Shellie • she/her • old AF🤣 • GenX • New-ish How can you not 💗Pedro, seriously?! Avid reader and a supporter of writers (totally in awe of what you do, thanks for sharing) Items here are 18+ MDNI
Some truly amazing chapters, one shots, WIP games, etc. have dropped over the past week and I have been savoring reading them and finding new stories to add to my list based on reblogs, WIP posts, and so on. Not that they haven’t in the past, but my current situation has limited some of my reading and interaction more than I would like.
Finally, the weather has cooperated to provide me with time (snow day ❄️🌨️ subzero temps day 🥶!) to start digging in without truly putting off work (hurray to the beginning of a new semester when there isn’t much homework yet) to read new and re-read old favorites.
The only thing left to do is find a cozy blanket, favorite reading glasses, cup of tea and sink in. Also removing my Garmin watch. I don’t need it telling me to get up and move or, no joke, that I seem stressed and to take a breath! You’d be stressed to if you saw the shenanigans Frankie, Dieter, Din, Joel, Pero, Harry, Dave, Marcus (x2), and Tim were up to with reader/original character!! Can’t wait! In the spirit of transparency, I may have chipped away at the reading earlier than today 🥰😘🤩
Thanks for sharing, writing, and being here. There’s an embarrassment of riches here thanks to you all (and those I have yet to discover!)
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The boyfriend act, part 33: "The one with Santi's wedding, part two" (part two, lol)
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader
SERIES MASTERLIST
Buy me a coffee - Ko-fi
Chapter summary: Santi and Yov’s wedding night approaches, bringing with it a tide of long overdue confrontations you can no longer delay. Somebody goes missing again, and you're driven into another unexpected search. Part two of part two!
wc of entire chapter: 29.k
wc of this chapter: 16.2k
A/N: this chapter aka part two, also has a part one, don't miss it! it's here. So, thank you so much for reading this! I love you guys so much please let me knowww your opinions on this one!!!!!
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You woke up far too early for having slept so little. Before your alarm could even ring at 7:00 AM, your eyes were already fixed on the ceiling.
You hadn't stayed up late, as everyone turned in shortly after cocktails ended. Santi and Yov had been soooo happy, and you were certain they were the last to leave, alongside your mom.
You, on the other hand, brought your night to an early close. You went up to your room, washed off your makeup, peeled off your clothes, and surrendered to the soft comfort of the bed.
Yet you couldn't catch a single wink, even as your eyes burned with exhaustion. Your mind was racing too fast to yield to sleep, and the harder you tried to clear your thoughts, the louder they became.
Determined to set a bright tone for the morning, you decided to get up and meet the day with a fresh attitude.
Standing in your pajamas, you looked out the window, as a warm smile brushed your lips at the sight of the sprawling garden before you.
Today was the day. It wasn’t every morning your only brother got married. You were bound and determined to make the absolute best of it.
Slipping into cozy sweatpants and a sweater, you popped over to your house to check on Darcy. Sure enough, the cat was fast asleep on the couch, only stirring when you gently rubbed his belly. His food and water bowls were both full, so Ester had clearly dropped by recently.
"Well now, sweet boy," you murmured softly, scratching behind his ears. "Aren't you just living the high life today?"
You grabbed a few extra things from your room and spent a few quiet minutes petting Darcy before heading back to the Commodore.
Breakfast was already underway. You found out through the bridesmaids' group chat and made your way to the dining room, where the girls were sitting around with puffy eyes and tired faces.
"Morning, y'all," you said gently, offering a small smile as you walked in. "Looks like last night took the wind right out of our sails."
"Tell me about it," Fiona mumbled into her coffee mug. "I don't think my eyes are ever gonna open all the way."
"Drink up, darling," Linda replied, pouring herself a fresh cup. "We've got a big day ahead of us, and we're gonna make it wonderful."
The groomsmen were gathering in a separate room, and you didn't run into a single one of them on your way back upstairs.
By 8:30 AM, the stylists arrived at the bridal suite. It was a crew of five, ready to pamper the bride, her bridesmaids, and the mothers of the couple. As the morning unfolded, music filled the room, accompanied by endless rounds of coffee and champagne, though you passed on the bubbly and settled for a simple black coffee instead.
You chose to let all the other girls get ready first, sitting back to take in the bustling scene as everyone chatted away. Yov was noticeably nervous, taking deep measured breaths every so often to steady herself. Her mom and yours kept trying to ease her mind by swapping stories from their own wedding days.
"I ended up throwing up five minutes right before walking down the aisle, honey," Linda, her mom, shared with a slight blush, gently swaying her mimosa glass. "It sure can't get much worse than that."
"I really don't want to throw up before my entrance," Yov said, shaking her head. "I'm not gonna eat a single thing until after!"
"Now, sweetheart, that's just gonna backfire on you," your mom chimed in. "An empty stomach can turn on you just as bad as a full one, so you make sure you get a good bite to eat. We can't have you fainting on us."
Behind you, the bridesmaids were locked in their own conversation. Yov's sister, Paloma, alongside Fiona, were settled in the stylists' chairs having their hair done simultaneously, while the rest sat around watching and biding their time just like you.
"I am getting flat out drunk today, I need it," Paloma said, squinting slightly. "I'm fixing to make full use of that open bar."
"Oh, no, count me out," Cinthia replied from across from Fiona. "Last time I got drunk I had a terrible hangover. I'm pushing forty now, and it just doesn't hit the same anymore."
"You've got to drink a glass of water between every cocktail, babe," Fiona said, slipping her eyes shut as the stylist worked on her hair. "That keeps you from getting dehydrated so your head doesn't pound near as bad."
"I know that trick," Cin countered. "It doesn't quite work for me anymore."
"Well, I'm aiming to get laid tonight," Fiona added with a sly grin, making you smile. "Weddings are mighty fine for that."
Cinthia laughed. "Connor is coming, but he told Yov he's bringing his girlfriend, sorry about that."
Connor, as you knew, was an old friend from the group who had dated Fiona a couple of years back.
"Now who said anything about Connor?" Fiona laughed. "We're all good, I know his girlfriend. Besides, there's plenty of other fish in the sea."
"I could never do that," Paloma added. "I'd die of pure embarrassment with my parents around."
"Aren't you pushin' thirty though?" Cinthia asked. "You're a free woman."
Paloma huffed. "Have you met my family? Anyway, there's nobody here that interests me."
"Oh, I've already got my sights set on someone," Fiona said. "That groomsmen lineup is lookin' real fine."
You knit your brows.
"They're all taken, dear," Cinthia said, glancing your way a second later. "Isn't that right?"
"Not the pilot, I already checked," Fiona said, smirking out of the corner of her eye at Cinthia. "And he is damn fine. He was looking right at me last night."
You lowered your head and pressed your lips together, a pang hitting your chest along with a sudden urge to tell her to hush.
"I doubt it," Paloma said, chuckling softly while throwing a quick side eye in your direction.
Fiona frowned. "Seriously, y'all just wait and see. Come tomorrow morning when I wake up in his bed, I'll be saying I told you so. When I set my mind on something, I don't miss."
From across the room, Yov turned around to face them.
"Frankie isn't up for grabs, Fio, sorry to break it to you," she called out.
Fiona's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why's that?"
"Fio, he's her man," Cin chided, gesturing toward you. "Have a little grace."
Fiona's mouth dropped open. "Shit. I am so sorry, I had no idea—"
You offered a tight cheeked smile, trying to push down the surge of jealousy rising inside you, though deep down you knew Fiona truly had no way of knowing.
Truth was, Frankie wasn't even your boyfriend anyway. So what was there for her to know?
