t even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldn’t bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.”
He’s right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.
“And this song was playing.”
When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.
“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”
Stevie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.
She doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like she’s done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasn’t even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.
A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.
“You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold”
Suddenly she’s back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.
“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “
“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”
“I liked being called your husband.” He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. There’s not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.
“Yeah?”
They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.
“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”
Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevie’s heart.
“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”
“You sent them before?”
“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”
He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.
“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”
“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”
The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.
Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesn’t have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?
“JJ?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”
"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”
She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.
“Only if you promise me something though.”
Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.
“You’ll save a dance for me.”
All her dances are his. Forever. It’s something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesn’t mean that promise will be broken.
The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when it’s just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”
“I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
Ooh
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold.”
I‘m afraid you need to face the truth. Without a clique of popular blogs promoting you, your writing is doomed not to be noticed. It‘s the exact same for me. I see fics getting hundreds, sometimes thousands of notes though the writing or storytelling is often only subpar (not always tho, many great writers out there too) just because the muns are super active on the dash all the time and thus, have a huge following. (Or don’t reblog other writers’ stuff out of principle bc they don’t wanna share the spotlight.) Sucking it up to them might work, but it’s just so exhausting to fake, isn’t it? I wish I could tell you better news my friend. I’m sorry. It’s always the same for us small writing blogs. Hugs.
I've had this in my inbox for a while and I kept forgetting about answering. Genuinely though you are so right. It feels like if you're not consistently putting out stuff you don't even have to start because people will not give you the time of day. But it's hard when you're working a full time job.
Then when I do have the time to sit down and write quite honestly all the passion and love I have for it evaporates when I think about the fact that more likely than not it will not get more than 10 notes (2 of which are from me timezone reblogging and one is @lovelylittlebarnes pitty reblogging to help me out cause shes my ride or die).
It's so hard getting into a fandom writing space now and It didnt used to be. Everyone used to be so welcoming and now it's all so competitive and quick. If you're not hitting that one fic at the right time earning a base following and putting you on the radar then you can pretty much forget about it.
And the whole "you write for yourself" stuff is absolute bullshit too. Stories are meant to be shared and interacted with. If I did it for myself only, I wouldnt need to be on tumblr. Stories are a social thing.
I also feel like people just dont browse the tags anymore. They find one or two big blogs to follow and then rely on those to churn out content or reccomend them (their friends blogs) stories.
You are so right though, sucking up to big blogs sounds exhausting and quite frankly I dont have the time either. It's hard enough holding up my actual friendships 😅
I'm just grieving how it used to be a community instead of a popularity contest.
Hey if you wanna come of anon and talk to me feel free to do so, I'd love to read your works and support you in any way possible. ❤
‘The truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back’
– Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)
Stevie hasn’t been back to the Outer Banks in 4 years. Ever since the atomic meltdown happened between her and JJ. The one they don’t talk about. The one that still has them hurting 4 years later.
When she finds herself back on the island to help her mother with the wedding preparations, she doesn’t expect for an ocean of memories, unspoken words, suppressed feelings and wrong decisions to come crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJ’s future?
‘The truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back’
– Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)
Stevie hasn’t been back to the Outer Banks in 4 years. Ever since the atomic meltdown happened between her and JJ. The one they don’t talk about. The one that still has them hurting 4 years later.
When she finds herself back on the island to help her mother with the wedding preparations, she doesn’t expect for an ocean of memories, unspoken words, suppressed feelings and wrong decisions to come crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJ’s future?
Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary
Chapter Two — Our Song
Chapter Summary: JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.
The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJ’s skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.
He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. It’s something he’s trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, it’s foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.
“Looks good, man.”
John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.
“Thanks. What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t mean to sound rude, he really doesn’t, but it’s a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.
“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.
“You know what I mean.”
“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”
“I don’t stress-build.”
He does. In fact, it’s one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he’s developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. There’s a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.
He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.
“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”
John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.
“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”
“Yeah, I’m asking.”
“Well uh let me think. Maybe you’re stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. “
Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.
“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”
“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”
JJ doesn’t have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesn’t remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.
He didn’t slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.
Fortunately, they didn’t hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldn’t breathe. It just wouldn’t come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.
He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.
The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that don’t work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.
“I — look I don’t know why I can’t do it. It’s not like I believe we’ll get back together or anything like that. We haven’t spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. It’s not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just — “
“Just what?”
JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.
This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.
And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.
“If I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I don’t want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesn’t mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just can’t bring myself to sign it,” JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. “I know it’s fucking dumb.”
“Do you still love her?”
JJ Maybank doesn’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple that’s only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.
“JB, I don’t think it matters.”
“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”
“Dude I — “
“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”
JJ’s eyes wander across the room. To the drywall that’s not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.
Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
Maybe John B. has a point.
“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”
The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.
In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. It’s quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.
Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.
The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. “You can’t think right if you’re cold. Your brain won’t work. Trust me, it’s science.” Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?
“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.
Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.
As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicago’s “You're the Inspiration” starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.
“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.
So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.
And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.
She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.
He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.
“Hey, do I know you?”
She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.
A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”
She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.
“Pretty sure.”
“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”
And when he smiles at her then it’s no teeth or danger it’s that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJ’s does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her.
“That’ll be 86 cents please.”
She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.
Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.
He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJ’s body. She remembers the fear in JJ’s voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldn’t be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.
Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife.
Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.
She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.
It’s morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, there’s not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things aren’t morally right but maybe that doesn’t mean they’re all wrong.
“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”
John B. isn’t a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesn’t even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. He’s the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.
The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. It’s sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.
Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.
Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.
“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.
“Yo, I don’t know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.” Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell there’s no malicious intent in any of his words. It’s pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.
“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”
“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”
“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”
His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like they’re but a blink of an eye.
JJ’s arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. It’s the same brand they’ve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. It’s nice to know fundamental things haven’t changed.
The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.
“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.
Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.
“Richard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didn’t have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.”
“When we sneaked into the country club to shit?” JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.
“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”
“Typical,” Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.
“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”
“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.
“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”
“He said butt stuff.”
“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.
“Sorry.”
“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”
Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic “Sounds good to me” and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.
“Well, let's drink to that!”
“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.
“To good friends.”
“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.
“To spending time with the people you love most.”
As those words fall from Sarah’s lips, Stevie can’t help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesn’t mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.
“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”
JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.
Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.
“To old memories. And to making new ones.”
Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping “Pogues for life” before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. There have been so many times she’s gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldn’t even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJ’s eyes.
“Cheers, sunshine.”
“Cheers, JJ”
What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.
The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.
Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.
“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.
“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”
“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”
His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and he’s got a red glow dusting his face. She’s not sure if it’s sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.
“I ran into your dad today.”
There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.
“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”
“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”
“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”
“Mmmh. Well, I was — god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just — freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.”
“What did you doooo?”
He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.
“ I slashed his tire.”
“You did not.”
“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”
“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”
“I learned from the best.”
The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.
“Hey, Stevie?”
The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. It’s funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly it’s but a dim light, barely a spark. There’s a metaphor there for their relationships, she’s a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she can’t quite seem to uncover it.
“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”
Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesn’t show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does it’s special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”
He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.
“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”
“Huh? How’s that?”
“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”
JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.
“That’s not our wedding song.”
“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”
He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJ’s phone.
“Our first dance,” JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. “wasn’t even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldn’t bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.”
He’s right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.
“And this song was playing.”
When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.
“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”
Stevie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.
She doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like she’s done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasn’t even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.
A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.
“You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold”
Suddenly she’s back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.
“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “
“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”
“I liked being called your husband.” He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. There’s not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.
“Yeah?”
They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.
“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”
Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevie’s heart.
“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”
“You sent them before?”
“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”
He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.
“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”
“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”
The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.
Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesn’t have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?
“JJ?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”
"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”
She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.
“Only if you promise me something though.”
Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.
“You’ll save a dance for me.”
All her dances are his. Forever. It’s something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesn’t mean that promise will be broken.
The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when it’s just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”
“I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
Ooh
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold.”
‘The truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back’
– Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)
Stevie hasn’t been back to the Outer Banks in 4 years. Ever since the atomic meltdown happened between her and JJ. The one they don’t talk about. The one that still has them hurting 4 years later.
When she finds herself back on the island to help her mother with the wedding preparations, she doesn’t expect for an ocean of memories, unspoken words, suppressed feelings and wrong decisions to come crashing down on her like a tidal wave.
What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJ’s future?
Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary
Chapter Two — Our Song
Chapter Summary: JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.
The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJ’s skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.
He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. It’s something he’s trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, it’s foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.
“Looks good, man.”
John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.
“Thanks. What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t mean to sound rude, he really doesn’t, but it’s a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.
“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.
“You know what I mean.”
“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”
“I don’t stress-build.”
He does. In fact, it’s one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he’s developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. There’s a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.
He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.
“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”
John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.
“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”
“Yeah, I’m asking.”
“Well uh let me think. Maybe you’re stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. “
Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.
“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”
“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”
JJ doesn’t have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesn’t remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.
He didn’t slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.
Fortunately, they didn’t hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldn’t breathe. It just wouldn’t come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.
He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.
The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that don’t work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.
“I — look I don’t know why I can’t do it. It’s not like I believe we’ll get back together or anything like that. We haven’t spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. It’s not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just — “
“Just what?”
JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.
This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.
And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.
“If I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I don’t want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesn’t mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just can’t bring myself to sign it,” JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. “I know it’s fucking dumb.”
“Do you still love her?”
JJ Maybank doesn’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple that’s only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.
“JB, I don’t think it matters.”
“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”
“Dude I — “
“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”
JJ’s eyes wander across the room. To the drywall that’s not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.
Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
Maybe John B. has a point.
“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”
The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.
In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. It’s quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.
Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.
The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. “You can’t think right if you’re cold. Your brain won’t work. Trust me, it’s science.” Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?
“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.
Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.
As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicago’s “You're the Inspiration” starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.
“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.
So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.
And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.
She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.
He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.
“Hey, do I know you?”
She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.
A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”
She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.
“Pretty sure.”
“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”
And when he smiles at her then it’s no teeth or danger it’s that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJ’s does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her.
“That’ll be 86 cents please.”
She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.
Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.
He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJ’s body. She remembers the fear in JJ’s voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldn’t be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.
Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife.
Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.
She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.
It’s morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, there’s not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things aren’t morally right but maybe that doesn’t mean they’re all wrong.
“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”
John B. isn’t a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesn’t even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. He’s the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.
The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. It’s sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.
Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.
Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.
“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.
“Yo, I don’t know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.” Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell there’s no malicious intent in any of his words. It’s pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.
“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”
“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”
“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”
His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like they’re but a blink of an eye.
JJ’s arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. It’s the same brand they’ve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. It’s nice to know fundamental things haven’t changed.
The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.
“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.
Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.
“Richard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didn’t have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.”
“When we sneaked into the country club to shit?” JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.
“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”
“Typical,” Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.
“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”
“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.
“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”
“He said butt stuff.”
“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.
“Sorry.”
“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”
Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic “Sounds good to me” and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.
“Well, let's drink to that!”
“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.
“To good friends.”
“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.
“To spending time with the people you love most.”
As those words fall from Sarah’s lips, Stevie can’t help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesn’t mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.
“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”
JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.
Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.
“To old memories. And to making new ones.”
Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping “Pogues for life” before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. There have been so many times she’s gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldn’t even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJ’s eyes.
“Cheers, sunshine.”
“Cheers, JJ”
What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.
The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.
Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.
“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.
“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”
“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”
His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and he’s got a red glow dusting his face. She’s not sure if it’s sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.
“I ran into your dad today.”
There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.
“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”
“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”
“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”
“Mmmh. Well, I was — god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just — freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.”
“What did you doooo?”
He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.
“ I slashed his tire.”
“You did not.”
“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”
“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”
“I learned from the best.”
The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.
“Hey, Stevie?”
The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. It’s funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly it’s but a dim light, barely a spark. There’s a metaphor there for their relationships, she’s a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she can’t quite seem to uncover it.
“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”
Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesn’t show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does it’s special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”
He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.
“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”
“Huh? How’s that?”
“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”
JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.
“That’s not our wedding song.”
“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”
He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJ’s phone.
“Our first dance,” JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. “wasn’t even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldn’t bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.”
He’s right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.
“And this song was playing.”
When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.
“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”
Stevie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.
She doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like she’s done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasn’t even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.
A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.
“You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Among the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold”
Suddenly she’s back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.
“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “
“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”
“I liked being called your husband.” He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. There’s not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.
“Yeah?”
They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.
“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”
Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevie’s heart.
“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”
“You sent them before?”
“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”
He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.
“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”
“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”
The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.
Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesn’t have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?
“JJ?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”
"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”
She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.
“Only if you promise me something though.”
Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.
“You’ll save a dance for me.”
All her dances are his. Forever. It’s something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesn’t mean that promise will be broken.
The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when it’s just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”
“I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
Ooh
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
As you lie in fields of gold.”
maybe the night would take me home II Frankie Morales
Part 1 : "Divorce And The American South" & "The Thunderbird Inn"
a Frankie Morales Story inspired by the album "We Don't Have Each Other" by Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties.
A/N : This imagine series will deal with sensitive topics please see my tags for TW. Please proceed with caution. Also there’s mention of smoking and alcohol. English is not my native language, go easy on me please.
Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
He can just about make out the glow coming from the street light in front of his window. There used to be more color permeating the thin curtains and throwing kaleidoscope patterns into his motel room but people have started to take down their Christmas lights leaving him with just the ugly yellow of the street lamp.
The motel room is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks it's fitting because that's exactly how he feels and really, he doesn’t mind it all that much.
The clerk at the front desk, he wants to say his name is Steve, is nice, and always pours him a cup of coffee whenever he finds Frankie sitting in the tiny lobby area of the Motel where the vending machines are. The coffee isn’t good but it’s warm and that’s enough these days.
“Long night?” he asks and every time Frankie nods and says “Sure has been.” Steve then grants him one of those smiles that lets you know the person is looking straight through your lie but they’re way too nice to call you out on your bullshit.
“Well, tomorrow’s a new day. Hope that one is better,” he replies, every time.
Frankie nods again knowing full well it won’t be.
He’s given Frankie a break on the rent this week.
“Look don’t you worry about it. Just make sure you pay me back with next week’s rent. I know you’re good for it.”
“I probably am.”
Steve was laughing then. He probably won’t laugh when he hears that Frankie’s coming up short again this week.
Back in his tiny motel room, his clammy hands grab the room's phone tightly. It will probably cost him a fortune to use it — again — though after throwing it against a solid brick wall, his cell phone is but a piece of junk left somewhere by the side of the truck stop.
He doesn't really need it anyway. Too many pictures and memories and shit he doesn't want to think about because he can’t get it back.
He takes another sip from the bottle. He thinks it's whiskey but he might be wrong. It all tastes the same these days.
Calling her won’t do any good and he knows but he can't help himself. It's like an itch that he just has to scratch. It's like a desperate need that he has to satisfy. It's like an addiction he has to feed.
It's 2 in the morning and she's most likely asleep and Frankie hates himself for waking her up. She's lost enough sleep as it is. But his mind is so loud and he needs to get all of these things off his chest. All the things he didn't say when he should have, when it counted, when it meant something, when she needed him to.
It's not the first time he's called either. He wonders if she'll ever pick up.
There's a perfectly clear picture burned into his mind of the first time he'd called her after he left. He had been stranded at some run-down truck stop that could've been the perfect location for the first kill in a horror movie. There was a bottle of water in his hand and the phone receiver in the other.
He can't recall how long he'd spent inside the phone booth reading her number out loud and trying to work up the courage to call her but he knows it's been quite a while. And when he did he was met with the dial tone. With every beep his heart sunk a little further, felt a little heavier.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Her voice sounded so cheery and he remembers the tears threatening to leave his eyes at the sound of it. She hadn't sounded this cheery in a long long time and his heart broke knowing that was partially his fault.
" Hey Y/N, It's me .... Frankie. If you’re listening can you please pick up the phone? I know you're home. "
He could still recall her daily schedule better than anything, after all, they had been living together for years.
" I know where I went wrong. I really do. I uh— I'm at a truck stop. Not sure where I'm going yet but I'll call you. Please talk to me, baby. I love you. "
He remembers his heart breaking and breaking more and shattering and it hasn't been fixed yet. There's that little cynical corner of his brain that tells him it never will be fixed. All good things come to an end sooner or later and this is THE good thing in his life. She is the best thing. She was the chance he never thought he’d get. A shot at redemption.
That other day he found a bar just outside the township line. He goes most every night now whenever he can feel a bad night coming. All nights are bad nights now. The floors are sticky and the bar is dusty but the drinks are cheap and the barkeeper doesn’t bother to get him tangled up in any kind of conversation. All Frankie gets is a look of pity as he pours him another drink. Fuck, he didn’t know that he looks that pathetic.
The alcohol doesn’t numb his heart the way it used to. Back when he woke up in a cold sweat with visions of a life he tried so hard to leave behind he could always count on the inside of a bottle to make the demons disappear for a while. Then when that stopped working, the drugs managed to do it.
And then when he hit rock bottom, for some inexplicable reason, life chose to send him her and she made every other coping mechanism pale in comparison. Her love did not make the demons go away, or the fear, or the guilt. Her love made him realize that he could live a good life regardless. That even the worst parts of him are worthy of love.
He thinks she might’ve been wrong.
There's a half-empty pack of cigarettes laying on the nightstand. He hasn't touched them for a while. Got them at that same truck stop where he smashed his phone but only smoked half a pack before he remembered that promise he made her a long time ago, back when she had first told him, back when they were happy.
And he failed. Because for a while he’d felt like the reason he stopped smoking in the first place had vanished. If there was no one to promise something to, was there even a promise to begin with?
The cigarettes bring back memories of the second time he'd called her. It was right after he arrived here, at this very same motel. With the very same peeling wallpaper and the chipped door and the ceiling fan that is missing one blade and the carpet with the burn marks. The same motel he is basically succumbing in right now.
He was less nervous the second time he'd called her, less nervous but more fucked up. Half drunk on cheap whiskey and half drunk on the infinite sadness he's felt ever since their life went to shit.
This time he didn't make himself believe she'd pick up. He knew she wouldn't and maybe that was a good thing. Frankie didn't want her to know he was shitfaced, that he tried to numb the pain with past vices he promised to leave behind.
" Hey Y/N "
As the words rolled off his lips there was no doubt in his mind that she'd still know. He sounded drunk. He hated it.
" Just wanted to tell you that uh — I uh I've been trying to quit. I went from a pack and a half a day to this e-cigarette bullshit. "
It had been a stupid idea, thinking this e-cigarette shit would do anything for him but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try for her.
" It stops the coughing fits. I know that you always hated my smoking habit. I hope you can be a little proud of me. I know I don't deserve it. I love you, bye."
There was a time, Frankie thinks and scoffs, when he thought love was enough. What a fool he'd been. Now he knows that's all proper bullshit.
It isn't like he doesn't love her, he loves her entirely too much for his own good.
It's that too much love can destroy you. It eats you up from the inside out.
He can't keep himself from loving her though, and from holding onto that little spark of hope that she might still love him back. After all they've been through, all they had to endure, the thought that she might one day forgive him and love him again was the only thing still keeping him afloat. Without her, he'd sink. And maybe, he thinks, maybe love is enough. It's enough to make him go on.
There's a fly buzzing around the room, sitting down on Frankie’s arm from time to time. He doesn't have the energy to swat her away.
A little voice in his mind wonders what would happen if he just kept laying here. Maybe if he only lays here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat him alive. Maybe the night will swallow him and take him home. Maybe she’ll come looking for him.
His mind wanders off to places he tried hard to forget. To the tears and the pain and the way she didn't yell at him. Not once.
She didn't scream or yell or throw stuff at him. She just stared and let it all wash over her as if she was invincible.
He knew she wasn't. Knows she isn’t now. She wasn't invincible but she was too deeply wounded to care anymore and that was the most terrifying part of it all.
He wanted her to yell so he knew she still cared.
He thinks of the dream and how he saw himself, lifeless, alone. How everyone was looking at him as they lowered his casket into the ground. How his friends were there, his brother, his family, and even the neighbors. Not her though. She wasn't there.
His fingers are dialing the familiar numbers before he can even fully register what's happening.
There's the dial tone that he's grown to know so well lately. Three more and he gets to hear her voice.
Two.
One.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Lies. She won’t call back. But that's okay, he understands why she doesn’t. Why she can’t.
" Y/N It's me again. Frankie. "
He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.
" Of course, it's me, who else would call you at this time? I'm sorry. "
He's been saying sorry an awful lot lately. Especially considering the fact that he hasn't been very generous with that word when it really mattered.
" I had a dream. About you. Well not exactly about you. Actually, you weren't in it and that's kind of the problem. "
Remembering the dream sends a cold shiver down his back.
" I uh — I was on a plane. I flew back north, no idea where I wanted to go. All I know is that I didn't make it there. Plane went down like it was made of paper. They were all at the funeral. My funeral. Everyone. Not you though. You — You weren't there Y/N. That scares me. I hope you'd come to the funeral. I'd want you there. "
He knows it's time. She's not gonna pick up anytime soon so this might be his only chance of ever getting to admit his faults of ever talking about the actual problem, the root of all the pain and heartbreak. It's not face-to-face but it's the next best thing. It's his only shot.
" Y/N, I know I fucked up. I do know. It's just after it happened. After — "
Saying it out loud will make it real. It will break his heart once again. He's an adult though and has been running from his issues long enough. This stupid urge to flee made this all so much worse.
Take a breath.
And face the reality.
" After it happened. When we lost the baby I just, I shut off. I shut you out and I am so sorry. I just, I needed to be strong for you but I wasn't. All I did was push you away. I never listened. I wasn't there. I should've been there for you to help you get through this but I was too busy keeping myself from bursting at the seams. Fuck, I was so selfish. If I could change the way I treated you, treated the situation, trust me I would. I would. I miss her so much Y/N and I never even got to meet her and I didn't want to put this all-consuming sadness on you so I pulled away. I didn't want to make you hurt even more than you already were but that's exactly what I did and I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you can though. I love you so much. "
There's a hole in his chest the size of a newborn.
It's the size of a little baby girl he never got to meet. A little baby girl he always imagined would have his eyes and her mother's breathtaking smile. A little baby girl he'd raise to be brave and generous and smart and wonderful.
There is a hole in his chest the size of a little baby girl and he knows it will never fully heal.
He should've been there for her, his wife, the mother of his child. He had tried so hard, so hard to hide his sadness and pain from her instead of embracing it with her by his side. He should've been there with her so they could hold each other above the waters. But he let her drown by herself and he would never fully forgive himself for that.
" I love you Y/N and I'm coming home soon I promise. That's if you still want to see me. I won't let you go through the darkness alone anymore though. I love you. "
He hangs up the phone and without a warning, the tears roll down his cheeks. They're the silent kind, the painful kind. But for once, since it all happened they're not entirely from sadness, a small part of him is feeling a little lighter now that he's faced reality. A small part of him cries tears of relief. A small part of him still believes that maybe things with his wife can work out again if only he can show her how much he cares and loves her. That he can hold her hand even through the darkest of times.
A small part of him knows that it can't get worse than this.
A small part of him, a small part knows she loves him back. Even with that gray cloud hanging over him reminding him of the paperwork that might be waiting for him at home.
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks that things can only get better from here on out.
It’s 2am when he sneaks out of his room and past the lobby. Steve will forgive him, he’s sure of it. For the two weeks' rent and for not saying goodbye.
The world is fast asleep as his car takes him down the empty streets towards the bar he found some resemblance of comfort in for the last few weeks.
One last drink, he tells himself. But this one won’t be for the bad days ahead. This one will mark a page turned, a step taken.
“Whiskey?” the barkeeper inquires, already pulling the bottle from the shelf.
“Gimme a beer instead. Whatever bottles you have in the fridge is fine.”
No more words are exchanged as the barkeeper hands Frankie the cold bottle.
This one’s for the daughter he’ll never meet, he thinks, and the wife who shouldn’t love him no more but god does he hope and pray she still does. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.
He’s got half a tank of gas left and as soon as the bottle is empty he’ll make his way home.
Not the motel.
Home. Their apartment.
And he’ll face whatever is waiting there for him.
That’s the thing about losing everything — things can only get better from here on out.
maybe the night would take me home II Frankie Morales
Part 1 : "Divorce And The American South" & "The Thunderbird Inn"
a Frankie Morales Story inspired by the album "We Don't Have Each Other" by Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties.
A/N : This imagine series will deal with sensitive topics please see my tags for TW. Please proceed with caution. Also there’s mention of smoking and alcohol. English is not my native language, go easy on me please.
Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
He can just about make out the glow coming from the street light in front of his window. There used to be more color permeating the thin curtains and throwing kaleidoscope patterns into his motel room but people have started to take down their Christmas lights leaving him with just the ugly yellow of the street lamp.
The motel room is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks it's fitting because that's exactly how he feels and really, he doesn’t mind it all that much.
The clerk at the front desk, he wants to say his name is Steve, is nice, and always pours him a cup of coffee whenever he finds Frankie sitting in the tiny lobby area of the Motel where the vending machines are. The coffee isn’t good but it’s warm and that’s enough these days.
“Long night?” he asks and every time Frankie nods and says “Sure has been.” Steve then grants him one of those smiles that lets you know the person is looking straight through your lie but they’re way too nice to call you out on your bullshit.
“Well, tomorrow’s a new day. Hope that one is better,” he replies, every time.
Frankie nods again knowing full well it won’t be.
He’s given Frankie a break on the rent this week.
“Look don’t you worry about it. Just make sure you pay me back with next week’s rent. I know you’re good for it.”
“I probably am.”
Steve was laughing then. He probably won’t laugh when he hears that Frankie’s coming up short again this week.
Back in his tiny motel room, his clammy hands grab the room's phone tightly. It will probably cost him a fortune to use it — again — though after throwing it against a solid brick wall, his cell phone is but a piece of junk left somewhere by the side of the truck stop.
He doesn't really need it anyway. Too many pictures and memories and shit he doesn't want to think about because he can’t get it back.
He takes another sip from the bottle. He thinks it's whiskey but he might be wrong. It all tastes the same these days.
Calling her won’t do any good and he knows but he can't help himself. It's like an itch that he just has to scratch. It's like a desperate need that he has to satisfy. It's like an addiction he has to feed.
It's 2 in the morning and she's most likely asleep and Frankie hates himself for waking her up. She's lost enough sleep as it is. But his mind is so loud and he needs to get all of these things off his chest. All the things he didn't say when he should have, when it counted, when it meant something, when she needed him to.
It's not the first time he's called either. He wonders if she'll ever pick up.
There's a perfectly clear picture burned into his mind of the first time he'd called her after he left. He had been stranded at some run-down truck stop that could've been the perfect location for the first kill in a horror movie. There was a bottle of water in his hand and the phone receiver in the other.
He can't recall how long he'd spent inside the phone booth reading her number out loud and trying to work up the courage to call her but he knows it's been quite a while. And when he did he was met with the dial tone. With every beep his heart sunk a little further, felt a little heavier.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Her voice sounded so cheery and he remembers the tears threatening to leave his eyes at the sound of it. She hadn't sounded this cheery in a long long time and his heart broke knowing that was partially his fault.
" Hey Y/N, It's me .... Frankie. If you’re listening can you please pick up the phone? I know you're home. "
He could still recall her daily schedule better than anything, after all, they had been living together for years.
" I know where I went wrong. I really do. I uh— I'm at a truck stop. Not sure where I'm going yet but I'll call you. Please talk to me, baby. I love you. "
He remembers his heart breaking and breaking more and shattering and it hasn't been fixed yet. There's that little cynical corner of his brain that tells him it never will be fixed. All good things come to an end sooner or later and this is THE good thing in his life. She is the best thing. She was the chance he never thought he’d get. A shot at redemption.
That other day he found a bar just outside the township line. He goes most every night now whenever he can feel a bad night coming. All nights are bad nights now. The floors are sticky and the bar is dusty but the drinks are cheap and the barkeeper doesn’t bother to get him tangled up in any kind of conversation. All Frankie gets is a look of pity as he pours him another drink. Fuck, he didn’t know that he looks that pathetic.
The alcohol doesn’t numb his heart the way it used to. Back when he woke up in a cold sweat with visions of a life he tried so hard to leave behind he could always count on the inside of a bottle to make the demons disappear for a while. Then when that stopped working, the drugs managed to do it.
And then when he hit rock bottom, for some inexplicable reason, life chose to send him her and she made every other coping mechanism pale in comparison. Her love did not make the demons go away, or the fear, or the guilt. Her love made him realize that he could live a good life regardless. That even the worst parts of him are worthy of love.
He thinks she might’ve been wrong.
There's a half-empty pack of cigarettes laying on the nightstand. He hasn't touched them for a while. Got them at that same truck stop where he smashed his phone but only smoked half a pack before he remembered that promise he made her a long time ago, back when she had first told him, back when they were happy.
And he failed. Because for a while he’d felt like the reason he stopped smoking in the first place had vanished. If there was no one to promise something to, was there even a promise to begin with?
The cigarettes bring back memories of the second time he'd called her. It was right after he arrived here, at this very same motel. With the very same peeling wallpaper and the chipped door and the ceiling fan that is missing one blade and the carpet with the burn marks. The same motel he is basically succumbing in right now.
He was less nervous the second time he'd called her, less nervous but more fucked up. Half drunk on cheap whiskey and half drunk on the infinite sadness he's felt ever since their life went to shit.
This time he didn't make himself believe she'd pick up. He knew she wouldn't and maybe that was a good thing. Frankie didn't want her to know he was shitfaced, that he tried to numb the pain with past vices he promised to leave behind.
" Hey Y/N "
As the words rolled off his lips there was no doubt in his mind that she'd still know. He sounded drunk. He hated it.
" Just wanted to tell you that uh — I uh I've been trying to quit. I went from a pack and a half a day to this e-cigarette bullshit. "
It had been a stupid idea, thinking this e-cigarette shit would do anything for him but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try for her.
" It stops the coughing fits. I know that you always hated my smoking habit. I hope you can be a little proud of me. I know I don't deserve it. I love you, bye."
There was a time, Frankie thinks and scoffs, when he thought love was enough. What a fool he'd been. Now he knows that's all proper bullshit.
It isn't like he doesn't love her, he loves her entirely too much for his own good.
It's that too much love can destroy you. It eats you up from the inside out.
He can't keep himself from loving her though, and from holding onto that little spark of hope that she might still love him back. After all they've been through, all they had to endure, the thought that she might one day forgive him and love him again was the only thing still keeping him afloat. Without her, he'd sink. And maybe, he thinks, maybe love is enough. It's enough to make him go on.
There's a fly buzzing around the room, sitting down on Frankie’s arm from time to time. He doesn't have the energy to swat her away.
A little voice in his mind wonders what would happen if he just kept laying here. Maybe if he only lays here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat him alive. Maybe the night will swallow him and take him home. Maybe she’ll come looking for him.
His mind wanders off to places he tried hard to forget. To the tears and the pain and the way she didn't yell at him. Not once.
She didn't scream or yell or throw stuff at him. She just stared and let it all wash over her as if she was invincible.
He knew she wasn't. Knows she isn’t now. She wasn't invincible but she was too deeply wounded to care anymore and that was the most terrifying part of it all.
He wanted her to yell so he knew she still cared.