Still, you didn't deny a thing. It didn't feel necessary.
"Don't you worry about it," you said softly.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Fiona laughed. "My big mouth can really run away with me sometimes."
You smiled, feeling your cheeks flush warm. "It's fine. It's... just don't pay it any mind."
"Oh, is there drama?"
"Fiona," Cin scolded again.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, it's just..." she shrugged. "What happened?"
With a sigh, you bit the inside of your cheek. "A whole lot."
"Is that why y'all were talking last night? Don't tell me I interrupted something serious," she said, her brow furrowing again.
"I mean, we have things to work through, but I just don't think a wedding is the right place for it," you said with a faint smile.
"She's got herself another date for tonight," Cinthia chimed in, smiling as her eyebrows shot up.
"No way," Paloma laughed. "Who is it? You trying to make him jealous?"
"No!" you laughed, blushing deeper. "It's nothing like that. I just invited a friend, that's all."
"Frankie was always jealous of that friend," Yov called out from afar. "He owns a coffee shop, he's a single dad, and he is just gorgeous."
"Bill, honey?" your mother chimed in, looking over at you. "You didn't tell me you were bringing Bill! Oh, he sure is handsome."
"Who's Bill?" Linda asked.
"Show us a picture," Fiona insisted.
"Oh, Lord," you murmured, sliding a hand over your forehead and laughing under your breath. "It's way too early in the morning for all this."
Getting up from her seat, Cinthia walked over to the small table by the window, pulled the champagne out of the ice bucket, and quietly poured a glass.
She held the glass out toward you. "Here you go, sweet pea."
"You're gonna have to keep Bill on a leash, huh?" Emma smiled, tilting her head as she carefully swirled her wine glass.
The sun beat down warmly on her bright blonde hair as the two of you passed the time out on the grand balcony overlooking the garden, waiting for the hours to slip by.
She was already completely ready, dressed in a pale turquoise gown that melted seamlessly into her fair skin thanks to the soft sheer layers of fabric. Her hair was styled delicately, cascading down, and her heels caught the sunlight, sparkling with every soft movement.
You hadn't put on your dress just yet, but your hair and makeup were completely done. Your hair hung loose, framed by soft graceful waves, and your makeup looked flawless; your eyes had never looked quite so striking.
"Yeah," you laughed, leaning your head back to catch the warmth of the sun. "Though I don't think he's the one who'll be needing a leash."
"I don't know Fiona all that well, but she sure seems like a woman who knows what she wants."
"You think so? When she saw Bill's picture, I swear her eyes lit right up."
"You better give the man a fair warning," Emma laughed. "Or she's gonna catch him completely off guard."
"And what if he doesn't mind?" You turned to look at her. "Maybe it'll surprise us both, and Bill ends up having a better time than we do."
Emma chuckled. "You really think so? I kind of figure he's coming here tonight with a whole different mission in mind."
"Don't start."
She let out a soft laugh. "I'm just teasing you. You already know how my mind works. You're my soulmate, you should be able to read my thoughts by now."
"Well, you read mine then," you said, turning toward her. "Guess who wanted to talk to me last night."
Emma froze, her eyes widening as a slow smile spread across her face. "Oh, Lord. I knew it!"
"What?" you laughed.
"Frankie, he came to talk to you? Did you say yes?"
"Well, yeah, something like that. We couldn't get very far because Fiona came hunting for me for pict—"
"Oh, bless her heart, that damn Fiona—"
"To be fair, he didn't say whole lot in the little bit of time we had anyway," you said, tilting your head. "He just told me he'd miss me if I moved to New York, and that he was really sorry for everything that happened. But the talk got cut short right there—what on earth did you think he came over to say? Ask me to marry him or something?"
She laughed. "No! I just thought he might've finally found the nerve to lay it all out on the line, heart and soul."
You rolled your eyes. "My, aren't we being dramatic today."
Emma knit her brows. "Excuse me? I'm not the one who said her ideal man was Matthew Macfadyen confessing his undying love out in the pouring rain."
"Oh," you gasped, bringing a hand to your chest. "With those crystal blue eyes and those dripping wet eyelashes!"
Emma laughed. "Well then, maybe we should pray for rain today."
With a bright smile tucked into the corners of your lips, you unlocked your phone to reply to a text from Bill.
The two of you had been chatting back and forth since early morning, and according to him, he was just about ready and aimed to be there around three thirty.
There was still a little bit of time left for that, seeing as it was barely... a quarter to four?
Your eyes caught a notification from Bill that had come through twenty minutes ago.
[Bill🍪☕]: on my way :)
"Oh, shit, I'm late!"
Emma stretched her arms out. "What time is it?"
"Quarter to four. Bill's bound to be downstairs already," you said, feeling like a somewhat irresponsible bridesmaid and an even worse sister as you scrambled to grab your bag. "I'll catch up with you in a bit!"
Emma held up her wine glass toward you, her soft laughter following you as you hurried off, still wearing the ridiculously cozy ensemble of sweatpants and the oversized sweater you'd thrown on that morning.
Luckily, Emma and Will's room was just one floor down from yours, so all it took was a quick trip in the elevator. Once you got to your room, all that was left was to step into your dress and slip on your heels.
When the elevator reached your floor, the doors slid open right as you finished typing out a message to Bill, letting him know you'd be down in just a minute.
[Bill🍪☕]: Take your time, they handed me a drink down here
[Bill🍪☕]: if you take too long, I'm blaming it on you
You smiled, your fingers already moving across the screen to type out a reply.
[You]: blame me for what? you getting drunk at four in the af—
A soft gasp caught in your throat when, distracted by your phone while walking, you bumped right into someone, sending the device flying straight onto the floor.
Shit, if your mom had seen that... you could already hear her voice chiding you in your head.
"Careful, watch where you're going now," a smooth voice teased softly, though it wasn't your mom at all.
It was Frankie.
He crouched down to pick up your phone, fully dressed and completely ready for the wedding; an immaculate black tuxedo, polished leather shoes, and... and his face. Those eyes, those lips, that nose, and those stupid, delicate glasses resting on the bridge of it.
He held your phone out toward you, his brows knitting together. "Why are you still in your pajamas?"
Feeling a little offended, you scowled right back. Because they weren't pajamas.
"They're not pajamas."
They're not pajamas.
"Is that so?" He looked genuinely confused, giving a small shrug. "Sure looks like pajamas to me."
"Well, they're not," you said, snatching the phone from his hand. "It's lounge wear."
That damn cologne of his.
"It's going on four in the afternoon. You'll be late, the ceremony starts at four thirty."
"Is that right?" You raised your eyebrows with sarcasm. "I had no idea. How'd you figure that one out? Was it the glasses?"
He chuckled softly. "The glasses?"
"Yeah," you nodded. "Tell me, do they give you some kind of fortune telling powers? Clarity?"
He pressed his lips together, clicking his tongue softly. "No. I just looked at my watch."
"Oh."
"Though maybe you're the one who needs a pair," he said, tilting his chin up slightly. "Keep you from running people over in the hallway."
At the corner of his mouth, a tiny smirk threatened to break through.
"I didn't run you over," you muttered, crossing your arms and trying very hard not to look down at his hands, or his chest, or the precise way that suit fit him. "You were standing in the middle of the hallway like a statue."
"I was walking to the elevator," he countered smoothly, leaning his shoulder against the wall next to him. "You were the one glued to your screen, grinning like a fool." He tilted his head slightly. "Who's got you so distracted anyway? Must be somebody real special if you're willing to miss your own brother's wedding—"
"I am not missing the wedding, don't be dramatic," you said, stepping around him toward your door. "And it was Bill. He's already downstairs."