He thinks of the dream and how he saw himself, lifeless, alone. How everyone was looking at him as they lowered his casket into the ground. How his friends were there, his brother, his family, and even the neighbors. Not her though. She wasn't there.
His fingers are dialing the familiar numbers before he can even fully register what's happening.
There's the dial tone that he's grown to know so well lately. Three more and he gets to hear her voice.
Two.
One.
" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "
Lies. She won’t call back. But that's okay, he understands why she doesn’t. Why she can’t.
" Y/N It's me again. Frankie. "
He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.
" Of course, it's me, who else would call you at this time? I'm sorry. "
He's been saying sorry an awful lot lately. Especially considering the fact that he hasn't been very generous with that word when it really mattered.
" I had a dream. About you. Well not exactly about you. Actually, you weren't in it and that's kind of the problem. "
Remembering the dream sends a cold shiver down his back.
" I uh — I was on a plane. I flew back north, no idea where I wanted to go. All I know is that I didn't make it there. Plane went down like it was made of paper. They were all at the funeral. My funeral. Everyone. Not you though. You — You weren't there Y/N. That scares me. I hope you'd come to the funeral. I'd want you there. "
He knows it's time. She's not gonna pick up anytime soon so this might be his only chance of ever getting to admit his faults of ever talking about the actual problem, the root of all the pain and heartbreak. It's not face-to-face but it's the next best thing. It's his only shot.
" Y/N, I know I fucked up. I do know. It's just after it happened. After — "
Saying it out loud will make it real. It will break his heart once again. He's an adult though and has been running from his issues long enough. This stupid urge to flee made this all so much worse.
Take a breath.
And face the reality.
" After it happened. When we lost the baby I just, I shut off. I shut you out and I am so sorry. I just, I needed to be strong for you but I wasn't. All I did was push you away. I never listened. I wasn't there. I should've been there for you to help you get through this but I was too busy keeping myself from bursting at the seams. Fuck, I was so selfish. If I could change the way I treated you, treated the situation, trust me I would. I would. I miss her so much Y/N and I never even got to meet her and I didn't want to put this all-consuming sadness on you so I pulled away. I didn't want to make you hurt even more than you already were but that's exactly what I did and I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you can though. I love you so much. "
There's a hole in his chest the size of a newborn.
It's the size of a little baby girl he never got to meet. A little baby girl he always imagined would have his eyes and her mother's breathtaking smile. A little baby girl he'd raise to be brave and generous and smart and wonderful.
There is a hole in his chest the size of a little baby girl and he knows it will never fully heal.
He should've been there for her, his wife, the mother of his child. He had tried so hard, so hard to hide his sadness and pain from her instead of embracing it with her by his side. He should've been there with her so they could hold each other above the waters. But he let her drown by herself and he would never fully forgive himself for that.
" I love you Y/N and I'm coming home soon I promise. That's if you still want to see me. I won't let you go through the darkness alone anymore though. I love you. "
He hangs up the phone and without a warning, the tears roll down his cheeks. They're the silent kind, the painful kind. But for once, since it all happened they're not entirely from sadness, a small part of him is feeling a little lighter now that he's faced reality. A small part of him cries tears of relief. A small part of him still believes that maybe things with his wife can work out again if only he can show her how much he cares and loves her. That he can hold her hand even through the darkest of times.
A small part of him knows that it can't get worse than this.
A small part of him, a small part knows she loves him back. Even with that gray cloud hanging over him reminding him of the paperwork that might be waiting for him at home.
There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.
is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks that things can only get better from here on out.
It’s 2am when he sneaks out of his room and past the lobby. Steve will forgive him, he’s sure of it. For the two weeks' rent and for not saying goodbye.
The world is fast asleep as his car takes him down the empty streets towards the bar he found some resemblance of comfort in for the last few weeks.
One last drink, he tells himself. But this one won’t be for the bad days ahead. This one will mark a page turned, a step taken.
“Whiskey?” the barkeeper inquires, already pulling the bottle from the shelf.
“Gimme a beer instead. Whatever bottles you have in the fridge is fine.”
No more words are exchanged as the barkeeper hands Frankie the cold bottle.
This one’s for the daughter he’ll never meet, he thinks, and the wife who shouldn’t love him no more but god does he hope and pray she still does. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.
He’s got half a tank of gas left and as soon as the bottle is empty he’ll make his way home.
Not the motel.
Home. Their apartment.
And he’ll face whatever is waiting there for him.
That’s the thing about losing everything — things can only get better from here on out.
Summary: Eddie and Reader are strangers turned friends turned lovers turned exes. We follow them on one really tense car ride and experience the ups and downs of their relationship through the songs playing on the radio.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x female Reader
Trigger Warning: Swearing. Mention of alcohol. Mention of food. Mention of drugs.
Wordcount: 10k + (It’s a big boy)
A/N: Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.
Summary: Wayne Munson has been there for his nephew since before he was born, and he'll be there for him for the rest of his life - a.k.a. an explanation of why Wayne Munson owns so many coffee mugs as told through his relationship with his nephew
CW/TW: alcoholism, mentions of child neglect, death, illegal activities, dismissal of mental health issues because it's the 70s/80s, season 4 spoilers if you haven't finished yet
Word Count: 17.6k
A/N: I'm just gonna apologize in advance for this one. It was a labor of love, and I hurt my own feelings writing it.
April 1965
Wayne Munson was a simple man with simple tastes. It didn't take much to make him happy. A couple cigarettes from his pack of smokes, a cold beer, and a working radio were the only things he needed to unwind after a long shift at the plant. He mostly lived off of TV dinners, cold sandwiches, and cereal, and that was fine with him. He had never been the greatest cook, and not wasting his time in the kitchen gave him more energy for work anyway.
At the age of twenty-three, he only had a few more payments left to make on his trailer before he owned it outright, and he had a foldout bed for his younger brother Richard to use when things weren't going so great with their parents. He'd made it clear that his home was always open to him, no questions asked.
However, that didn't mean he wasn't surprised to find his brother and a crying girl sitting on his front step when he got back from the grocery store.
Wayne was a man of few words, and the few he did have did not equip him with the skills to handle a clearly distraught, sixteen year old girl. He and his brother exchanged a look before he wordlessly ushered the two inside.
He put on a fresh pot of coffee before busying himself with putting away his groceries, occasionally glancing over to where his brother was attempting to calm down the crying girl on his sofa.
"Everything is gonna be okay, Linda," he heard his brother say. "Wayne'll know what to do."
Once his groceries were put away and the coffee was finished brewing, he realized that he only had the one coffee mug. He found a couple of plastic juice cups in the back of one of his cabinets and poured the coffee into those and the lone mug. He set the mug in front of the girl and then handed one of the cups to his brother. He held his own cup as he sat down in the chair across from the couch.
Before he could ask what in the world was going on, the girl gave him a funny look.
“Where are your other mugs?” she asked as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I’ve only got the one,” he replied.
“Who only owns one coffee mug?”
Wayne shrugged.
“My mother owns three entertaining sets in different patterns with eight mugs a piece. I can’t imagine someone only having one mug.”
She sniffled a bit, but it seemed as though she’d stopped crying for now.
“Don’t really need more than one when you live alone,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee. “Now, does someone wanna tell me why you were crying on my porch?”
Wayne looked back and forth between the two as they shared a look, both hesitant to come right out and say it.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on, Richie.”
“Linda’s pregnant,” Richie blurted out as he started talking a mile a minute. “We didn’t plan for it to happen or anything, but it did. And then her parents found out, and all hell broke loose. You shoulda heard what they said about me, Wayne. About us. About our family.”
Even without being there, Wayne could imagine it pretty perfectly. Their parents weren’t exactly the greatest people, and there was a reason he’d left home as soon as he could, a reason why he had a spare bed specifically for his brother. Their dad was a mean drunk and took it out on everyone around him. The neighbors would hear him yelling, and the next morning, broken furniture would be sitting on the curb waiting for the next garbage pickup. Their mom just made excuses for him and watched as it happened. A bystander in her own life sweeping up broken glass and scrubbing beer stains out of the carpet. They weren’t exactly the kind of family that you’d want your daughter to involve herself with. Wayne had some firsthand experience with that fact.
“It was just awful,” Linda said as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “They told me I could either stay with my cousins in Kentucky until I had the baby and gave it up, or I could get out of their house. So, I got up, and I marched out with Richie.”
“I didn’t know where else to take her,” Richie continued. “There’s no way I’d leave her at mom and dad’s, and I just panicked and brought her here. We could help pay your bills or buy groceries or anything else you need. I got that job that I was telling you about - the one as a bag boy down at the grocery store.”
“And I’m going to pick up as many extra shifts at the diner as I can until I’m too pregnant to work,” Linda added, talking over Richie. “And we’ll help out around here with anything you need. You’ll barely even know we’re here.”
Wayne ran a hand over the back of his neck and abandoned his coffee on the table.
“Where’s all your stuff?” he asked. “You’re gonna need stuff if you’re moving in.”
“They didn’t give me time to pack when they threw me out,” she replied. “But I still have my house key, so Richie was going to take me back over there to get my things tomorrow when I know they’re both out of the house.”
“And I was gonna head over and grab my own stuff after we talked to you,” Richie continued. “Didn’t want to show up here with a bunch of stuff if we were gonna have to go somewhere else. I figured she could use the fold out I usually sleep on, and I can sleep on the couch.”
“No, you’ll take my room,” Wayne said as he moved to get up from his seat. “I’ll be fine out here. Just gotta straighten it up a little bit for you.”
Before he could leave the room, Wayne was practically knocked over by the force of Linda leaping up to wrap her arms around him in a tight embrace.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said.
He awkwardly patted her on the back.
“It’s fine,” he replied. “I’d do anything for my brother.”
The next day, Wayne busied himself with getting his room ready for Linda and Richie to move into while they were out collecting Linda’s things. When the couple returned, Linda handed a brown paper bag to Wayne.
“These are for you,” she said with a smile. “A little thank you for all that you’re doing for us.”
Wayne opened the bag, and inside, he found three different coffee mugs - one dark green, one light blue with pink rosettes, and one yellow and white striped.
“I snagged a mug from each of my mother’s entertaining sets. It’ll drive her nuts, and now you have enough mugs for us all to have a cup of coffee. Everybody wins.”
The gift of coffee mugs wasn’t the only way Linda started to improve his life. She actively scolded him about the way he’d been eating and told him that she was going to fix his diet even if it killed her in the process. And so his TV dinners were reserved for the nights when Linda was working the dinner shift at the diner and hadn’t planned for leftovers that Wayne and Richie could easily reheat on their own.
She’d promised that he’d barely even know that they were there, but she made her loving presence known.
October 1965
Wayne ducked out of his shift at the plant several hours early when he got the call that Linda had gone into labor. His brother wanted him there for support, and he wanted to meet his niece or nephew the second they were born, so he was happy to do it. He sat in the waiting room for hours until his brother came to grab him.
“Ready to meet your nephew?” Richie asked him as they entered the hospital room.
Wayne’s attention was immediately drawn to Linda sitting up in bed cradling her tiny son. She was sweaty, and her wavy, dark hair was even messier than it normally was, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen her look happier in the six months he’d known her.
“Do you want to hold him?” Linda asked, never looking away from the baby in her arms.
Wayne nodded and made his way to sit in one of the chairs by her bed. Richie carefully took the baby from his girlfriend’s arms and placed him in Wayne’s awaiting hold.
“Wayne, meet Eddie. Eddie, this is your Uncle Wayne.”
"Hey Eddie," Wayne whispered, as he cradled the newborn. "It's nice to meet you."
"His full name is Edward Wayne Munson," Linda said, causing Wayne's gaze to snap up from the baby in his arms to look over at her.
"Really?"
"Would I lie to you?"
Wayne's heart swelled, and he would have been lying if he said that he didn't get a bit choked up.
Wayne was often awake with Linda during the late night feedings. With Richie still going to school and working extra shifts whenever he could to support his little family, he needed all the sleep he could get, so Linda would take Eddie into the living room whenever he got fussy.
"Are you sure this is alright?" she'd asked the first time she accidentally woke him up.
"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "I've always been more of a night owl anyway."
So the two would sit together at the tiny kitchen table as Linda fed her son, a light blanket draped over her chest to protect her modesty. Not that Wayne would have ever stared at his brother's girl. He'd come to think of her as the sister he never had, and he was fiercely protective of her. He'd make her tea, and she'd tease him about how nice it was to have more than one mug to share between them.
"If I didn't steal my mother's mugs, we wouldn't be able to have nights like these," she said. "And wouldn't that be a shame?"
"You're never going to let that go, are you?" he asked with a small laugh.
"The handle was chipped, Wayne. You only had one mug, and it wasn't even in good condition."
"I've never needed much."
"Well, you'll never have to drink out of a chipped mug again. I'll make sure of it."
On the nights where Eddie was particularly fussy and wouldn't go back to sleep after being fed and changed, Linda would move over to the couch and pass the baby over to Wayne. Wayne would sit in the worn out rocking chair that he'd picked up at the Goodwill, and he'd slowly rock with him as she made herself comfortable. By the dim light of the lamp on the end table, she'd read aloud from her beat up copies of the Lord of the Rings novels, and Eddie would fall asleep to the daring adventures of hobbits and elves with his uncle’s finger in his grasp.
December 1965
Eddie was only a little bit over two months old for his first Christmas, and he could barely hold his own head up, but Linda still went over the top to make it as special as she could on her limited budget.
They couldn’t afford to get Eddie’s photo professionally taken with the Santa at the big department store in the city. It was just too expensive if she wanted to put any gifts under the modest tree that they were all pretty sure Richie had chopped down illegally. Instead, she placed her son in the Christmas stocking that she’d found at Goodwill and stitched his name onto and had Wayne take pictures of him with his beat up polaroid camera. They didn’t have anyone that they wanted to send the pictures to, so every single one was hung up on the refrigerator until Linda decided it was time to add them to her photo album.
“Next year, I want pictures of him playing in the snow,” Linda said as she looked at the collage of photos on their fridge. “And I’m getting a picture of him with Santa even if I have to force one of you to dress up to make it happen.”
On Christmas morning, the three of them sat in a circle on the floor in front of the tree with baby Eddie laying on his stomach in the middle. They all knew that he was too young to know what was going on, but Linda made a point of setting each of Eddie’s gifts in front of him so he could marvel at the brightly colored comics that she’d wrapped them in. There weren’t many presents under the tree, and they were all for Eddie anyway, so everyone was content to sit there with their morning cups of coffee for as long as the baby wasn’t fussy.
“Oh, before I forget,” Linda said as she popped up from her seat leaning against the sofa. She headed back to the bedroom and returned with a small parcel wrapped up in newsprint. She handed it over to Wayne as she sat back down and pulled her son into her lap.
“I thought we agreed on no gifts?” Wayne asked. “Save all our money to make things special for the kid?”
“It’s not from me,” Linda said as Eddie gripped her finger. “It’s from Eddie, of course, and you can’t expect him to follow our rules. He’s just a baby after all.”
Wayne sighed and carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside the crumpled newspaper was a coffee mug with “World’s Best Uncle” hand-painted on the side along with a bright blue baby handprint of Eddie’s.
“It’s not much,” Richie said. “But we hope it shows even a little bit of how thankful we are for everything you’ve done for us.”
“It’s perfect,” Wayne replied. “Really. Thank you.”
April 1967
For Wayne’s twenty-fifth birthday, he insisted that he didn’t need any gifts, and he didn’t want them to make any sort of a fuss over him.
“You’re being absolutely ridiculous,” Linda told him. “We can’t just skip your birthday.”
“I’m happy with what I have,” he said with a shrug. “We don’t need to bring more stuff into this trailer, and I’d much rather just spend the day playing with Eddie and maybe listen to the ball game on the radio if there is one.”
“That’s fine, I guess. But I’m making you your favorite dinner. And a cake. I’ll maybe even get some ice cream to go with it. And we’re singing to you while wearing party hats made out of newspaper whether you like it or not. It’s been decided, and I will not fight with you on this one, Wayne.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a laugh.
So, on his birthday, Linda made a pot roast slow roasted with carrots and onions and a side of mashed potatoes with extra, extra gravy. For dessert, there was a double chocolate chip cake with vanilla frosting and strawberry ice cream. Wayne didn’t fight about the newspaper hat that Linda made him wear, and he pretended that he didn’t hate being the center of attention when they all sang to him if only because he got to hold Eddie while it was happening. The eighteen month old tried to feed him a handful of cake before shoving it in his own mouth and giggling wildly.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when Linda set a small gift in front of him. He knew what it was without even opening it. Every time she thought of giving him a gift, it was a coffee mug, and he had started giving the same to her. They’d started an almost competition of sorts, seeing who could find the most interesting mug at Goodwill or one of the small thrift stores in the city. This one was beige and had the words Ohio University Grandma printed in green on the side. It might have been the best one yet.
“We have something else for you,” Richie told him after sharing a look with Linda. “A gift we couldn’t really wrap.”
“I expected the mug, but I told you guys that you didn’t have to give me anything.”
“We know, but this is a really important gift,” his brother continued. “We’re giving you your bedroom back.”
“You don’t have to do that. I don’t mind sleeping in the living room. We’ve been over this a hundred times. You need your privacy more than I do, and with the kid, you need the extra space.”
“We know that’s how you feel, Wayne,” Linda said. “But it’s time for you to start sleeping on a real bed again.”
“Which is why we’re moving out,” Richie blurted out.
“You’ve been so good to us these past two years,” Linda continued. “And we are so grateful for everything you’ve done for us and the life you helped us build. It’s because of everything that you did that we know we’re ready to take this step.”
“I finally grew a pair and asked her to marry me, and we found an apartment that’ll be ready for us to move into next month. It’s not going to be easy, but we’re excited. Really excited.”
“Well, I’m really happy for you guys,” Wayne told them. “Truly. But you’re gonna leave the kid with me, right? I’m way too attached to him to let him leave.”
As if agreeing with Wayne, Eddie reached up and pressed a sticky, chocolate-covered hand onto his uncle’s cheek. Wayne dug his fingers into the boy’s side and smiled down at him as he giggled and squirmed.
“I don’t know,” Linda said. “I think I’d miss him too much.”
She looked at her son as if he was the whole world, and to her, he probably was.
“You’re probably right.”
“But you’ll still see us all the time,” she promised. “We’ll be over here bothering you every chance that we get, and as soon as we’re settled into our place, we’ll be having you over for dinner every single Sunday night. You’ll get sick of us and be longing for some peace and quiet before you know it.”
Wayne didn’t know how to tell them he didn’t need peace and quiet anymore. He’d grown used to coming home from work to see his nephew playing in the living room and laughing as he toddled around the trailer. He was used to Linda singing loudly and off-key along with every song on the radio as she busied herself in the kitchen. He was used to his brother cracking jokes and making loud comments about every single sport he watched on TV. He was used to there being too many people in his tiny trailer, and he didn’t want that to change.
But he was proud of them. So extraordinarily proud of the two of them and the life they were building together. In the past two years, he’d watched them grow from a couple of scared kids into the loving parents that neither of them had ever had themselves. It would hurt to live apart from them, but he knew that it was what was best for all of them.
May 1970
“Munson residence,” Wayne said as he answered his ringing phone.
“Wayne, it’s Linda,” the voice on the other end of the phone replied.
“I was just about to head over to your apartment. Need me to pick up anything on my way?”
It wasn’t unusual for Linda to ask him to pick up something on the way to dinner. Especially now that she was in college. She’d gotten her GED the year before and was about to finish her first year of schooling to become a teacher. Now that Eddie was a little older and getting ready to start preschool, she was ready to give up her waitressing job and work towards something more stable that fit better with her life as a young mom. Something that would allow her to be home for his bedtime every night.
“Actually, I was calling to ask you for a different sort of favor. I hate to cancel our dinner so last minute, but Richie got called into work for an extra overnight inventory shift at the grocery store, and I have a huge group presentation for one of my classes due tomorrow. Normally, I would give you more notice, but I was wondering if I could maybe drop Eddie off over there for a sleepover? Richie would be able to pick him up first thing in the morning when he gets off work, and this way I can meet up with my classmates to put the finishing touches on our project. I’d owe you a huge favor.”
“You know he’s always welcome over here. Are you heading over now?”
“In a little bit. I still have to pack an overnight bag for the kiddo. One of the girls from my group is going to pick me up, and then we’ll drop Eddie off with you before we head over to the library.”
“Sounds good to me. See you soon.”
While waiting for his sister-in-law and nephew to show up, Wayne looked through the kitchen to see if he actually had anything that he could feed Eddie for dinner. He hadn’t been expecting to have to cook that night, and he usually did his weekly grocery shopping on Mondays before he came home from work. He supposed he could make the kid a TV dinner if it came down to it, and he maybe had a can of soup or two in the cupboard, but neither were up to the standards of the food that Linda normally made him.
But, when Linda arrived with Eddie, she entered the trailer carrying dinner for them.
“I’d already started cooking before Richie got called into work,” she said as she set the lasagna down on the table. “I knew you wouldn’t have had a solid dinner plan, and I wasn’t going to let two of my favorite boys get stuck eating what I’m sure would have been TV dinners.”
“You know me too well.”
Before Linda could respond, Eddie took a running leap at his uncle who caught him easily.
“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie said as he clung to his uncle’s chest. “We get to have a sleepover! And mama said I can stay up an extra half hour ‘cause it’s a special occasion!”
“She did? Well, that’s a good thing because I was thinking we could have a campout in the living room, and maybe if it’s okay with your mama, we could even make some hot chocolate.”
Eddie shifted in Wayne’s arms to face his mom and fixed her with his best pleading gaze, all puppy dog eyes and pouty bottom lip. The kid had them all wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it.
“How could I say no to this precious face? It’s fine with me,” Linda said with a small laugh at her son’s excitement at her answer.
Wayne set Eddie down on the counter next to the sink.
“Why don’t you wash your hands while I talk to your mama, and then you and I will have some dinner, okay?”
Eddie nodded vigorously and turned on the water, so Wayne turned his attention back to Linda.
“Alright, so bedtime is anywhere between seven thirty and eight tonight. He’s gonna be home with Richie all day tomorrow, and I know it’s going to be a lazy sleepy day anyway, so he’ll get plenty of rest if he doesn’t sleep enough tonight. His pajamas and clothes for tomorrow are in his backpack, but if you don’t have him dressed before he gets picked up, that’s fine, too. If he wants a bedtime story, Peter Pan is his favorite right now, and he usually falls asleep around the second chapter. That’s somewhere in his bag with Mister Lion. I gave him a bath earlier, so you don't need to worry about that, but make sure he brushes his teeth. He will try to convince you that he doesn’t need to, but he wants to be just like his Uncle Wayne, so if you brush your teeth when it’s time for him to, he shouldn’t put up too much of a fight. I don’t think I’m forgetting anything, but it’s not like you’ve never watched him before. You know how to handle my little hellraiser better than anyone.”
She looked over towards her son who was now laying with his stomach flat against the counter as he clapped his hands under the running water repeatedly trying to make the biggest splash he possibly could. She moved to turn off the sink before sitting her son upright on the counter and drying his hands off with the dish towel.
“Were you making a mess of the kitchen, you little stinker?” she teased as she skittered her fingers across her son’s belly.
“No,” he replied through his giggles as he curled in on himself. She stopped tickling him and ruffled his messy curls that matched her own.
“You be good for your Uncle Wayne, okay? Daddy will be here to pick you up first thing in the morning. Now give mama big hugs and kisses.”
Eddie stood up on the counter and flung his arms around Linda’s neck. Once she’d wrapped her arms around the boy, he moved his hands to squish her cheeks as he smothered her with as many kisses as he could give.
“I love you so much, Eddie Bear,” she told him, laughing as he kissed one of her eyes.
“I love you more,” he replied.
“And I love you most.”
She gave him one last big squeeze and kissed his forehead before setting him down on the ground.
“Alright, I’ve kept Sandy waiting out in the car long enough. Don’t have too much fun without me!”
Wayne and Eddie had a relatively easy night together. They ate dinner, and Eddie didn’t fuss when Wayne had to wash the sauce off of his face afterwards. He sat at the kitchen table drawing pictures with the crayons and notebook paper they kept at the trailer for him while his uncle cleaned up the kitchen, and he narrated all of his art as he drew. They had the hot chocolate that Wayne promised with extra marshmallows, and there were no complaints about brushing teeth since Wayne was brushing his teeth, too. Wayne set up the foldout bed in the living room with an extra set of sheets and the fuzzy yellow blanket that was Eddie’s favorite. They both changed into their pajamas, and then they read four chapters of Peter Pan before Eddie fell asleep on the couch curled up against his uncle’s side with his fingers threaded through Mister Lion’s mane. Wayne carefully moved the sleeping boy to the bed and placed a kiss on his forehead. He fell asleep on the couch shortly after.
Wayne always woke up at five without an alarm clock no matter what time he went to bed the night before. It was both a blessing and a curse. Being careful to keep quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake Eddie, he made his way to the bathroom to take a quick shower before his brother got there. He didn’t know when his brother would be there, so he wanted to be ready to head to the plant early just in case he’d be racing out the door.
When he was finished getting ready, he headed into the kitchen where he found a very sleepy looking Eddie with the fuzzy, yellow blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was dragging Mister Lion by his tail behind him.
"What are you doing up, Eds? Did I wake you?" he asked.
"Bad dream," Eddie replied, sniffling a little. “‘Mnot scared, but Mister Lion needed a hug.”
Wayne scooped Eddie up, and the boy immediately wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck.
“I got ya, buddy,” he said as he rubbed the boy’s back. “I got ya.”
Wayne continued to hold Eddie as he moved around the kitchen and started his morning coffee. Once he’d poured himself a cup, he headed to sit down on the couch.
“Why don’t you try to get a little more sleep, Eds?” he suggested. “I’ll start making breakfast after I finish my coffee, and then I’ll get you up, okay?”
Eddie nodded a little and moved to curl up next to his uncle on the couch not wanting to stray too far from the comfort that he’d found.
By the time Wayne had finished his coffee and used the little he had left in his kitchen to make some scrambled eggs and toast for the boy, it was close to seven. He had to be at the plant by seven thirty, so he was going to have to call in sick if his brother didn’t show up soon.
Eddie was not a morning person, so it took a few minutes for Wayne to get him up and seated at the table, and when he glanced at the clock on his wall, he knew he wasn’t going to make it to work on time.
“Mr. O’Grady? It’s Wayne Munson,” he started when his boss at the plant finally answered the phone. “I’m gonna be a little late for my shift. I’m watching my nephew. My brother was supposed to pick him up by now, but I’ve still got the kid, and I can’t leave him here alone.”
“It’s fine, Munson,” his boss answered. “In the ten years you’ve worked here, you’ve never taken a vacation, and the only times you’ve ever called off were when your nephew was born and when he broke his wrist last year. Take the day to spend with the kid. Sullivan has been asking for more hours anyway, and I can call him in to cover for you this time.”
“Thanks, Mr. O’Grady,” he said as he lunged to take the ketchup bottle away from Eddie before he could empty the entire thing onto his plate. “I really appreciate it.”
Wayne poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down across from Eddie who was more interested in eating ketchup than the eggs on his plate. He figured that inventory took a little bit longer than expected. The grocery store opened at nine, so they’d have to be done by then, and if his brother wasn’t at the trailer by nine thirty, he’d start calling their apartment.
Nine thirty came and went, and the phone call to Richie and Linda’s apartment went unanswered. The same happened every other time he called between then and noon. Wayne was starting to get worried, but he was trying his best not to let it show. His focus was on Eddie who didn’t seem to mind that he got to spend extra time there.
Finally, when Wayne was getting ready to set the table with the TV dinners that he’d ended up making for their lunch, someone answered the phone at the apartment.
“Hello?”
“Is everything okay over there?” Wayne asked, skipping the pleasantries. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning.”
“Everything’s fine. I was sleeping,” Richie replied. “What time is it?”
“For the love of god, Richie.” Wayne lowered his voice and glanced into the living room to make sure Eddie wasn’t paying attention to him before he continued. “I was starting to think something bad had happened. I called you at least a dozen times. Scared the shit outta me.”
“I’m sorry. I came home from work and passed out immediately. Didn’t hear the phone until just now.”
“But you were supposed to pick up Eddie before you went home.”
“I stopped on the way to change my clothes. Smelled like sweat and pickle juice after someone dropped a box and the shit splattered everywhere. I figured Linda changed her mind and was picking him up since she wasn’t home when I got here.”
“Well, she definitely didn’t come here.”
“She had a group presentation due today, and she was really hounding the other girls to make sure it was perfect. She probably just caught the bus and headed over to campus early. Do you want me to come over and get Eddie?”
“Don’t worry about it. You should get some more sleep. One of you can come and grab him after Linda gets home from class.”
“Are you sure? I know he can be a handful.”
“We’re fine. I’ll take him to the park or something, and he can do my grocery shopping with me. Besides, I just made him lunch, and I kinda like having him around.”
“You wanna keep him?” Richie asked with a laugh.
“Don’t tempt me,” Wayne responded with a laugh of his own. “But I don’t think Linda would be too happy about it.”
“You’re probably right. We’ll give you a call when we’re on our way to get him, okay? Most likely right around dinner time?”
“Sounds good to me.”
After lunch, Wayne finally got Eddie dressed and took him to the playground across town. Since they’d done nothing but sit around the trailer all morning, the kid had a lot of energy to burn, and he chose to burn it by giving his uncle a heart attack every time he went to leap off of something he probably shouldn’t have climbed in the first place. Eventually, he got tired of scaring years off of his uncle’s life, and Wayne agreed to push him on the swings as long as he promised not to jump off of those, too.
Once he’d successfully tired out the kid, Wayne loaded Eddie into his truck and headed to the grocery store. His usual get in, get what he needs, and get out trip took a lot longer than normal with his nephew riding in the cart, but debating about breakfast cereal and lunch meat with a kid who wasn’t even going to be eating them was wildly entertaining. In the end, he only ended up with three things that Eddie had wanted in his cart, and he was taking that as a win.
Standing in the checkout line, Wayne couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between the two housewives behind him. He wasn’t one to pay attention to town gossip, but he couldn’t ignore them.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about the accident last night,” the first woman said.
“News travels fast in a small town like Hawkins,” the second replied. “It’s a shame really. Those poor girls.”
“Oh, I know. I wonder if they’ve been able to find their families by now. Eleanor said that they weren’t sure who to call.”
“How did Eleanor get so much information about this anyway? It wasn’t in any of the papers today.”
“Her husband was on duty, and you know he went home and told her every detail. The man can’t keep a secret to save his life.”
“Can you blame him? A drunk driver crashing into a car full of girls leaving the community college library is probably the most exciting thing he’s ever seen working around here. Not that a tragedy is exciting mind you. It’s just more interesting to talk about than the occasional traffic violation.”
Wayne almost dropped the milk that he was holding on the ground. Their conversation meant nothing to him. To him, or his brother, or the little boy who was currently fighting to stay awake in his shopping cart. The fact that no one had seen Linda since last night was merely a coincidence. She was probably at home with Richie right now telling him all about how her presentation went and getting ready to pick up her son. She had to be.
But, when Wayne pulled up to his trailer to find his brother sitting on his front step looking more scared and alone than he had when he came to tell him that Linda was pregnant, he knew that wasn’t the case.
Wayne held Eddie throughout the funeral. Richie was an absolute wreck and could barely hold himself together let alone take care of his son. But he had his older brother to help pick up the pieces, and that was a comfort in such an upsetting time.