Frankie's expression didn't change, but you caught the subtle tightening of his jaw and the faint shift in his stance.
"Is he your date?"
"Yes," you said, meeting his gaze directly. "He is."
Frankie stared at you for a quiet beat before letting out a low dry breath. He smiled, pushed himself off the wall and took a half step back.
"Well, you're gonna keep him waiting if you stay standing out here in your pajamas. The ceremony starts in thirty minutes."
"I'm going in right now," you said as you slipped your keycard into the lock. "So if you'll excuse me..."
"Go on then," he gave you a brief nod. "Don't let me hold you up."
You watched him press the call button, his head tilting slightly as he waited, but before the elevator doors could slide open, you turned, unlocked your door, and slipped inside your room.
You had no idea what that had just been. But the second the latch clicked shut, your back hit the wall, and for some reason, a stupid, completely stupid smile crept onto your lips. Because just for a brief moment, everything had felt like old times.
The next fifteen minutes were a race against the clock. You threw on the dress in a hurry, wrestled with body lotion that hadn't quite absorbed yet, and prayed the delicate zipper along your ribs wouldn't catch. You slipped into your shoes, touched up your lipstick in front of the mirror barely catching your breath, and almost ran out of the room, your mind still spinning from the conversation in the hallway, the scent of Frankie's cologne, and the ease with which he had walked away.
The moment the elevator doors slid open in the main lobby, you forced yourself to stop dead in your tracks, draw a breath, and regain your composure.
Looking good made you feel better. It might sound a bit self-centered, but it was the plain truth. Alex had a lot to do with that mindset; according to her, a bad day could get instantly better just by getting dressed up. Fake it till you make it. And right now, you looked really, really good. Even for wearing a bridesmaid dress; which, luckily for everyone, was a real beauty.
Yov had chosen a set of delicate, gorgeous light blue dresses. Each bridesmaid had a unique detail; Fiona's had a halter neckline showing off her shoulders and back, Paloma had a one-shoulder style, Cinthia wore a classic two-strap design, and you had a strapless gown paired with a dainty ribbon wrapped around your neck that flowed down your back. The shoes were all identical: a pair of delicate ankle-strap stiletto sandals.
A few feet away, leaning against the hotel bar with a lowball glass in hand, was Bill. You spotted him right away; he looked impeccable.
Relaxed, he kept his eyes on the guests who were starting to arrive. When he looked up and caught sight of you, his face lit up with a smile that seemed to loosen the tight knot in your stomach, if only a little.
Thank goodness, you thought to yourself as you walked over to him. Being with Bill always felt easy, comfortable, free of second motives. Plus, you had a lot to tell him.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry," you apologized, quickening your step until you reached him and caught his arm, "time just completely ran away from me."
"Don't you worry about a thing," he widened his smile, sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a gentle squeeze, "I've been passing the time just fine down here. You look gorgeous."
You smiled as warmth rushed to your cheeks. "Thanks, you look pretty handsome yourself."
Near the entrance to the bar, Frankie walked past in a bit of a hurry. His eyes landed on the two of you, and you noticed how his gaze lingered for a couple of seconds too long before he looked away and kept walking toward the patio.
"Didn't know Frankie wore glasses," Bill said.
"Just recently, because of the accident."
"Oh, yeah? And how's that going?" he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Something happen?"
With a sigh, you leaned your head back slightly and tightened your grip on his arm. You began to walk.
"I don't know if we have much time."
You barely had a moment to tell him everything before the wedding coordinator appeared out of nowhere, hurriedly gathering the bridesmaids to line them up according to protocol. But what you managed to tell him was enough to leave Bill looking thoroughly pleased with the situation.
"Clear as day he's not telling you everything he wants to say," he whispered near your ear as you both watched the guests take their seats. All while Frankie stood just a few feet away, glancing over every now and then. "You gotta push his buttons a little, drive him wild."
You laughed. "Drive him wild?"
"Make him sweat a bit," he shrugged. "Let him realize he can't be contextually wasting time no more."
"Oh, and why do I have to make him realize that? Can't he figure it out on his own? You men are unbelievable, honestly," you shook your head.
"Nah, I promise you he knows. But sometimes we just need a little push."
You rolled your eyes at that. "And that's where you come in?"
Bill winked. "Watch me."
Without answering, you gave Bill's arm a quick squeeze as a sign of "see you later" and watched him walk off at an easy pace to take his seat.
A few guests were still settling in, and that's when you saw Helena, Sofi, Grace, Mai, Luna, and Jamie arriving.
You froze, your eyes locked on them as they sat on Santi’s side of the guest seating, and your chest ached. Jamie looked so grown up.
Then, Helena raised her eyes toward you, and with the sweetest smile, she lifted her hand and waved.
You mirrored the gesture and waved back at everyone. Even Jamie lifted his hand and offered you a smile.
"How do I look?"
Santi's voice caught your attention from the left.
When you turned to him, your smile widened instantly.
"Hey," you took his shoulders and wrapped your arms tightly around him, "you look so handsome."
"Thanks. You look great, too."
"So?" You stepped back slightly, running your hands down his shoulders. "How're you feeling?"
Santi smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe it. I'm gonna marry Yov."
"You will."
"I just had a whiskey. I was getting way too nervous. Started thinking, what if she runs away?"
You laughed. "That is not gonna happen."
"What if Josh Hartnett shows up and she runs off with him? You know she's got a huge crush on the guy," he teased.
You pursed your lips. "Pretty sure he's married."
"Yeah, right."
You smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder again.
"I know Dad is so proud of you, Santi. Mom and I are, too."
He nodded, his eyes warm. "Thank you, bub."
"Have you talked with Yov about-"
"Everyone to your places, please," the wedding coordinator whispered sharply, bustling past you both and raising her eyebrows. Let's move.
As they ushered you into line, arranged the drop of your dress, and handed you your bouquet, your mind could barely keep up with how fast everything was moving.
You waited a few moments, and then the music began to play softly. The chatter of the guests gradually died down, and step by step, you made your way out into the garden.
Just like that, amidst the rush, the scent of fresh flowers, and the quickened thump of your heart, you found yourself standing at the front, ready to witness one of the most important moments of your brother's life.
The garden had been completely transformed. Rows of white chairs lined the spotless lawn, framed by arches bursting with hydrangeas and eucalyptus. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting golden glows over the guests and everything in sight.
Seated near the center aisle, Bill caught your eye. He gave you a reassuring nod with a smile, and a few seats closer, Emma flashed you two thumbs up.
But just a few feet away, on the groom's side, stood the groomsmen. And Frankie was simply impossible to ignore.
Standing tall in his black tuxedo with his hands neatly clasped in front of him, he looked stunning. For a fleeting second, while the string quartet adjusted their instruments, his eyes drifted toward you; a quick glance, but more than enough to make your foolish heart skip a beat.
Then, the music shifted, the guests stood in unison, and the sight of your brother waiting at the altar anchored your heart right back where it belonged.
You cried the entire time. Silent, respectful tears, of course, falling thick down your cheeks. How could you not?
The second Santi and Yov said their "I dos", everything changed. Santi's hands shook right up until the exact moment he slipped the ring on her finger, but when they were pronounced husband and wife, his smile was too big for his face. Yov threw her arms around his neck, laughing, and the tension your brother had been holding onto all day finally melted away in a sweet, sealing kiss.
God, you were such a sap. You couldn't help it. You were just that kind of person; the one who bawls at weddings and, honestly, at any ceremony with even a hint of emotion. Your hands gripped your bouquet as you glanced over at your mom, whose cheeks were just as damp as yours. It ran in the family.