Wayne hadn’t expected such a large turnout for the funeral. With the way she lit up every room she entered, the fact that she had had an effect on so many people in her short twenty one years shouldn’t have been a huge surprise. There were groups of girls from all of Linda’s classes, and the diner had closed for the day because all of the waitresses and cooks wanted to be there. There were high school friends who had just arrived home from college, and there were families from their apartment building. All there to pay their respects. The only notable absence was Linda’s own parents. Not that anyone had really expected them to show up anyway. They hadn’t tried to contact her at all in the time since they’d kicked her out, and Wayne would have forced them to leave if they’d tried to show their faces.
After the services, Wayne took Eddie straight back to the apartment. He and Richie had discussed it beforehand, and they figured that the whole situation would be too overwhelming for him. They’d explained to him what had happened in a way that was simple enough for a child to understand, but the boy was still so young and confused about why his mother wasn’t coming home. He didn’t need to be surrounded by a bunch of people he didn’t know talking about what a shame it was that his mother was gone.
So, while his brother stayed behind to receive condolences, Wayne reheated one of the many casseroles people had dropped off at the apartment for them, gave Eddie a bath, and put him to bed. But throughout it all, he couldn’t help but notice that his usually bright and talkative nephew was the most quiet and reserved he’d ever been since he learned how to talk.
When Richie finally came home, he didn’t say anything. Just grabbed the casserole dish that Wayne had left on the counter along with a fork and sat down on the sofa where Wayne was pretending he cared about whatever was on TV.
Without saying anything, Wayne got up and grabbed a drink for his brother. Nothing fancy. Just a glass of the iced tea from the fridge. But there was an unspoken meaning behind it that they both could feel. That Wayne was always going to take care of them and get them what they needed. No matter what, he would always be there.
“Thanks,” Richie said as he accepted the glass. “For everything.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Wayne replied. “It’s what I’m here for.”
August 1970
Sunday dinners had remained the norm for the three Munson men, but Linda’s absence was always in the forefront of their minds. Not just because she was the best cook out of the three, but because she was the one who really got them to talk to each other. Wayne and Richie were never big talkers, and she had bridged their gap in communication.
And maybe that was why Wayne had accepted the Sunday overtime shifts that were offered to him. He hated missing the time with his family, but he hated the awkward silences more.
After not attending Sunday dinner for nearly a month, he figured that it was time to start going back. Eddie was starting school soon, and he felt guilty for the time he was missing with the kid. He felt even more guilty once he saw the state of their apartment.
He’d let himself in like he normally did, and the first thing he noticed was his brother passed out on the couch. There were empty beer cans strewn across the floor around him, and the room was in complete disarray. The kitchen wasn’t any better. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, and the trashcan was filled with enough beer cans to show that this probably wasn’t the first time this had happened.
He made his way back to Eddie’s room since the kid was nowhere to be found in the front of the apartment, and he found his nephew happily playing alone. It wasn’t exactly a comforting sight though. While the room was in relatively decent shape, the laundry hamper was overflowing to the point where there were small piles of clothes surrounding it, and there was a distinct odor hanging in the air. But the worst part was Eddie himself. The boy looked dirty. This definitely wasn’t the first day that he’d worn those clothes, and his hair was a tangled mess that obviously hadn’t been washed anytime recently.
“How’s it goin’, Eds?” Wayne asked, finally alerting his nephew to his presence.
“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie leaped up from his spot on the floor to give his uncle a hug.
As Wayne picked up the boy, he was hit with another wave of that stench, and his suspicions about said stench coming from Eddie were confirmed.
“So, when was the last time you had a bath?” he asked.
“We don’t have to do that anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie said with a little shrug.
“And I’m guessing you’d have the same answer if I asked why the kitchen isn’t clean?”
“Yep.”
“And why the laundry isn’t done?”
“Yep.”
“Do you know anything?” Wayne teased.
“I know we’re eating TV dinners tonight!” Eddie said, excited that he could tell his uncle something.
“And how do you know that?”
“‘Cause we eat ‘em every night. Daddy puts ‘em on a plate so I won’t know, but he never throws out the box cause he’s too busy sleeping on the couch.”
“Does he do that a lot? Sleep on the couch like that, I mean?”
“Yeah. He’s no good at bedtime anymore.”
Wayne couldn’t tell if he was more heartbroken for his nephew or angry at his brother at that moment. All he knew was that he needed to do something.
“How do you feel about coming over for a sleepover?” Wayne asked. “We haven’t had one of those in awhile, and I miss hanging out with my favorite kid.”
Eddie’s response was an enthusiastic yes, so Wayne set him back down.
“I’m gonna go talk to your daddy, and then we’ll get your stuff ready to go, okay?”
“Okay!”
Part of Wayne wanted to be thankful that at least Eddie still seemed happy. He was okay on the inside even if it was clear that his dad had dropped the ball. But a much larger part of him was consumed by his anger. Angry at his brother for letting his home get this messy. Angry at his brother for clearly not taking care of his child. Angry at his brother for picking up their father’s bad habits.
But, most of all, Wayne was angry at himself for avoiding the awkward silences. If he’d kept going over for Sunday dinners, he would have caught the warning signs sooner. He could have kept things from getting this bad. He could have done something to help, and he was going to live with the guilt of not helping sooner for a very long time.
When Richie didn’t respond to his name or being shaken, Wayne grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and dumped it over his brother’s head.
“What the hell, Wayne?” Richie sputtered as he came to and glared up at his brother.
“Don’t what the hell me,” Wayne replied. He was trying to keep his volume down so Eddie wouldn’t hear them. “It’s barely five o’clock on a Sunday, and you were passed out drunk.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. I shouldn’t have to tell you that with the way we grew up. Do you really want to put your kid through that?”
“I’m not turning into dad.” Richie sat up and laid his head in his hands. “I will never be anything like that man. I’m just not doing the best right now, okay? After everything, I lost my job. Missed too many shifts. It all spiraled from there. I just need some time to get back on my feet so we don’t lose the apartment.”
“You can’t take time when you’ve got Eddie to think about,” Wayne said as he took a seat next to his brother. “I’m bringing him home with me. This isn’t good for him, and you know it.”
“You can’t take my kid away from me.”
“The boy stinks, and I’m guessing he barely has any clean clothes left from what I saw in his room. This place is a wreck, and you don’t seem to care because you’re too busy drinking. He told me all you do is sleep on the couch like you were when I got here.”
Wayne ran a hand over the back of his neck. He hated putting this out there, but he had to open his brother’s eyes, and he didn’t see any other way.
“He starts preschool next week, Richie. If he gets there looking and smelling the way he does now or tells anyone anything about the way you’re living, someone is going to come here and take him away from you. He needs a safe and stable living environment, and this isn’t one right now. So you can either let him come with me while you pull yourself together, and you can still come and see him everyday. Or you can keep living like this, and you could wind up losing him for good. The choice is yours, and one of those options seems a lot better than the other to me.”
“Shit.”
Richie kicked the coffee table in frustration and sent empty beer cans flying.
“So, I can come see him everyday?” he asked after a moment.
“Whenever you want. I promise.”
“Okay . . . I’m not really turning into dad, am I?”
“No. I just think you went through some shit that you’re way too young for, and it made you make some bad choices. You’ve at least acknowledged it, so you’re doing better than he ever did.”
Wayne didn’t wait for a response from his brother. He just grabbed a garbage bag from the cabinet under the sink and headed back to Eddie’s room where he started shoving all of the dirty clothes into the bag.
“You can’t throw away my clothes,” Eddie pouted. “I need those.”
“I’m not throwing them away. I’m gonna do your laundry. Your daddy is awake, so why don’t you go talk to him while I get your stuff ready to go?”
Once Eddie’s clothes were taken care of, Wayne moved around the room grabbing whatever he saw that he thought his nephew would maybe want at his house and loading it into the duffle bag he found under the bed. He took the dinosaurs and toy cars that Eddie had been playing with when he came in. He took the stack of books and photo albums that were sitting on the tiny nightstand by his bed. He even grabbed the toy guitar that he was sure he was going to regret bringing with him. And, of course, he grabbed Mister Lion.
After a quick trip into the bathroom to grab Eddie’s toothbrush and other toiletries, he headed back into the living room where Eddie was giving his dad a goodbye hug.
“You be extra good for your uncle, okay?” Richie said as he pulled away from his son. “And I’ll be over to see you every day.”
“You promise?” Eddie asked.
“Cross my heart.”
Once they were back at the trailer, the first thing Wayne did was give Eddie a bath.
“I thought I didn’t need to do this anymore,” Eddie pouted as his uncle worked the shampoo into his hair.
“I’m gonna be honest with you, Eds,” Wayne replied. “You smell, and I can’t have you stinking up my trailer. So, it’s either you take a bath on a regular basis, or you’re sleeping on the porch.”
Eddie looked up at his uncle with wide eyes.
“You’d make me sleep on the porch?
“Never. Which is why we need to get you cleaned up.”
Getting Eddie bathed was the easy part. Tackling the tangled mess of his hair was an entirely different beast. Wayne tried to be as careful as possible as he worked through the knots, but Eddie was especially tender-headed, and his hair was a mess from the neglect, so there were plenty of complaints and tears.
“Mama never made it hurt,” Eddie said between his sniffles.
“I’m sorry, Eds,” Wayne replied. “I’m being as gentle as I can.”
“I miss her.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Wayne made grilled cheese and tomato soup for their dinner. It wasn’t anything special, but it was better than a TV dinner, and he made himself a promise that he’d never feed his nephew one of those for dinner ever again if he could help it. And, after the table was cleared and the dishes were done, he put the kettle on the stove to start heating up some water to make tea for himself and hot chocolate for Eddie.
When Wayne’s mug collection started to outgrow the small cabinet shelf, he’d moved most of them into the living room to put on display, but his favorites were kept in the kitchen for easy use. He pulled out the mug from Eddie’s first Christmas for himself, and then he grabbed Linda’s favorite mug - the light blue one with the pink rosettes - for Eddie. He carefully carried the mugs over to the coffee table before going through the bag of Eddie’s things to find the book he was looking for.
“Hey, Eddie, can you come over here?” he called over to his nephew as he sat down on the couch.
Eddie abandoned his crayons and the picture he was drawing to climb onto the couch with his uncle.
“You were too little to remember it, but did your mama and daddy ever tell you that you all lived here with me when you were a baby?”
“We did?”
“You did. The three of you shared my bedroom, and I slept out here. Whenever you were up at night, your mama would come sit in the kitchen, and we’d have tea together while she fed you. And then, when you still wouldn’t go back to sleep, she’d hand you over to me. We’d sit over here, and she’d read her favorite book to you until you fell asleep in my arms.”
Wayne grabbed the mugs off of the table and passed Eddie’s to him before picking up the copy of The Hobbit that he’d set aside.
“I know you miss your mama, and I know this isn’t the same as having her here, but this is a little piece of her that I can share with you.”
Eddie curled up against his uncle, and they sipped their drinks as Wayne started to read Linda’s most favorite adventure out loud to her son. It wasn’t much, but it was all Wayne could do to make Eddie’s first night in his trailer a little bit easier.
December 1970
Richie had made good on his promise to come and visit every day for the first two months that Eddie was staying with Wayne. But right around Halloween, he started missing days. And then multiple days in a row. It broke Wayne’s heart every time he saw Eddie realize that his dad had forgotten about him again, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Richie had either stopped answering his phone at the apartment, or he was never home no matter what time of day Wayne called. Nor did he answer the door any of the times Wayne dropped by to check on him.
On Christmas Eve, Wayne realized that his brother hadn’t been over to see them since Thanksgiving, and he wasn’t sure if they’d be seeing him at all the next day. Wayne wasn’t going to let his brother’s screw ups ruin the holiday for Eddie though. It was going to be hard enough on him to spend his first Christmas without his mom. He didn’t want the whole day to be miserable.
Wayne had hidden all of Eddie’s gifts from Santa in the cabinet over the fridge - the only cabinet that Eddie hadn’t found a way to climb to yet - and he had gotten a small tree to prop up in the corner. It wasn’t very impressive, but Eddie was all smiles when he got to put the star on top, and that was good enough for him. He’d even picked up everything he needed to make cinnamon french toast for breakfast and a roast for Christmas dinner. It was shaping up to be a fairly decent holiday.
But, when he asked Eddie if he was excited for Santa to visit them that night, he was met with frustrated tears instead of the happiness he’d expected. Wayne stopped what he was doing and went over to where Eddie was sitting on the couch. The boy had tears streaming down his cheeks, and his tiny hands were balled into tight fists.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Wayne asked as he knelt down to get on Eddie’s level.
“I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“I forgot your present, and now it’s too late.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to get me anything. I promise.”
“No, I gotta,” Eddie said as he wiped at his tears. “Mama said it wasn’t special if you didn’t get a mug, and I wanted it to be special.”
Wayne moved to sit on the couch and scooped Eddie up in his arms, allowing the boy to cry into his shoulder and get his feelings out.
“I was going to ask daddy to take me, but he’s never here.”
Wayne could pinpoint a lot of things about his brother that had angered him lately, but he didn’t know if he could ever forgive him for hurting Eddie like this. Still, he didn’t want his nephew to end up hating his dad. When Richie pulled it together, they’d be a family again, and he didn’t want moments like this to sour that.
“It’s my fault, Eds,” Wayne lied as he rubbed Eddie’s back in an attempt to soothe him. “Your daddy gave me some money so you could buy me a Christmas gift and told me that I should take you, and I got so busy with work that I just forgot about it. But if we leave right now, I bet we can make it to the Goodwill in time for you to pick out something real special.”
The opportunity to go present shopping cheered Eddie up immediately, and before Wayne knew it, the boy was pulling at his arm to get him to help grab his coat and shoes.
The Goodwill was still open when they got there, and nobody was inside except for the very bored looking teenager running the cash register.
“Now, you go pick something out, and I’ll wait here until after you’ve paid so whatever you pick can be a surprise,” Wayne said as he handed Eddie a few dollars.
Eddie took the money and wandered off towards where the homegoods were kept, and Wayne busied himself by looking at a rack of kids clothes near the front of the store. He wasn’t necessarily planning on buying anything, but if he could maybe find something decent that would fit Eddie, he might as well look. He only turned his attention back to the checkout counter when he heard his nephew’s voice.
“Excuse me,” Eddie said as he reached up to set his purchase on the counter. The counter was taller than he was, so he had to stretch just a little bit. “I want to buy this as a Christmas gift for my uncle, please. I have my own money and everything.”
“Well, aren’t you the cutest,” the girl working the cash register said as she picked up his mug. “Are you sure this is the one you want to get him though?”
“Yes, it’s the best one.”
“Okay, that’ll be one dollar. And for an extra quarter, I can even put it in one of these fancy gift bags for you if you’d like.”
“Yes, please.” Eddie set his money on the counter and waited as the girl got his change and wrapped his purchase.
“Here you go, sweetie,” the girl said as she handed Eddie his things.
“Thank you! Merry Christmas!”
Eddie raced back over to his uncle, and it was apparent that the tears from earlier were long forgotten.
When Wayne unwrapped his new “Virginia is for Lovers” mug in front of the tree on Christmas morning, he couldn’t contain his laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Eddie asked.
“It’s nothing Eds. I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“Did I pick a good one then?”
“You picked the best one. I love it.”
And he did. Not just because it was Eddie that gave it to him, but because he knew it was the exact mug Linda would have chosen if she was there.
June 1973
Wayne and Eddie had settled into a routine together. During the school year, Wayne put Eddie on the bus before heading to work, and then he picked him up from after school care on the way home. Wayne made them dinner while Eddie did whatever homework he had to do, and then it was bathtime and books before bed. There wasn’t really enough room for two beds in Wayne’s bedroom, but he’d rearranged the furniture enough that they could just barely fit the fold out bed in his room when Eddie had expressed that he didn’t like sleeping out in the living room alone.