A little while later, the reception kicked off in a space just off the courtyard. Strings of warm lights hung from the branches of the old oak trees, illuminating deliate wooden tables dressed with candles and low floral arrangements. Like a literal fairy tale, the whole setup was beautiful and felt really intimate, even though it wasn't a particularly small wedding.
The guests erupted into cheers and applause the second the newlyweds made their entrance, holding hands and completely over the moon. Santi stopped Yov in the middle of the dance floor just to pull her in by the waist for a movie perfect kiss before guiding everyone to their seats.
Naturally, you were at the head table, right next to Bill, who had been impeccable by your side. You shared the space with the bride and groom, the bridal party, your mom, Yov's parents, and her sister. It was a long, packed table.
Dinner was amazing; waiters wove between the tables carrying endless trays of food. You drank glasses of red and white wine, and finally got to try an expensive rosé you'd had your eye on ever since you helped your brother pick out the menu.
And right in the middle of it all came the speeches. Will went first; his eyes welled up with tears and he had to pause to wash them down with a gulp of wine. Your mom went next, then Yov's parents, and finally, Fran—
Frankie?
That caught you off guard.
As the best man, you knew he'd say a few words, but when Will gave his speech, you figured he was speaking for the whole group.
Naive, naive, naive.
Suddenly you were choking on a piece of goat cheese as Frankie held the microphone firm in his hand.
After sharing a quick story about how he and Santi first met, he said:
"I can think of a lot of ways to describe him. He's my best friend, the brother I always wished I had, an honest, kind, good hearted guy; one of the absolute best people I know. And anyone who truly knows him knows he's always wanted a big family."
That was true. Santi had always dreamed of a huge family, a white picket fence, and pets. The whole nine yards.
"Years back, when the rest of us weren't even thinking about the next twelve months, he was already saving up for a place with enough room for his hypothetical kids," Frankie continued. "We all kept asking him, 'What in the world do you need all that space for?' Ben even tried to convince him to turn one of the rooms into an arcade room."
Ben whispered a that's true to Mai.
"Now, Santi here is a determined man. He doesn't beat around the bush; when he sets his mind to something, he goes all in," Frankie raised his eyebrows. You smiled. "Turns out, all that planning, all that empty space he was saving in that house; he was just getting ready for something bigger, even if he didn't know it yet. Then came Yov."
Shyly, Yov rested both hands against her cheeks.
Frankie smirked. "The minute he met her, every single one of us knew she was different. But he didn't rush it or try to push too hard. He took his time. Mind you, he wasn't completely quiet about it. Yov, did you know that after your third date, he sat us down at the bar and talked about you for a straight hour? We couldn't get him to shut up about you if we tried."
"Is that true?" Yov murmured over Santi's shoulder.
He nodded.
"We truly couldn't be happier that Yov walked into Santi's life. We all saw the shift in him, how every piece of the puzzle just clicked into place," Frankie gestured with his hand. "And I think that's what happens when two kindred souls find each other like that; which is… a real rarity, by the way. Not everybody gets to experience that kind of love. A love that's sincere, honest, raw, with no pretenses or masks, that just... happens, unexpectedly, on a random Tuesday or a night like any other, when you least expect it."
In that exact moment, his eyes locked onto yours. Briefly. And then dropped, somewhere down toward the floor.
"But the thing is, you gotta be a smart man to recognize a love like that, to guard it and never let it go. And you, my friend, on top of everything else I said tonight," he looked at Santi, "are a very smart man. So everyone, please raise your glasses with me. To Santi and Yov, may your home always be full, your love always be easy, and your lives together be long and blessed. To the newlyweds!"
Look at that; Francisco Morales giving a sweet, heartfelt wedding speech. Who would've thought?
Emotional and shaken, you raised your wine glass to your lips, taking your turn to wash down your imaginary tears.
"He looked at you." Bill picked the worst possible moment to whisper those words in your ear, right as Frankie was taking his seat again and looking at you both. "He's right where we want him."
"Right across from me, you mean?"
Bill chuckled.
"You're playing with fire," you muttered into the rim of your glass before setting it back down. Bill just gave you a wicked unbothered grin and took a slow sip of his drink.
Across the long table, Frankie pulled his chair back in and straightened his jacket. He caught your eye for half a second before Yov's dad leaned over to clap him on the shoulder, breaking whatever that was.
The rest of dinner went by in a blur of constantly refilled wine glasses. Plates were cleared, fresh ones brought out, and the emotion from the speeches gave way to loud laughter and family stories being thrown across the table. Frankie stayed mostly wrapped up in conversation with the guys to his left, though every once in a while, you could still feel him sitting right there across from you.
Once everyone was stuffed, the servers cleared the tables and the DJ started testing the bass on the speakers nearby.
Right before the real party started, everyone pushed back their chairs and gathered near the edge of the patio for the cake cutting. It was a huge, rustic three tiered cake covered in small flowers. Santi and Yov grabbed the knife together, both laughing as they tried to get a clean slice through the frosting, before smashing tiny pieces into each other's mouths while everyone cheered and snapped photos.
Then the main lights went down, the warm string bulbs overhead took over, and the DJ dropped the opening synth beat of Whitney Houstons I Wanna Dance with Somebody.
Bill didn't even give you a second to think; he grabbed your hand and dragged you straight into the middle of the crowd.
"Come on," he laughed, spinning you around until your hair whipped across your face. "Dance with me, baby."
A loud laugh burst out of you. Bill was actually an incredible dancer. Zero shame, great rhythm, and completely committed. He held your hands, twirled you, dipped you just enough to make you gasp, and shouted the chorus right at you.
The heavy feeling in your chest totally vanished. You were flushed, spinning, and having the absolute time of your life with him; completely ignoring, for a few good minutes, the pair of eyes following your every move from the side of the dance floor.
Bill pulled you in flush against his chest. You let out a nervous laugh, leaning back slightly. "What are you doing?"
He bent down, his lips brushing right against your ear. "Nobody puts Baby in the corner. And someone is having a really hard time keeping his eyes off Baby."
Instantly, your gaze flicked past his shoulder toward Frankie. He was standing near the cake table, hands shoved deep into his pockets, wearing an expression that was almost devastatingly quiet. The second he caught you looking, he jerked his eyes away, staring down at the floor.
A sudden, uncomfortable pit formed in your stomach.
"What's wrong?" Bill asked, feeling you stiffen.
You let out a sigh. "I don't know. This doesn't feel right."
"What doesn't? Making him jealous?"
"He doesn't look jealous. He looks..." You looked back up at Bill. "He looks miserable."
Bill pressed his lips into a fine line. Mid step, he smoothly spun you around, strategically catching a glimpse of Frankie for a few seconds over your shoulder.
"Jesus," Bill muttered, bringing his eyes back to yours. "He looks so pale."
He pulled back just a fraction, loosening his grip a bit, though his feet kept moving to the music. "I think our plan is working, actually."
You gave him a small, hesitant smile. "You think so?"
"I know so," Bill nodded. "We're gonna dance for a couple more songs, then I'm gonna suddenly have to run to the restroom because of all the wine and champagne I drank. And wow, look at that; you'll be standing right here, he'll be over there, and who knows what happens?"
You laughed softly. But over Bill's shoulder, just below his ear, you noticed Frankie wasn't looking at you anymore.
A woman had walked up to him. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her waist, her head tilted, a bright smile on her lips. She was talking softly, her eyes darting all over his face. Frankie just nodded, slowly running a hand over his jaw. Then, the woman reached out and lightly rested her hand on his bicep.
A bitter wave hit you out of nowhere—jealousy, obviously, but mixed with something … different.
Just as the last song faded out and a upbeat ABBA track kicked in, you slid your hands up onto Bill's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.