The only difference during the summer was that Eddie went to daycare instead of school. It was a little too expensive, but Wayne was doing his best to make it work.
Richie’s visits were few and far between at this point. They were lucky if he came to visit Eddie once a month, but it was usually a longer absence than that. They didn’t even have a way to contact him when he was gone anymore because he’d lost the apartment, and the only reason they knew he lost the apartment was because he’d told Wayne that if there was anything of Eddie’s still there, he should probably get it before the landlord changed the locks. When Wayne had showed up to grab the rest of Eddie’s toys and books, he’d grabbed the rest of the photo albums and a few of Linda’s things that were still around that he thought Eddie might like to have one day. Richie was supposed to give them his new address and phone number once he’d settled into a new place, but that had been nearly a year ago, and Wayne wasn’t holding his breath. His brother had broken so many promises since Eddie had moved in with Wayne, that he had a hard time believing anything his brother said.
So, when Richie showed up that morning and said that he wanted to take Eddie for the whole day, Wayne couldn’t have been more surprised. Even when Richie did remember to show up, he never spent the whole day with his own kid. But his brother said he had a new job, and he wanted to celebrate with his son. Wayne was reluctant to let it happen, but he knew the kid missed his dad, and if Richie wanted to step up, it would at least give him a chance to get some work done around the trailer without any distractions.
But when they came back around dinner time, Wayne regretted letting them go alone. Physically, Eddie was fine, but they returned in a different car than the one they’d left in. A much nicer car that Wayne knew his brother wouldn’t have been able to afford. He’d heard some rumors about cars getting stolen around Hawkins and getting brought to a chop shop somewhere outside of the town, but he hadn’t given it much thought since no one wanted to steal a car from someone who lived in a trailer park.
“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie said as he climbed out the car and ran to his uncle. “We had the best day!”
“You did?”
“Yeah! First, we went to the arcade, and then we got hot dogs, and after that, dad showed me how I can get any car I want for free!”
“Oh really?” Wayne glanced over at his brother who was leaning against the hood of what Eddie had all but confirmed was definitely a stolen car. “That sounds like a really great day, Eds. Why don’t you go inside and get washed up for dinner while your dad and I have a little chat, okay?”
Wayne waited until Eddie was out of earshot before he walked over to his brother.
“Seriously, Richie? Is that what your new job is? Stealing cars?”
“Lighten up. Do you know how much money I get for each car I bring in? I might actually be able to afford a decent apartment again, and I can quit sleeping on people’s couches. Eddie could even come stay with me.”
“Oh yeah. Sure. Being enmeshed in illegal activities is exactly what every seven year old needs. Do you even hear yourself?”
“Don’t tell me how to raise my son, Wayne. I think I know what I’m doing here.”
“Well, that’s rich coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Since when are you the one raising him, Richie? The last time I checked, we haven’t seen you since March.”
“He’s still my son.”
“Then act like it. Because I’m the one who gets him to and from school and makes sure he gets his homework done. I’m the one who makes sure that he’s fed and clothed and has a roof over his head. I’m the one that he cries out for whenever he has a bad dream or he’s sick. And I’m the one who comforts him and distracts him every time you say you’ll be here and then don’t show up because you’re too drunk or you overslept or just forgot and didn’t care. And I am sick of you coming back around for a day and lying to him about how you’re going to be around more often and promising to spend more time with him because every time you break that promise, his heart breaks all over again. He deserves better than that, and you know it.”
“Shut up.”
“You can’t just tell me to shut up when you don’t want to hear the truth, and frankly, I’ve stayed quiet long enough. This is something you should have heard a long time ago.”
“I said shut up.”
“If she could see the way that you’re treating her boy, Linda would be so ashamed of you right now.”
“Fuck you!”
Richie launched up from where he was leaning on the car to post up to his brother. For a minute, Wayne was convinced that Richie was going to take a swing at him from the anger burning in his eyes, but nothing happened.
“You want me to be a better dad? Fine. I’ll be a better dad,” he spat as he stormed toward the trailer door. “We don’t need any help from you anymore.”
Before Wayne knew it, his brother was marching out of the trailer pulling a very confused looking Eddie behind him.
“Say goodbye to your uncle, Eddie,” Richie said as he opened his car door. “You’re not going to be seeing him for a while.”
“Richie, be reasonable.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Wayne. Either I’m the dad that you want me to be, or I leave him here with you. So I’m taking my son, and we’re leaving because I will not stand here and listen to you insult me. And if I ever hear Linda’s name leave your mouth again, that’ll be the last time you ever speak.”
Richie climbed into the car and slammed his door shut. Once Eddie was inside with him, he sped away and out of the trailer park leaving Wayne to spend the night alone for the first time in years.
February 1976
It was after midnight when Wayne got the call. He'd been asleep for a few hours at that point, and he'd been woken up by the phone. At first, he'd tried to ignore the call, but the person on the other end of the line was persistent, so the phone just kept ringing. He stumbled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen to grab the phone.
“Hello?” Wayne answered the phone, his voice hoarse from barely being awake.
“Have we reached Wayne Munson?”
“Speaking.”
“Mr. Munson, this is Chief Carver with the Hawkins police department. We currently have your brother in custody down at the station. His bail hasn’t been set just yet, and he declined his one phone call, but I’m calling to inform you that we also have your nephew here. He was asleep in the back of the car when my officers picked up your brother, and we’ve been told that you’re the only other family the boy has. We were hoping to place the child in your care as we’d rather contact family than anyone else in situations like these.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
Wayne didn’t need to hear anything else before he was putting on real pants and racing down to the station. He’d barely seen his brother and nephew since their fight as Richie had cut him out of their lives. He only saw them in passing, but Richie would quickly leave whatever public space they were in when he noticed Wayne was there, too. And even if he had a phone number, he doubted Richie would take his calls. He didn’t want to say that he was afraid of what he’d find when he got there, but he wasn’t expecting anything good.
“I got a call from the chief about my brother,” Wayne said as he walked up to the officer sitting behind the front desk. “I’m supposed to be picking up my nephew.”
“Wayne Munson, right?” the officer asked. “I’ll take you back to see your nephew shortly. Just gotta go over some official business first. You know how it is. Now, your brother will be staying here overnight because we won’t be able to get him arraigned until morning.”
“What is he facing in the way of charges?”
“Well, for starters, he was already wanted for multiple counts of grand theft auto and the possession and selling of stolen merchandise. Tonight, he was picked up on a DUI with multiple traffic violations, expired plates, and child endangerment to sweeten the deal. There was also a startling amount of liquor in the car with him. When he was pulled over, he attempted to assault an officer, and he resisted arrest. We don’t expect you to stay here until he’s arraigned, so we can call you and let you know what his bail is set at after the hearing occurs.”
“Don’t bother,” Wayne replied. “I won’t be posting his bail. All I care about is my nephew. Is he okay?”
“As far as we can tell, the boy is fine. A little shaken up, but okay. He was asleep in the backseat when the car was pulled over, and he only woke up when your brother started to get belligerent. We have reason to believe they were living out of the car from the sheer amount of stuff loaded into the trunk and backseat. Because the car was one of the ones he’s accused of stealing, everything inside it was admitted into evidence. However, we’re hoping someone will be able to sort through it after the weekend, so we can set aside anything that belongs to the boy and get it to you then.”
“Can I see him now? I just want to take him home.”
Finally, the officer led him back to the station’s break room where he found Eddie sitting on the sofa with his knees hugged to his chest.
“Alright, Eddie,” the officer said. “Your uncle is here to take you home.”
Eddie got up from the sofa and headed over towards where they were standing without saying a word. It was the quietest that Wayne had ever seen the boy other than when he was sleeping, and he hated it more than he could say.
Eddie stayed quiet the entire way back to the trailer despite Wayne asking him how he was doing, telling him he missed him, and just trying to get even the smallest bit of a conversation going. He tried not to read too much into it. It had most likely been an overwhelming night for him so far, and he was probably worn out.
It was only once they were back at the trailer that Wayne realized he didn’t have any pajamas or extra clothes for Eddie. He still had most of the clothes that had been left behind when his brother had taken the boy back, but he’d grown in the three years since he’d worn any of that stuff, so Wayne doubted he’d be comfortable in any of them. He grabbed one of his own t-shirts out of the basket of clean laundry he’d neglected to put away and offered it to Eddie.
“I know it’s not pajamas, but you might be more comfortable sleeping in this.”
“I’m fine,” Eddie replied, not bothering to take the shirt. “I sleep like this most of the time.”
The boy moved to sit on the edge of the couch, and Wayne set the shirt down on the coffee table just in case Eddie ended up changing his mind.
“How long do I get to stay here?” Eddie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Am I gonna have to go stay somewhere else?”
“No, Eds. You’re here with me for good.” Even if Richie didn’t end up in jail for any of the charges he was facing, Wayne was never letting Eddie out of his sight again. Even if that meant spending what little money he had on a custody battle for his nephew’s wellbeing.
Wayne noted the confused look on Eddie’s face at his response, but he didn’t press the issue further. It had already been a long night for the both of them, and he was surprised that Eddie wasn’t already passed out.
“I’ve still got all of your stuff here from before, so I figure we can go through it tomorrow. See if any of your clothes might still fit or if there are any toys you might still want, and then we can go to the Goodwill and maybe get you some new things to replace what doesn’t work anymore.”
“You kept my stuff?”
“Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie said as he looked down at his shoes. “Figured you wouldn’t want my stuff here either.”
It was the either that struck him. How Eddie was so quiet when he said it as if he didn’t want to voice his fears out loud. Wayne moved to sit next to Eddie on the couch.
“What do you mean?” he asked gently.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Eds. You’re upset, and I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
Eddie refused to look at his uncle, continuing to stare at the ground instead.
“Dad said you didn’t want me here anymore. That there wasn’t space for me, so I had to go back with him.”
Wayne thought that being punched in the chest would have been less painful than hearing that. As much as he wanted to sit there and call his brother a liar along with a slew of much harsher names, he couldn’t let himself do that. Eddie had already been through so much that night, and he wasn’t going to be responsible for worsening the boy’s opinion of his own dad. Instead, he placed a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth. There was not a day that went by that I didn’t wish you were here with me. Your dad and I had just had a fight, and it made more sense for you to be with him than it did for you to stay here. That’s all it was.”
Wayne got up from the sofa and moved over to where the old foldout bed was pushed into the corner. Behind it was a small, wooden chest. He picked up the chest and set it back down in front of Eddie. He encouraged Eddie to open it, and when the boy did, the first thing he saw was his old stuffed lion. He pulled the plushie out and hugged it to his chest before looking back to find many more of his childhood play things. Toy cars, dinosaurs, and little army men mixed in with crayon stumps, notebooks filled with his drawings, and his mother’s well-loved copies of Tolkien’s epic fantasy. The boy looked up at his uncle with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry if my mistakes ever made you feel unwanted,” Wayne started, “because the truth is that I would still want you here and have the space for you even if this trailer was the size of my bathroom and nothing bigger.”
“You swear?” Eddie asked. He held out his pinky, and his uncle immediately gripped it with his own.
“I swear.”
Wayne moved to set up the fold out bed.
“You don’t have to go through any of that tonight. It’s late enough as it is. Let me get your bed set up, and we can deal with all of that tomorrow.”
“I’m fine on the couch.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not gonna let you sleep on the couch when I’ve got a perfectly good bed for you.”
“It’s really okay. When we weren’t sleeping in the car, I slept on a lot of couches at other people’s places. The floor sometimes, too. But I always liked the couches best."
The boy seemed eager to please as if he'd been told not to be difficult about where he slept in the past. To accept what he was offered without complaint. Wayne didn't want to fight him on this, but he also didn't want Eddie to think that this was any trouble for him. He'd give him the choice and let the boy do whatever he was most comfortable with.
"Well, I'm just gonna go ahead and set up the bed anyway. You don't have to sleep on it if you don't want to, but I want you to have it as an option."
Wayne barely slept that night. Eddie had looked at the fold out bed as if it was a trap before curling up into a ball on the sofa. It was then that it occurred to him that his nephew hadn't had his own room or any space to really call his own since the first time he'd come to live at the trailer. He'd always shared his uncle's room or the living room or whatever space his dad was able to provide.
Wayne had never needed much space. He didn't have a lot of stuff, and he figured he could fit most of his things in the tiny closet outside the bathroom if he did a little rearranging. Most of his drawers had been taken up by Eddie’s clothes when he lived there the first time anyway. He could take the fold out bed in the living room and give up his bedroom for his nephew. And if Eddie had his own space, maybe that would silence whatever was telling him that he was unwanted and allow him to relax.
So, instead of sleeping, he went through his closet. The boxes filled with Eddie’s old clothes were emptied onto the bed so he could load them up with his things. Moving it all into the hall closet and drawers could wait until morning since he didn’t want to accidentally wake his nephew, but he could get the room mostly ready for the boy to move into it.
By the time it was a reasonable enough hour for him to go and make his morning coffee, he had all of his stuff piled in boxes in the corner and another box of things he was planning on donating to Goodwill. He figured he could wash the sheets and put a fresh set on the bed later, but everything else was ready.
Eddie was still curled up asleep on the couch when Wayne exited the bedroom, so he tried to be as quiet as possible as he started the coffee. He woke up before the coffee was done though, and soon enough, he was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stood next to his uncle in the kitchen.
“You sleep okay, kiddo?” Wayne asked as he pulled out a couple cereal bowls.
Eddie nodded before moving to take his normal spot at the small table. Wayne didn’t want to pry too much, but he was clueless about what Eddie’s life had been like over the last few years, so he tried to get the boy to talk to him without it seeming like he was interrogating him.
Over bowls of Cheerios, Eddie shared that most of the time, his dad had him hang out at the comic book shop after school and on the weekends. He wasn’t supposed to get in the way while Richie was working, so every week, his dad gave him two dollars, and he could spend that on whatever comics he wanted even if the only ones he really cared about were the X-Men ones. The guy who ran the shop was really nice and let Eddie sit there for as long as he needed to even on the days that he wasn’t buying anything. He never missed school, and his dad always made sure he was fed, so at least he hadn’t been lacking in those departments. Richie was neglectful in a lot of ways, but he had managed to do the bare minimum. He could be thankful for that at least.
After breakfast, Wayne had Eddie help him sort through the boy’s old clothes. None of the pants were going to fit him anymore, but he had a handful of shirts that had been a little big before that he could still fit into. Wayne just hoped that they’d be able to find a few pairs of jeans in decent shape while they were at Goodwill because he definitely didn’t have the money to drop on new pants.
Eddie wanted to keep his dinosaurs and the one little car that had been his favorite, and of course he was keeping Mister Lion, but the rest of his old toys joined the Goodwill boxes. He just wasn’t interested in those things anymore. Wayne made a mental note to pick up a new box of crayons the next time he was at the grocery store since Eddie was very adamant about keeping all of his old drawings, and his old crayons were barely usable anymore.
Their trip to Goodwill was a successful one. Wayne had to use up a good portion of his cigarette budget for the month on a new wardrobe for Eddie, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He’d been meaning to cut back anyway.
“Why don’t you go and put your clothes away in your room?” Wayne told Eddie when they returned to the trailer.
“My room?”
“The bedroom is yours, Eds. I just have to move a few things into the other closet and change the sheets, and then it’ll be ready.”
“You don’t have to give up your room for me.”
“I know. But I want to. Figured you should have a space of your own if you’re gonna be staying here permanently.”
Eddie dropped the bags he was holding and went to give his uncle a hug.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“No need to thank me. You deserve this.”
As Wayne was moving the rest of his stuff out of the room, Eddie was drawn to one item in particular.
“You play guitar?” he asked, eyeing the old acoustic in his uncle’s hands.
“I used to. I don’t think I’ve actually played it since before you were born. I was about your age when I learned though.”
“Could you teach me?”
“Sure can. I was just gonna stick it in the closet, but you can keep it in your room if you want and you promise to be real careful with it.”
Eddie nodded enthusiastically before taking the guitar from his uncle and carrying it back into his bedroom.
The rest of Eddie’s first day back at the trailer passed by without any incident. Eddie was slowly warming up to being there again even if he still seemed cautious about what he was and wasn’t allowed to do. It wasn’t until bedtime that Wayne was certain things would be okay between them.
By then, he was exhausted from having stayed up all night and all the work he did to get the bedroom ready for him. He’d just tucked Eddie in and was getting ready to set up his own bed in the living room when he heard the bedroom door open.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked. “Thought you were going to sleep?”
“I was,” Eddie said as he looked down at the ground. “But I was just thinking maybe you could set up your bed in my room like we used to? Just for tonight?”
“I think that can be arranged.”
Wayne squeezed the fold out bed into the cramped bedroom. Without saying a word, Eddie handed his uncle the copy of The Hobbit that was sitting on the nightstand, and even though he was ready to crash, Wayne settled in and read until his nephew was softly snoring beside him just as he had so many times before.
December 1976
Wayne was not spoiling Eddie for Christmas this year. If anyone asked, he insisted he wasn’t. He was staying well within his budget for the holidays, but he was buying pretty much everything secondhand, so his money went a little further. He’d picked up a few board games and an assortment of mismatched legos from the Goodwill, and he’d managed to get a good deal on a new set of strings for the guitar. He’d even picked up the 64 pack of Crayola crayons that had a sharpener built into the box and some plain, unlined paper for him to draw on. Eddie's Christmases with his dad hadn't exactly been great ones, and he wanted to do what he could to make up for that. There was just one last thing he wanted to get.
It had all started when Eddie had spent an entire day drawing at the kitchen table. Wayne hadn't been paying much attention to him because anything that kept Eddie occupied and quiet for more than five minutes meant he could get some cleaning done around the trailer without his nephew getting underfoot or making more work for him. He loved the kid as if he were his own, but he could be a handful at times. When he went to put another load of dirty clothes in the washer and figure out what he was making for dinner, he got a good look at what Eddie had been drawing.
Wayne gathered up the papers and shuffled through them, and he was amazed by Eddie's work. They were good drawings. Not just good for a kid drawings where you could tell what they were supposed to be but they still looked clumsy. These were actually good, and they were all dragons. Different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some breathing fire, some flying, and some sleeping, but all recognizable as dragons.
"Did you draw all of these?" he asked.
Eddie nodded without looking up from his current drawing.
"And you didn't trace 'em or copy them from something or anything?"
"Nope. I just drew what I pictured."
“These are really great, Eds. Best drawings I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Don’t know where you got all this talent from. No one in our family can draw more than a stick figure.”
Eddie was absolutely beaming from all of the praise.
“Which one is your favorite?” the boy asked.
Wayne flipped through the stack of drawings in his hand before pulling out one of a purple dragon asleep on a pile of gold coins and jewels.
“If I had to pick, it’s this one,” he said as he held up the picture. “Would you mind if I hung it on the fridge?”
“You wanna hang up my picture?”
“Of course, I do. Gotta display it like the masterpiece it is.”
After the first drawing was in its place on the fridge, Eddie wanted to hang the rest of his dragons up in his room, so Wayne carefully taped up each and every one of them exactly where Eddie told him to. The entire time, Eddie was sitting cross-legged on his bed monologuing about how cool dragons were and why they were his most favorite fantasy creature. It was then that Wayne knew he had to find a way to get his boy something dragon-related for Christmas.
The problem he was facing was that there seemed to be absolutely nothing dragon-related in all of Hawkins, and he was running out of time. He didn’t know what he was going to do until he spotted something on one of the shelves in the comic book shop.
Wayne couldn’t give Eddie as much money as his dad had been giving him to spend on comics, but every Saturday, they took a trip there after lunch and before they did their grocery shopping for the next week. Eddie was allowed to choose one comic to take home, and Wayne would let him take as long as he needed to make that decision. Usually, he’d just stand and wait with Eddie, but a box with a large red dragon on the front had piqued his interest, so he went to examine it. It didn’t take long for him to realize that it was the perfect gift for his nephew.
When Eddie ran up to him with the comic he’d chosen, Wayne told him to go wait in the truck while he paid. As soon as his nephew was out of his sight, he grabbed the box and bought it along with the comic. It was a little more than he wanted to spend, but he knew it would be worth it to see Eddie’s face when he opened it on Christmas morning.
Wayne had barely opened his eyes before Eddie was shoving a gift into his hands on Christmas morning. He’d insisted that he didn’t need anything like he had for every single Christmas of his adult life, and he had been ignored as usual. When he opened the gift bag, he was presented with four different coffee mugs.
“There’s one for this year, and one for every Christmas I missed,” Eddie said, looking very proud of himself.
“How’d you get the money to pay for these?”
“A group of kids on the playground bet me their milk money that I wouldn’t eat a worm.”
“You ate a worm?”
Eddie shrugged. “It didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time.”
Wayne snorted and moved to ruffle a hand through the boy’s curls. “We’ve gotta work on your impulse control, kid.”
“Do you like them?” Eddie asked.
“I love ‘em. In fact, I’m gonna have my morning coffee in one of them, and I’ll make you a special Christmas hot cocoa in one, too.”
After the drinks had been passed out, Wayne pushed his bed to the side so he and Eddie could sit on the floor together with the tiny fake tree that Wayne had found at a garage sale. It wasn’t much, and it looked even tinier when the small pile of gifts for Eddie was almost the same height, but Eddie had just been excited to have a tree which was good enough for Wayne.
As Eddie opened his gifts, Wayne made sure that the one he was the most excited to give him was the last one he opened.
“Dungeons and Dragons?” Eddie read off the front of the box.
“It’s a fantasy roleplaying game,” Wayne told him. “I don’t know much about it, but the guy down at the comic book shop said it’s pretty fun, and I know how much you like dragons and fantasy stuff, so I thought this could be fun. I figured you could read the manual and maybe teach me how to play? If that’s okay with you, of course.”
It was more than okay with Eddie. Wayne watched as Eddie did nothing but read the manuals and plan out a small campaign for them to play for pretty much his entire winter break. On New Year’s Eve, he sat his uncle down at their kitchen table and walked him through creating a character before diving into their fantasy adventure. Wayne tried his best to understand what was going on, and Eddie often had to remind him which die to roll and when, but the boy’s excitement and enthusiasm for the game was apparent the entire time. He never got frustrated with him for forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, and he put every bit of his dramatic, over the top personality into painting a picture of this fantasy world.
There were plenty of days where Wayne was convinced that he was doing everything wrong when it came to raising Eddie, but as he watched his nephew fall in love with his new game, he knew that he’d done at least one thing right.
May 1980
When Eddie started middle school, Wayne had decided he was old enough to take the bus home from school and be alone at the trailer until he got home from work. For the most part, this hadn’t been a bad idea, and Eddie had only almost flooded the trailer once. But, towards the end of eighth grade, there was one big hiccup.
“I messed up,” Eddie called from the bathroom the second Wayne had walked in the door.
"Messed up how?"
"Can you just come here?"
Wayne made his way back to the bathroom where he found Eddie leaning over the sink. Sitting on the edge of the sink was a pair of scissors, and there was a very obvious chunk of hair missing from the left side of his head. Considering the fact that Eddie had just told him a week before that he was planning on growing out his hair in an attempt to emulate his favorite musicians, Wayne was more than a little bit confused.
"Wanna tell me what happened?" he asked.
"I was just minding my own business and talking to my friend Jeff about how awesome Corroded Coffin was gonna be at the talent show next week when the kid in the seat behind me smashed his gum in my hair."
"Is this the same kid who called you a freak and ripped up your notebook last month?"
"Yeah . . . I've been ignoring him like you said, but he just won't leave me alone."
Wayne had never considered beating a child before, but there was a first time for everything.
"And I'm guessing the scissors are out because you were trying to get the gum out by yourself?"
"I tried everything. But I couldn't get it out with my hands, and trying to pick it out with my comb only made it worse. And I didn't know what to do, so I figured I could just cut it out, and no one would notice. But I ended up cutting off too much, and now I look like this."
"Why didn't you wait for me to get home? I could've helped you."
"I was embarrassed," Eddie said. The boy looked like he was about ready to cry. "I don't like talking about this stuff, so I thought maybe I could do it alone, and then I wouldn't have to tell you."
Wayne sighed before squeezing past Eddie to pull his clippers out of the bathroom cabinet.
"I can fix this," he said. "It's not going to be what you want, and it's going to take awhile for your hair to grow back, but I can at least even it out and make it look like you wanted your hair to be shorter, okay?"
Eddie nodded.
"Good. Now take a seat and let me take care of you."
Eddie sat down on the edge of the toilet, and Wayne got to work. To make it easier for the clippers to do their job, Wayne started out by using the scissors to cut off Eddie's curls in chunks that he tossed aside in the sink. Once his hair was a more manageable length, Wayne turned on the clippers and started evening out the cut. It definitely wasn't what Eddie wanted, but soon enough, the boy was sporting a fresh buzz cut.
“I’m going to clean up in here, and then you can take a shower if you want. After that, meet me in the kitchen. I think you and I might need to have a talk.”
After sweeping up Eddie’s hair, Wayne headed into the kitchen and put on the water for hot chocolate. That was their routine. Whenever they had to talk about something even remotely upsetting, they did it over cups of hot cocoa in the hopes that the sweetness of the drink would soften the blow.
Eddie came out of the bathroom and took his usual seat at the kitchen table just as Wayne was finished making their drinks. He set Eddie’s mug down in front of him before taking his own seat. It was obvious to him that the boy had been crying while he was in the bathroom from his red-rimmed eyes, but he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t want to make Eddie feel worse than he clearly already did.
Wayne couldn’t get a word out before Eddie started talking.
“I don’t think I wanna do the talent show anymore,” he said as he stared into his mug.
“Why not? It’s all you’ve talked about for weeks.”
“They haven’t even heard me play yet, and I’m already getting picked on for it. What if I suck, and it gets worse?”
“So what?”
“What do you mean so what?” Eddie asked. “You just had to shave my head. I don’t want anything like this to happen ever again.”
Wayne sighed and took a sip from his mug.
“I know we don’t talk about your mama very often, but after you, music was her favorite thing in this world. When you all lived with me, there wasn’t a moment of the day that she wasn’t singing along with whatever was playing on the radio, and she might have been just about the worst singer I’ve heard in my entire life. Couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket if her life depended on it, and we all teased her about it constantly. But that didn’t stop her from singing her heart out whenever she heard her favorite songs.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“People around here are small-minded, and they’re raising their children to be a bunch of small-minded idiots. No matter what you do, there’s always going to be someone who’s gonna try to make you feel small. That’s just the way life is. And if you stop yourself from doing the things you love just because someone else is making fun of you for it, you’re only letting the bullies win. You’ve gotta be a bigger and louder version of yourself and not let them affect you.
“You are so much like your mama in a lot of ways. Practically a little clone of her at times. Especially when you smile. But the biggest difference that I can see is that you have talent. I may not understand the kind of music you like, but I can tell when something sounds good. I hear you practicing, and you’ve got a gift. I won’t lie to you and pretend that everyone is going to love your performance or that the bullies will magically disappear, but what I can tell you is that it would be a damn shame if you didn’t share your gift with the world just because some little shit stain on your bus clearly wasn’t raised right.”
Wayne got up from the table to put his mug in the sink, but he’d barely taken a step before Eddie had jumped up and wrapped his arms around his uncle in a bone-crushing hug.
“Thank you,” Eddie whispered.
“You’re welcome,” Wayne replied as he hugged him back. “I probably don’t say this enough, but I hope you know that I love you, and I’m always going to be in your corner.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
“Good. And if you have any more trouble on that bus of yours, you let me know, and I’ll kick that little punk’s butt. No one is gonna get away with treating my boy like crap.”
Eddie snorted as he pulled away from his uncle.
“I’m sure he’ll be terrified. You’re basically the least intimidating person I know.”
“Okay, smart ass. I’m plenty intimidating.”
“You’re about as scary as a teddy bear.”
It was Wayne’s turn to laugh.
A few weeks later, when Father’s Day rolled around, Wayne woke up to a gift and a homemade card waiting for him next to the coffee maker. He opened the card first, and printed in Eddie’s messy scrawl, it read:
I feel like this is probably long overdue, and I should have been honoring you today for at least a few years now. You’ve been more of a dad to me than I ever remember mine being, and I feel like I don’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me enough. So thanks for always being there. Happy Father’s Day from your boy.
Feeling a little choked up, Wayne pulled the gift towards himself next. It was wrapped up in the comics from the day before’s newspaper with way too much tape. He knew what it would be before he'd even unwrapped it, but he was always happy to see whatever mug Eddie had picked out for him. This one was dark green and patterned with sunflowers, and he knew that it was going to become one of his new favorites immediately if only because of the circumstances in which he received it.
March 1986
Wayne Munson was tired. Tired of people judging Eddie without really knowing him, tired of people not listening to him, and tired of people defacing his missing posters instead of actually helping him look. He was tired of having to keep his guard up when anyone tried to talk to him because he didn’t want to lose his temper and attack someone for spouting vile nonsense at him, and he was tired of spending every waking moment - and most of his sleeping ones - worrying about Eddie. Tired of sleeping in the high school surrounded by people who had actively been hunting down his boy to do who knows what to him. He was just tired.
So, when Dustin Henderson came up to him and gave him the news that Eddie was gone, he could feel himself crumbling from the inside out. At first, he didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be true. His boy was out there somewhere and hiding until someone could find concrete evidence that cleared his name. He had to be. But the guitar pick necklace that Dustin held out to him and the apparent pain plastered across the kid’s face had sealed it. His boy was dead, and he was never going to see him again.
Wayne had never been one to outwardly express his emotions. He tended to keep things tucked away until he could have a moment in private, and he certainly never cried in public. But hearing the way that Dustin spoke so fondly about Eddie broke him. Because Dustin was saying everything that he already knew to be true. If Hawkins had really taken the time to get to know his boy, they all would have been able to look past his outer appearance, and they would have loved him just as much as Wayne did. He was certain of it. He just never thought he’d hear someone else say it.
Shortly after he spoke to Dustin, Wayne and the other trailer park residents were given the all clear to go back to their trailers and gather their things. The relief workers had marked it as safe for them to enter briefly, but no one was going to be allowed to stay there for very long. They were instructed to gather up anything important and head back to their temporary housing at the school as soon as possible. Eventually, they’d be able to come back and grab the rest of their things when more permanent housing was found for them, but for now, they were limited in how much they could take.
Wayne didn’t know how much of his stuff was going to be worth saving. Frankly, he was surprised that his trailer had even been left standing when he saw the fault line that ran through what had once been his living room. Out of an abundance of caution, he had entered through the door down near the bedroom instead of the main entrance. He moved quickly, shoving as many of his clothes in his bag as he could. He’d much rather wear his own stuff than the donations that people brought into the school.
After that, he grabbed the sentimental things. For once, he was thankful that he didn’t keep things in conventional places because that meant that all of his photo albums were safe. The notebooks full of Eddie’s childhood drawings and his favorite dragon picture were safe. Eddie’s beloved stuffed lion was safe. All of these were carefully added to his bag. But the one thing he couldn’t take was what hurt the most to leave behind.
He’d known the second that he saw the fault line running through his home that his mugs wouldn’t have made it. What was left of his living room display was now smashed on the floor, and he could tell just from the look of it that there was nothing he could save. He knew it was stupid for him to be so upset about them. They were just a bunch of mugs and nobody else would find them important. Anybody else wouldn’t give them a second thought because they could be replaced.