"Someone’s flirting with him."
Bill spun you subtley to get a better look for himself. "Do you know her?"
"No."
"Must be on Yov’s side."
"Is everyone on Yov's side trying to hit on someone?" you muttered. "Fiona said earlier today that she wanted to sleep with him."
"Well, you gotta give the guy credit," Bill said, raising an eyebrow. "He looks like a brooding heartbroken lead."
You frowned at him. "Bill."
"What? Julie and I watch a lot of shows. The other day we finished The Summer I Turned Pretty. I don't know if you've seen it, but Frankie is giving major Conrad Fisher right now."
A laugh spilled out of you before you could stop it. "I haven't seen it, but girls come into the shop to buy those books all the time."
"You gotta watch it," Bill nodded earnestly. "Frankie is just as uncommunicative as that kid. I'd tell you more, but I'm not spoiling it. Julie says it's tragic."
You chuckled, shaking your head as he spun you to the beat.
Bill and you danced through another couple of songs, but your eyes kept drifting back to Frankie every few seconds. He was still standing near the edge of the courtyard, listening to the woman beside him.
What could they even be talking about? Did they know each other, or was she just taking advantage of a handsome, lonely-looking guy at a wedding?
You pulled your eyes away, scanning the rest of the dance floor to clear your head. Emma and Will were practically glued together, swaying so close their noses were touching. Your mom was in her element, arms held up in the air with a glass of wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Further down, Benny was spinning Mai under his hand, and right in the absolute center of the floor, Santi and Yov were lost in each other, kissing sweet and soft like no one else existed.
After a few more minutes of spinning with Bill, you gently pulled back. "I need to hit the restroom. I'll be right back."
"Don't take too long," Bill called out with a wink, already seamlessly transitioning to dancing by himself.
Your feet felt warm inside your heels as you walked off the dance floor, a reliable sign that while you weren't drunk, you were comfortably deliciously buzzed.
Leaving the roaring speakers behind felt like a relief, and by the time you pushed open the door to the restrooms, the silence was almost startling.
Inside, you washed your hands with cold water, looking up at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair needed a quick touch-up, and your lipstick was mostly gone. You carefully reapplied it, adjusted the delicate lace around your neck, smoothed down your dress, and let out a long breath.
"Hey there."
You heard the gentle voice behind you before you even processed the reflection in the glass. The moment you recognized her face in the mirror, a warm smile spread across yours and you turned right around.
"Helena," you said, stepping forward to wrap her in a tight hug without a second thought.
Helena hugged you back tightly, her hand gently patting your back.
"How are you?" you asked as you pulled away, holding her by her arms.
Helena chuckled, looking over your face. "I've had a couple of drinks, so I'm doing wonderful," she laughed softly, her eyes softening. Oh, you missed her. "How are you, sweetheart? Look at you, you're absolutely breathtaking. Look at that face." She reached out, gently stroking your cheek.
You flushed, smiling warmly. "Thank you so much. You look stunning tonight, too."
Helena waved a hand playfully. "Oh, stop it. But I'm just so happy for Santi. I'm certain he's going to make a wonderful husband."
"I know he will," you agreed, nodding.
A quiet moment settled between you both.
"Jamie is getting so tall," you noted softly. "I saw him from across the yard earlier."
Helena's eyes widened. "Tall isn't even the word! He got it straight from his father. Henry was so tall, and our Gabriel was the exact same way!"
The mention of his name hung gently in the air. "Oh Helena, I'm so, so sorry about Henry. I really am."
She shook her head gently. "Sweetheart, we were happy. We are happy, and Henry lived a full, happy life. My Luna and Jamie are here with me, and that's the greatest comfort we could ask for; and it's not a small one, either."
"That's what Frankie told me," you smiled gently. "How have they been doing? Have they settled in okay?"
"They really have, thank God," Helena nodded. "Jamie's adjusting so well to his new school. Actually, Lu is waiting for him right outside the men's room. Would you like to say hi?"
"Of course I would."
You walked out together toward the corridor where Luna was leaning against the wall. When she saw you, her face lit up with a huge smile.
"Look at you! You look stunning!" Luna stepped in, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek. Her perfume was delicious and she herself looked absolutely stunning.
"Thank you so much," you said, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "It is so good to see you."
Just then, the door to the men's room pushed open and Jamie walked out, vigorously shaking his wet hands in the air.
"Jamie! I've told you a hundred times to use a towel," Luna scolded.
The boy wiped his hands down his trousers, but the moment he spotted you, a massive smile broke across his face. "I didn't know Santiago was your brother! I thought he was a different Santiago!"
"Hey you," you laughed, stepping closer and running a gentle hand through his thick curls. "Look at you, you're getting so tall! As tall as your Uncle Frankie, huh?"
Jamie beamed proudly. "He says I'm gonna be taller than him. My dad was taller than him, too."
"Well, who knows? Maybe you'll end up even taller than your dad."
Luna chuckled, resting a hand on her hip. "Jamie started basketball lessons recently, you know."
"Really?" You looked back at Jamie, impressed. "That's awesome. Do you like it?"
"Yeah," Jamie shrugged, puffing his chest out in the most adorable, confident way possible. "I'm actually really good at it."
Helena wrapped an arm around her grandson's shoulders, wearing a proud radiant look on her face. "His first official game is next Saturday. We're all going to watch him play."
"Well then, good luck on Saturday," you said. Jamie smiled, nodding with sudden bashfulness.
"It really is so great to see you," Luna said then. "We heard you're living in New York now! Congratulations on that."
"Thank you," you replied, tilting your head. "It's been an interesting few months, for sure."
"Do you like the city?" Helena asked. "Is it permanent?"
You took a beat, realizing you didn't fully have an answer.
"I... I don't really know yet," you admitted honestly. "Right now, I have the luxury of making up my mind as I go. I like New York, it's an incredible city. But everything I love is right here, you know? My life is here."
"I understand, sweetheart. It's a huge opportunity, but it doesn't have to be permanent. Enjoy it for as long as you want to. Austin isn't going anywhere, and neither are the people who love you here. You're young, gorgeous, and talented, take advantage of it!"
You laughed softly, covering your cheeks. "Thank you, Hel, you're gonna make me blush!"
Luna nodded in agreement. "I know what it's like to be away from home, but give it a real shot while you're there. Even if you just look at it as an extended vacation or something."
"Hey!" A voice cut through the hallway as Sofi came marching down toward you, shaking her head. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Grace just snuck two entire glasses of wine off a tray!" She stopped in her tracks when she noticed you. "Hey! Look at you, gorgeous! No wonder Frankie looks so damn miserable out there."
"Sofia!" Helena gasped in disbelief, though a half smile twitched at her lips as she reprimanded her daughter.
Sofi shrugged, totally unbothered. "What? Am I lying?"
"You are unbelievable," Luna laughed, shaking her head as Sofi pulled you into a quick hug.
"Ignore her," Helena said, turning back to you with an affectionate pat on your arm. "Go on back out there and enjoy the music, sweetheart. Don't let us keep you locked up in the hallway all night."
"It was so wonderful seeing all of you," you said, looking at each of them. "Good luck on Saturday, Jamie."
"Thanks!" he called out as you turned to head back toward the noise.
As you walked down the corridor back toward the glow of the festoon lights, Sofi's words lingered in the back of your mind, mixing with the cold sting of seeing that woman's hand on Frankie's arm, and look on his face.
You smoothed down your dress one last time, took a breath, and stepped back out into the party.
Almost an hour and a half had passed, and after twenty straight minutes on the dance floor with Emma, you were completely parched.