But they were important to Wayne. Those mugs tied him to better times with people he would never be able to see again. He could buy a new mug, but he couldn’t buy the mugs that Linda had stolen from her parents for him, he couldn’t buy the mugs that Eddie had eaten a worm to pay for, and he couldn’t buy the mug that Eddie gave him the first time he recognized him on Father’s Day. He couldn’t buy back the happiness that looking at those mugs and remembering their stories gave him. That was gone forever.
He didn’t want to set himself up for even more disappointment, but a part of him needed to know if the mugs that he stored in the cabinet had made it through the earthquake. Those were the ones that he used the most often. His favorites. He would be heartbroken if they were all destroyed, but he needed that closure.
When he opened the cabinet above the coffee maker, he was met with a shelf covered with the broken pieces of his mugs that had smashed against each other in the enclosed space. He knew not to get his hopes up, but it was still a painful sight to see.
But, pushed into the very back corner of the cabinet, there was one mug that appeared to still be intact. He carefully pulled it out of the debris to inspect it. Sporting a new chip on the handle, the mug featured the phrase “World’s Best Uncle” hand-painted on the side along with a bright blue baby handprint. The mug from Eddie’s first Christmas.
As he carefully wrapped the mug in a sheet of newspaper that was sitting on the floor underneath the kitchen table, Wayne felt himself choking back tears for the second time that day. It wasn’t his whole collection, but at least it was something. After all, he was only one man. He always said he didn’t need more than one mug.
I dont think I'll have the proper words to truly explain how wonderful and utterly soul crushing this story is.
Like ... it has everything I love about stories that focus on Wayne and Eddie's family and it paints such a vivid and realistic picture. I loved reading this is was such a treat.
And even though you know and you think you're prepared, the ending comes around and tips out your heart and chews on it.
In conclusion: I adored this but I feel like I am now entitled to financial compensation after going through this much heartbreak.
could we have something with wayne? i love wayne 🥺 was he upset when reader first got pregnant? worried about how eddie would cope and the consequences of having a baby so young? or was he buying onesies and telling everyone in the trailer park he was gunna be a grandpa?
this was an absolute delight to write. the penny verse is an extension of another series I have (Call You Mine) and Wayne is heavily involved in later chapters. this contains a ton of spoilers for it but i don’t care all that much because I love Wayne too and I really like his relationship with reader and what I have going for his backstory with Eddie. hope you enjoy it!
little note, tumblr seems to have glitched (surprise, surprise) with the text color so if you have your tumblr palette set to a darker mode, you may need to change it to read the actual fic. weird how it doesn't do it for ANY of the informational sections, only for the actual body of the fic. funny how that works isn't it?
𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬
(Father-in-law!Wayne Munson and Daughter-in-law!Reader bonding)
warnings: mentions of pregnancy and drugs (reader does not use)
a/n: reader is 19, eddie is 20 and both are married to each other. daisy edgar jones is NOT reader, she is how i imagine Eddie’s mom to look so she’s used for the aesthetic. happy reading and let me know how you like it! as always, reblogs and comments (not jerk ones) are appreciated and mistakes will be fixed later!
more of the pennyverse here
It’s late, the sun is dipping below the earth visible to your eye, the trailer park lit only by the porch lights attached to a few of the mobile homes and light slipping through window blinds, drapes and curtains.
You’re standing in front of the window next to the front door, fingers separating the blinds and fingertips pressed against the cold glass. It’s warm in the trailer, compared to outside and courtesy of the space heater that goes above and beyond in heating your humble home.
The musical sound of Eddie, singing something of Whitesnake’s in the shower can be faintly heard but you aren’t paying him any attention. Your only focus is on the tan trailer four down from Maxine’s; spread out and relaxed in one of the lawn chairs under its awning is the Munson you’re most concerned about, at the moment.
It had been almost an entire month since you’d last spoken to him, something you hadn’t been aware of until you had purposely started to avoid him.
Your relationship with Wayne Munson was anything but complicated. Well, until recently. When you’d first met him, not only did you discover he was about as wise as he looked and not nearly as scary as you imagined him to be (reminded you a lot of Eddie, actually), but you also realized he cared for Eddie, deeply. Enough to sit you down and tell you all about how he knew of Eddie’s deep affections for you before telling you all about his relationship with Penny—Eddie’s mother—and how he hoped you two would have a much happier ending. He’d asked you to take care of Eddie then, too. If you wanted to be with him, that was. And you did, so you agreed.
Then you’d broken up with Eddie. You’d been heartbroken the entire time and positive you’d disappointed Wayne. Only, when you made your way to the trailer to fix what you’d destroyed, you had encountered Wayne again and expected to be turned away. Instead, he told you he knew you wouldn’t break your promise to him and welcomed you back.
The thing is, while you were sure he really believed you wouldn’t break your promise to take care of Eddie, you were also sure there had to have been a moment during your break up in which Wayne Munson regretted ever trusting you with his nephew’s heart, especially since that nephew was more his son than anything.
Now, you were disappointing him again. It didn’t have anything to do with leaving Eddie, far from. If anything, you were now permanently bound to Eddie, in some way. You’re pregnant, as in you have his baby growing inside of you.
It had come as a shock to you because you had no inkling that you were pregnant up until a couple of weeks ago (like two) and just as you were beginning to actually enjoy and soak in the fact that you and Eddie were going to be parents (you were gonna be someone’s mom! How fucking weird!), Eddie burst your bubble, informing you he’d seen Wayne recently and mentioned it to him.
You love Eddie. Want to spend the rest of your life with him doing stupid shit like marrying him right after your graduation ceremony and having a baby at the apparently irresponsible ages of 19 and 20, but you wanted to strangle him right then. Not just because he’d told Wayne, but also because he’d done so like he was some random person from his past who asked him how he was doing and he’d casually mentioned that he and his young wife were expecting. Wayne deserved better than that.
Which is why, after days of cowering and avoiding him (it wasn’t all that difficult, Wayne spent about 98% of his time at his girlfriend’s home—the trailer you were staring at—so you hadn’t seen him often to begin with since that romance had developed) you’re determined to talk to him. Just need a couple more minutes to work up the courage.
You aren’t stupid. Well, you are, but not that stupid. You know what most “adults” (you’re an adult, too, but you’re talking about the old ass folks) thought about you. How dumb they assum you are for marrying young and Eddie, no less (they could suck your dick, he’s a fantastic husband), and now that you’re pregnant—and not even showing all that much—you know they’d think they were right. Like having a baby with the man you loved was some giant fucking punishment. Clearly, they need to rethink who they are married to if it was such a concern for them or mind their own business.
But Wayne…god, you had no idea what to expect from him. He was one of the few people in this town whose opinion you actually respected and valued. He’d wanted you and Eddie to wait a little but still gave him his blessing to marry you because he knew nothing would stop you. Your parents had been about the same, but that’s a different, messy story. Marriage was one thing, having a baby is much larger than that.
You’d been avoiding Wayne out of fear of hearing him voice what you knew was slowly making its way around Hawkins: you’re making a mistake.
You’d be disappointing Wayne. Again.
Still, you can’t avoid him forever.
You see the man in question rattle the beer can in his hand, something you’d seen him do plenty of times on the couch outside of this trailer before he’d take the lack of liquid in it as a sign to get up, joints creaking, and make his way inside for the night.
You hurriedly slip on your coat and crash through the front door. It’s much colder than you anticipated but you ignore it and soldier on, making your way down the road.
You stare at your shoes as you sit in the empty lawn chair next to his, the cold of it numbing your butt on contact.
You know he’s not looking at you, probably still admiring the colors of the sky and taking everything in like he always is.
He breaks the silence first.
“Bit cold out for you, ain’t it?”
You wet your lips, hands curled in the warm pockets of your coat.
“It’s not so bad. I prefer cold weather over the heat.”
He hums, low and always all-knowing. You know that he knows why you’re here. Just like Eddie, he’s patient with you; letting you come to him, letting you tell him when you’re ready. You think maybe Eddie picked up that particular character trait from how Wayne interacted with him.
“I wanted─” You start and don’t finish. Another moment passes before you try again.
“I didn’t─”
Fuck! Why was this so hard? You hadn’t realized how badly you wanted to make him proud of you, after everything you’d put Eddie through (who probably put Wayne through a lot, as a result), you wanted to make up for it by being good to his boy and what was supposed to be a happy thing was beginning to feel like you trapping him. You knew that wasn’t the case, Eddie wanted the little being growing inside of you just as much as you did.
Trying to explain that to someone so much older was challenging. Trying to explain it to someone older and someone you didn’t want to ever look down on you, was practically impossible. You probably appear young and dumb.
You figure, maybe it’s time to succumb to defeat, shoulders sagging.
“You can say it.”
It’s a whisper but Wayne hears it, finally turning his head to take you in. You still can’t meet his eyes, don’t want him to see how sad yours are.
“Say what?”
“That I’m stupid. I’m ruining my life, settling. Trapping him. Screwing him over,” you don’t even notice you’re doing it, your hand moves to rest on your stomach, as if to protect your baby from the accusation you’re about to throw out. “I’m making a mistake.”
Wayne doesn’t say anything at first, just hums again. It’s not one of agreement. His thumb runs over the aluminum of the beer can in his grasp.
“You think that?”
You brave a glance at him, willing yourself to not cower under his gaze. Wayne Munson’s stare can have any sinner confessing, just from the sheer intimidation in it.
You can’t find your tongue all of a sudden, feeling like a child. You just shake your head, timid.
“Then why would I think that?”
“Uhm, because. Uh, because it’s what everyone thinks. It’s what they thought when we got married in June, too.”
Wayne chuckles, shaking his head fondly.
“Didn’t seem to stop you from going through with it.”
It hadn’t. Before you even got to the courthouse, word had spread and one of the cheer moms who worked there had tried to offer you some unsolicited advice: don’t do it.
You did it.
“There ain’t nothing ‘bout you two that’s been conventional. Always got me rubbing my scalp.”
You giggle, biting your lip to try to stop yourself but you know Wayne meant to make you laugh, tried to ease you with humor he rarely expressed. For some reason, the jokes about him balding greatly amused you.
“Are you mad? That I’m pregnant?”
“No,” he shakes his head, gruffly clearing his throat. Doesn’t do much, his voice is always raspy. “Takes two to get in a spot like that. I didn’t see it coming, that’s for sure. But like I said, you two ain’t ever been conventional. Glad to see you’re following the order of things, ‘least. I’ll be honest with you, it’s always been a little hard to picture where Eddie would end up, what he’d be doing in life. Other than playing that loud music and going to those damn noisy shows. Made me a little nervous with those girls I knew he brought around, didn’t ever meet none of them but I knew. If it had been then, I’d probably have been more scared. ‘Specially if he felt like he had to hide ‘em. Or if they had to hide him.”
Wayne leans further back into the chair, making the stiff thing look as comfortable as a recliner.
“It’s different with you. We had this conversation before. You remember?” You think you know what he’s about to bring up, so you nod.
“Mhm. You’re about how old Penny was when she had Eddie. Maybe a little younger. You ain’t married to an asshole, either. For the most part.”
You laugh again and point out, “I thought Penny never married Otis.”
Otis is Eddie’s dad. The older brother (by 10 years) of Wayne’s who swooped in and stole his best friend from him, introducing the much younger girl to a life of a hardcore drug you’d never touch and one Eddie would make sure he never had any part of: meth.
Wayne had told you she’d gotten clean when she found out she was pregnant with Eddie and stayed that way, for him. You know that’s when he fell in love with her. Sadly, their story would never involve romance. They were kept apart by Otis, distance and themselves, neither one of them speaking up when she’d returned to Hawkins with Eddie, unwilling to have him live in a meth lab. In a cruel ironic twist, she’d ended up dying of an overdose not much longer after her return; she’d been struggling to sleep with everything going on and unknowingly mixed two over the counter sleeping pills that shut her system down. She’d stayed clean only to die because she wanted a good night's sleep so she could take care of her son. Eddie had been forced by the system to live with his father, only being allowed to return to Wayne—with a shaved head when traces of the drug were found in his hair—after his father’s lab was busted.
“She didn’t,” Wayne agrees, that far off look in his eye when he recounts his younger days to you. “But he wasn’t exactly the type of man any woman would want to marry. You got lucky with Eddie, he ain’t nothing like Otis.”
You hum in agreement, mind flooding with thoughts of soft curls and even softer brown eyes. You know Wayne loves Eddie on his own and wouldn’t ever treat him differently, but you can’t help but be thankful—for Wayne—that Eddie is an almost exact replica of his mom, appearance wise. For both of them, actually. Eddie hates his father and you know he’d hate himself if he looked in the mirror and saw any resemblance.
“You got your head on right.” You snap out of your thoughts at the comment, surprised.
“Huh?”
“You might be young, but you sure ain’t stupid. I may not know everything that went on with you, but I know you saved yourself from it. You and Eddie been doing an awful lot of that your whole lives, ‘least you get to do it together now. I know you love Eddie, and I know you love that baby. So don’t you dare say you made a mistake. Would I have liked for you to wait? Sure. Hell, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have minded waiting either. Unless—was this…?”
“No! No! It wasn’t planned at all!” You don’t mention that you and Eddie hadn’t been using protection, just blindly trusting your birth control. He doesn’t need to know that.
Wayne sighs in relief. “See? You ain’t stupid.” Debatable. “And even if it was, I trust that you know what you’re doing. ‘S the reason I let you two live in that trailer alone.”
You smirk, happy to have the opportunity to chime in.
“Are you sure it’s not because of Ms. Maple?” You wiggle your eyebrows, not so discreetly nodding your head to the trailer behind you and the occupant you’re sure is inside.
You laugh as Wayne raises his eyes at the awning.
“Lord,” he mutters, with fake annoyance. He’ll tell you all about Penny but he won’t say a thing about Maude Maple. You suspect it’s because he feels like he’s betraying Penny in some way, even though they were never involved. Munson men are loyal.
“Is that what you came over here to pester me about? Or are we gonna keep this talk serious?”
“No,” You pout, curling your legs up to your chest. “I just—I didn’t know how to tell you. Kind of forgot we have to tell people actually, and when Eddie mentioned that he’d brought it up in a chat─”
You’re cut off when Wayne booms out a laugh, surprising you considering you’d rarely heard him laugh hard.
He’s almost snickering when he calms down, “Is that what he told you? That boy called me up and asked if we could talk. Figured it could only mean he’d gotten you pregnant, considering he already eloped with you. He was shaking in his shoes the entire time he was over, he didn’t just bring it up in a run-in.”
Your mouth drops open, eyes squinting as you think about how you’re gonna chastise Eddie as soon as you get back to the trailer. That jerk! He made it seem like it was just something that came up in conversation, not something that he’d set aside time to talk to Wayne about!
Another half of you wanted to kiss him silly for taking it seriously and having a meaningful conversation with his father figure about becoming a father.
“No wonder you were so well prepared.”
“That didn’t have nothing to do with it. Like I said, I figured you were. Not just ‘cause he wanted to have a talk, it may not be obvious to the two of you since you see each other every day, but you’re filling out a little more.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, though there’s no animosity to it. You know he’s not implying you’re gaining weight, he’s saying you’re showing.
“Winter layers can’t hide it.”
Your mouth drops open and closed, gaze darting from what you thought was your normal looking stomach to Wayne and back again.
“You’re good!” You marvel, baffled at how observant and damn near omnipresent Wayne Munson is.
Wayne looks pleased with your statement, a small smile on his face. “I know. Eddie says it’s a girl. What color clothes should I be buying my grandbaby? You got any names picked out?”
You pull your hand out of your pocket to nervously bite at your thumb. Ever since you’d accepted the fact that you were gonna be a mom (still so fucking weird), to a girl, there was only one name bouncing around in your head. You hadn’t even shared the idea with Eddie yet.