Tired, happy, just a little bit tipsy; your shoes were off, heels dangling from your fingers by the straps as you navigated back to the main table.
"My feet are gonna kill me tomorrow," Emma groaned, dropping into her chair. She blinked, shaking her head slightly. "I am definitely drunk. Where's my boyfriend?"
You followed her gaze. Out in the middle of the crowd, Will was swaying in a circle with Helena. Next to them, Grace was spinning gracefully and hilarious in Frankie's arms, both of them laughing. A few steps away, Bill was showing Jamie some absurd dance moves while Luna laughed beside them.
How had that even happened? You had no idea. All you knew was that after a few more drinks, everyone was having the time of their lives.
You sat down with a tired sigh, pouring yourself a glass of water and pulling your phone out of your purse. For no good reason, none at all, you had several missed calls from Ester.
Without wasting a second, you typed out a quick text:
[You]: heyyy, I’m so sorry I just saw my phone. Is everything okay?
"That's weird," you muttered, looking over at Emma. "Ester's been trying to call me. You think something happened?"
Emma frowned, squinting through her buzz. "No, I wouldn't think so. Why? I mean, what?"
Your phone screen lit up. An incoming call from Ester. You answered immediately.
"Ester, hi. Is everything okay?"
You expected to hear something mundane: I can't find Darcy's food, or I can't find his treats, or Darcy knocked something over (though you doubted that last one, considering he was far too lazy to break anything), or Darcy ate something off the counter.
You were ready for any of those. But what you actually heard was:
"I am so, so sorry. I don't know how it happened. He just bolted out the door and I couldn't catch him. I ran after him for two blocks, but he ran straight into the park across from the market."
Your heart stopped dead in your chest. "What?"
"A moment ago I came to see Darcy after dinner, and as soon as I opened the door, he bolted down the stairs. He ran straight into the street, he looked scared. I followed him for two blocks—he's at the park."
"Where're you at right now?"
"Still in the park. I'm so sorry, I'm looking for him right now. My son is here helping me, but—"
"I'll be right there, don't you worry. I'm coming right now, please don't leave."
"What happened?" Emma asked, sitting up, her drunken haze instantly vanishing behind a look of concern.
Without waiting for Ester to reply, you hung up and snatched your purse off the table. "Darcy's lost."
"What?"
"I—I don't know, Ester said he ran out and... and he went into a park." As the words left your mouth, your throat completely closed up.
"Oh my God, let's go," Emma said, standing up.
You shook your head. "No, Em, you've been drinking. You need to stay here."
"I'm not letting you go alone!"
"I won't be alone, I'll take Bill."
"Bill's had a ton of drinks, too! He can't drive!"
"Then I'll call an Uber."
You practically sprinted toward the dance floor, threading through the moving bodies until you reached Bill. You tapped his shoulder once, twice, three times until he realized it was you standing behind him.
When he turned around, the smile on his lips faded instantly.
"Bill, I need you to come with me, please. Darcy escaped and I have to find him before something happens."
He looked confused, blinking at you. "Wait, what? How?"
"I don't know," you stammered, panic suddenly hitting you. "Ester says he was scared. Please, we gotta go right now."
Darcy was an indoor cat. He didn't go outside. He had never navigated a street in his entire life. The most extreme physical action he'd taken in the last three years was jumping off the top bookshelf onto the couch. And at this hour, cars were driving all over the neighborhood; a Saturday night, full of drunk drivers or who knew what.
Oh God... no. Darcy. Your lazy, sweet little cat was not built for this.
"I-I can't drive like this," Bill said, looking down at his hands for some reason.
"It's fine, I'll call an Uber."
Bill nodded, reaching for his phone. And then, a hand gently touched your arm.
"Hey, hey," his hand gently squeezed your skin, turning you around to face him. "Don't worry. I'll drive you."
Frankie, sober as a judge. How much had he even had to drink all night? A glass? Two max?
"It's okay, I'll just get a car," you said quickly, trying not to ruin the night for everyone. "You don't have to leave."
"Go on, you need to head out," Bill said.
"It's no trouble," Frankie said with a shake of his head. The sound of his voice was so soft, and for some reason, you could hear him crystal clear even over the blasting music. "I'll help you, no problem at all."
You nodded, letting yourself be anchored by his calm gaze and easygoing voice. He made your heart beat a little less wildly, a little less heavy.
"Come on now, you got your stuff?"
"My shoes," you pointed, raising your hand as you slipped away toward your table to grab your heels, left behind on a chair. You snatched them up and hurried back to him. "I'll put them on in the car."
As you left, Emma and Bill wished you luck, while neither your mother nor Santi even registered your quick escape; that's how fast you vanished through the door with Frankie. Like two swift shadows.
"Why would he get scared? Darcy isn't restless, all he does when he's alone is sleep and eat," you said, watching the city passing by through the car window as Frankie drove as fast as he could. "And why did Ester have the door open?"
"Maybe he got spooked when he heard her come in?"
"But he already knows Ester." You sighed, bringing a hand to your forehead. "Oh God, there's a highway real close to the park, and there's always heavy traffic. I don't want him heading toward it, you know cars confuse animals so much."
"Easy now, we'll search top to bottom, you'll see," he sounded confident, and you wanted so badly to believe him. "If he ran into the park, maybe it was for the trees and bushes, cats like high places."
"I hope so. I should've bought him one of those trackers you told me you got for Bingley. I'm a terrible owner," oh no, don't cry. Hold it in, but you couldn't stop your voice from cracking.
"You ain't a terrible owner," Frankie said as he turned toward your house to make a quick stop. "You take good care of Darcy, so much so that he's a little spoiled. He loves you. But he got scared and, well, these things happen. It's not your fault, alright?"
Frustrated, you nodded and let out a heavy sigh. "This is just like the thing with Santi all over again. Why's everybody always running off to the parks?"
Frankie gave a soft humorless laugh. "I ain't got a clue."
He pulled up in front of your apartment, and you quickly scrambled out to grab Mr. Darcy's carrier; there was no way you'd be able to carry him home in your arms if he was scared, and strangely enough, he actually liked being inside it.
Once you had it, you hurried back down and tossed it into Frankie's backseat. He took off the second you slammed the door shut.
Two minutes later, you arrived at the park and spotted Ester right by the entrance.
She looked utterly crushed, her posture slouched under a weight of guilt so heavy it made your own heart ache. As much as panic was clawing at your throat, you couldn't find a single drop of malice in you to blame her.
The moment you reached her, you wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Ester stammered, her voice shaking as she hugged you back. "I didn't mean to ruin your night, this was all my fault—"
"No, no, it's okay," you cut in, pulling back just enough to look at her. "Where's Gregory?"
"He's over that way searching for him," she said, gesturing toward the far side of the grounds. "We brought a bit of food to try and draw him out with the scent."
You nodded, making a quick mental map of the area. It made the most sense to cover ground Gregory hadn't reached yet, so you pointed toward the darker thick tree line on the opposite side.
"We'll take the right side," you said. Frankie gave a nod, falling into step beside you as you both headed down the gravel path.
The park was eerie at night, bathed in the orange tint of a few scattered streetlights, with long shadows stretching across the grass, and the not-so-distant chaos of the city felt too close to the highway for comfort.
"Darcy!" you called out, your voice cracking slightly as you cupped your hands around your mouth. "Darcy, baby, come here!"
Frankie moved beside you, his eyes scanning the lower branches of the oak trees and the thick patches of bushes lining the trail.
"Darcy!" he shouted. "Here, boy!"
Every rustle of dry leaves made you freeze, every shadow beneath a bench suddenly looking like a curled-up cat. You crouched down by a cluster of heavy shrubs, parting the branches with cold fingers, peering into the pitch black gaps between the roots.
Nothing. Just damp dirt and scattered leaves.
You kept moving, heading toward the playground area. The brightly colored metal jungle gyms and plastic slides looked surreal under the moonlight.
"Check inside the tunnels," Frankie said, pointing toward the play structure. "He might've crawled in there to hide from the noise."
You rushed over, bending down to look through the open plastic tubes of the play set.
"Darcy?" you whispered into the opening, hoping the echo might reach him. You tapped softly on the plastic, listening intensely, but the only sound was the wind rattling the chain link fence nearby.
Frankie walked around the perimeter of the swings, checking behind the trash cans and underneath the wooden platforms.
"Nothing over here," he called out softly, coming back around to your side.
Minute after minute ticked by. You paced back and forth across the damp grass, your eyes darting between the high canopy of the trees and the thick underbrush, calling his name until your throat felt raw, waiting for a meow that didn't come.
Panic started to claw its way in; what if he was gone? What if you couldn't find him? What if….
No. Tears filled your eyes, blurring the dimly lit park, and a raw sting burnt the back of your nose. Your fingers felt like ice, your stomach churning into a sickening knot.
Please, no.
People always underestimate the love someone has for their pets; so many people just don't get it. To the rest of the world, it's just an animal, but to you, that little fat, fluffy cat is a whole world in itself. They don't understand how he's the best company you could ever ask for. They don't see how he's right there with you through the worst times, curled up against your side when everything else feels like it's falling apart. They don't know about those long afternoon naps together, or the silly games you play on the kitchen floor. They miss out on the sweet, funny little habits; like how he tags along to the bathroom while you shower, sitting just out of range because he wants to be near you, but sure doesn't want to get splashed.
When you've had a long, exhausting day and the whole world feels heavy, there he is, waiting right at the door the second you turn the key, so happy just because you walked back through it.
Mascots don't care about your flaws, your mistakes, or how hard your day was. They don't ask for explanations or demand you be anyone other than who you are. They just offer simple devotion. That tiny warm heartbeat sleeping at the foot of your bed becomes an unconditional companion. That's Mr. Darcy to you.
So yeah, it's that important.
A few paces ahead, Frankie kept walking, tilting his head back to scan the upper canopy of the trees. You kept searching, dragging your feet through the ground, checking behind another bench, another thick patch of ivy, another—
"Hey," Frankie suddenly said. "I found him!"
Relief flooded your chest so fast it almost made you lightheaded.
You ran toward him; Frankie was standing right beneath a massive, spreading tree, staring straight up. When you reached his side, you followed his gaze.
Tucked tightly into a high branch, half-hidden by a cluster of leaves, Mr. Darcy was looking right down at you. His pupils were blown wide, blacking out his eyes, and his ears were pinned back just enough to show he was still terrified.
"Darcy! Oh God, come down right now," you gasped, quickly pulling a little can of cat food out of purse and popping the lid, waving it toward the branches. "Look, look what I've got for you."
The cat didn't budge. He stayed utterly frozen, looking like a statuesque shadow.
"Here," Frankie said, slipping his cell phone out of his pocket and handing it off to you.
"What're you doing?"
"Gonna climb up, I can get him down."
"It's way too high."
"Ain't that high. Hold on, get the carrier open."
You stood still, watching him in stunned silence. Frankie slipped it off his jacket and handed it to you. He reached up, grabbed a low sturdy bough, and hauled himself up.
He moved carefully, picking his footing with precision so he wouldn't shake the trunk or startle the cat. Above him, a tiny, pitiful meow drifted down through the leaves.
"Hey there, buddy," Frankie murmured, his tone smooth and soothing as he reached the main fork of the tree. "It's just me. You remember me, right?"
Below, you scrambled to unlatch the door of the plastic carrier, setting it wide open on the grass.
When you looked back up, Frankie was maneuvering into a tricky position, balancing his feet on a narrow ridge while reaching one arm high into the foliage.
Luckily, his fingertips caught the scruff of Darcy's neck. The cat didn't even hiss; he just went completely limp in shock.
"Gonna try to set him on that lower branch," Frankie called down. "He can hop down from there, just grab him quick if he does."
"Yeah, I'm right here!"
With a quick move, Frankie lowered Darcy down and dropped him gently onto the thicker limb below. The cat shuffled his back paws, braced his front legs against the main trunk, and with a clumsy surge of sudden confidence, leaped the rest of the way to the ground.
"Good boy, Darcy!" you cried, scooping him up before he could make a run for it.
In his panic, Darcy dug his claws straight into your bare arms, but you barely felt the sting. You guided him headfirst into the carrier and slammed the small wire door shut, snapping the latch tight.
"My God, you scared me to death," you breathed, tears finally spilling over as you dropped to your knees beside the carrier.
Wiping your face, you stood back up, holding the handle tightly, and looked back up into the foliage. Frankie was still up there, standing upright on a sturdy branch a good ten feet off the ground.
"Jesus, be careful coming down!"
"Don't worry," he said with a slight grin.
You watched him start his descent, testing each foothold on the knots and smaller branches sticking out from the trunk. He took one step down, then another, another—and then the dry, dead branch beneath his boot gave out with a sudden CRACK!
Frankie didn't even have time to grab for the trunk. He went down in a flailing free-fall through three feet of air and hit the grass flat on his back with a air knocking THUD.
Your mouth dropped open in absolute shock. "Oh my God, Francisco!"
He lay star-shaped in the damp grass, the wind knocked completely out of his lungs.
"Shit," he groaned, clutching his chest with a wheeze.
You scrambled over to him on your hands and knees, ditching the carrier on the grass beside him.
"Oh God, oh my God, are you okay?" You hovered over him, your hands fluttering frantically; first touching his face, then pressing against his chest, checking every inch of him in a panic.
It wasn't a gentle tumble; Frankie had hit the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes.
He lay there with his eyes squeezed shut, his glasses tossed a few feet away into the grass where they'd gone flying from the impact. You reached out, snatching them up off the ground.
Just as a low groan rasped out of his throat, you carefully set the frames back over the bridge of his nose, using your index finger to gently push them up into place.
"Are you okay?"
He stared straight at you, his gaze dropping to your lips. You searched his face, taking in his ruffled hair and the single dry leaf stuck near his temple.
Slowly, with another painful groan, Frankie pushed himself up onto his elbows.
"No," he said.
"What? What hurts?"
"No," he repeated, shaking his head. "I'm not okay. I'm not."
With a strained effort and a few muffled grunts, he started pushing himself off the ground.
"Careful, Frankie, you just took a terrible fall," you pleaded, reaching up to grip his arm.
But Frankie pushed past the pain and forced himself all the way up onto his feet. His white shirt was smeared with dark dirt and completely untucked.
"Frankie—"
"I can't do this no more," he said, shaking his head, his breathing still coming in rough hitches. "I just can't do this no more."
A beat.
"What?"
He shook his head, staring down at the grass for a long second. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked onto yours.
"I love you," he said. "And it's driving me crazy. You're the only thing I ever think about."
For a moment, the air left your lungs completely.
"I thought it'd be easier, this whole act of pretending I'm fine with it, but..." He shook his head again. "It isn't. It's awful. Seeing you tonight with Bill, that's been killing me too."
"Frankie—"
"No," he held up a hand, his voice dropping. "Let me speak. Please, just let me speak. Don't interrupt me."
Slowly, you nodded.
"I love you," he repeated. "I haven't ever stopped loving you, not for a single second. You're the only thing on my mind, and no matter how hard I tried to act like I was fine... I'm not."
He took a step forward.
"I think about you, day and night; before I go to sleep, when I wake up, and I… I…" He shook his head slowly, desperate. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you it was me at that party seven years ago. I'm sorry I didn't tell you later, and that I acted like such an idiot that night at Santi's. I'm sorry for everything I said to Will. I was a coward. If I had just done things right, maybe everything would've been different. It wouldn't have been years of fights and arguments. I'm so sorry for that."
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
"I'm sorry for being such a dick to you all those years," he continued. "And for being such a coward when we started dating. I should've never taken so long to be honest with Santi about us, and I should've never made things so confusing for either of us. And I'm sorry—I'm so sorry for hiding what was going on with Rachel and handling things the way I did. I don't know why I did it," he shook his head. "I—no, I do know. Because I was an idiot. I thought I knew what I was doing, that I could control the situation, figure out what was best, and decide when and how to say it... but I didn't know a thing. I didn't know how to handle it, and when everything blew up," his eyes searched your face, "I just hurt you more."
Your vision blurred as warm delicate tears welled up in your eyes. You swallowed hard, trying to fight them back.
"Not a day goes by where I don't think about it and feel sick with shame. For how I acted, for how stupid I was, and for how I ruined everything. I'm so, so ashamed. And then, I was an even bigger idiot for ending things the way I did. I regret it so much, I… I'm sorry," his eyes were shining with tears now under the soft lights of the park; it ached to see him like this. "I'm so sorry for walking away like that, for not telling you I was leaving for Boston, for blocking you when you texted me. It was so childish and cowardly, and more than anything, I'm sorry it took me so long to apologize. The truth is, I've been a complete idiot this whole time, and I'd completely understand if you… if you decide not to forgive me."
He sighed, watching you in silence for a second, but you knew he wasn't expecting you to speak; behind his eyes, his thoughts were racing.
"I'm fine, I guess. I have everything I need to be fine. A good job, a nice house, I'm healthier than I've ever been— you think that fall was bad?" He pointed back toward the tree. "A year ago, if I'd fallen like that, I'd still be lying on the ground."
A faint smile touched your lips.
"I've been trying to do things right, as best as I can, but... shit," he shook his head, looking down, pressing his fingers to his eyes to wipe away the tears. "Please don't think I'm trying to make you feel sorry for me, but..." He looked back up at you. "A few months ago, when I had my accident, it wasn't—it wasn't exactly an accident. I got into a nasty fight outside a bar and I... I just let myself go, and this guy threw me into the river. I didn't have much strength to try and swim, I didn't have strength for anything, so I just sank for a second. And in that moment, I really believed I was gonna die, that that was it. And in my mind, you showed up."
Heavy tears spilled over your cheeks. You wanted to run to him, to wrap your arms around him, but you held back.
"And while I was sinking, I thought that if I died, I'd die a coward. Because I had done everything wrong, and I never had the courage to just be honest with you about it, face to face. A coward, I was gonna die a coward. But I didn't. And I'm so grateful for the chance I had to recover, to be able to... to be standing here right in front of you again. So I'm just gonna say it." He gestured with his hands, resigned.
From inside the carrier, a soft meow drifted out.
"I've lost a lot," Frankie said. "I've lost friends, family, opportunities... like everyone. But I... if I can help it, I don't wanna lose anything else. And if there's even the smallest chance that I haven't lost you completely, that you could give me another chance, I promise you with my whole life that I'll do everything in my power to make up for everything I did. Because I love you. I love you more than you could ever know, and there's nothing in this world I want more than to make you happy."
"Frankie," you whispered, almost a tiny sob.
"And I know words aren't enough, and that you deserve more than a speech," he took another step toward you. "Let me show you. I'll do whatever it takes to be the man you deserve, to never again be that cowardly idiot who hurt you and ran. I want to give you everything; all of me, everything within my reach and more. A home, a quiet life, and if someday you... if someday you want a family, I want to give you that too. You want a baby girl?" He raised an arm. "I've got three sisters, nine aunts, and a mostly female bloodline; the odds are pretty damn high."
A soft laugh broke your silence as you looked up at his flushed, earnest face.
"And if you don't want that, that's okay too. I just want you; a future with you. We can figure it out together, adopt more cats if you want; I've got a big house," he raised his eyebrows slightly.
Nodding, a soft smile resting on your lips, your gaze traced down his chest to his feet.
Every single word you had longed to hear all this time had finally spilled from his mouth. Even things you hadn't expected. And in your heart, there were so many more waiting to be said.
Slowly, you looked back up at him.
"You really hurt me," you gently said. "It cost me so much pain, so much time trying to understand, thinking it was my fault somehow. A lot of my insecurities came right to the surface because of it; you know them well."
Frankie pressed his lips together, a shadow of shame crossing his face.
"I don't ever want to guess what someone else is feeling again. I don't want to beg for communication, or to be told the truth. I don't want to be blindsided by things that break my heart and leave me feeling stupid for not seeing them coming," you shook your head. "I don't want to have to ask for the basics. Or feel unsafe because things aren't said directly. I know what I want, Frankie. I know now, and I know what I deserve."
His eyes searched your face, anxious and desperate.
"I want you too," you said, taking a step closer to him. "But I don't ever want you to break my heart like that again, because I won't be able to forgive you."
"I know," he nodded.
"You know?"
He smiled, humorless. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. About what I did, how I did it. I... I know it."
"Great," you said softly, getting closer, resting both hands flat against his chest, sliding them slowly up toward his shoulders. Frankie went completely still under your touch. "Because I love you too. I love you so much."
Unable to hold back a second longer, Frankie broke. In one sudden pull, his hands wrapped around your waist, tugging your body flush against his, holding you in a tight crushing hug as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
Your fingers moved to cradle the back of his head, weaving through his hair and those messy curls, while your heart beat fast and full in your chest, lighter than it had been in years.
"Why'd you take so long to tell me all this?" you sobbed, closing your eyes, feeling your wet eyelashes brush against your cheeks.
"Because I'm an idiot," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his own shining with tears. "I won't ever do it again, I promise. I promise I'll give you the best of me."
You cupped the side of his face with your hand. "I know I made a lot of mistakes too, Frankie. I'm sorry."
He shook his head firmly. "No. Don't say another word."
Smiling, you pushed up on your tiptoes and finally, sealed your lips against his while his arms wrapped around you, strong and wide, pressing you tight to his chest.
How was this even possible? Just twenty minutes ago, you had been so sick with fear over Mr. Darcy that your stomach was in knots. And now, in this exact moment, you could swear you were the happiest you'd ever been.
That lingering ache in your chest, the hollow space that had shadowed you for months, was simply gone. And even though life still held its uncertainties, and you knew there were a hundred things you two still needed to talk through, you knew you were right where you belonged: wrapped in the arms of the man you loved, who loved you just as fiercely.
A few moments later, right in the middle of a make-out session, a loud, indignant meow chimed out from the carrier, forcing you to pull back from Frankie, breathless.
"Why don't we take him back home? He must've had a rough night," you suggested, your fingers still tangled in his hair.
Frankie nodded. "Yeah. Pretty sure Ester's still sick with worry."
"Oh God, Ester!"
Smiling softly, Frankie stole one quick little kiss from your lips.
"Let's go," he said, bending down to pick up the carrier handle. "I bet Emma and Bill are wondering about Darcy too."
As he turned, you noticed two more dry leaves tangled in the back of his hair. Reaching out, you gently picked them away.
"Oh, lord, I am so sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you never trusted me with Mr. Darcy again."
Ester groaned, pressing the palm of her hand to her forehead as Darcy trotted out of his carrier, stepping right into the middle of your living room.
"Hey, don't say that. It was an accident, nothing like this has ever happened before," you offered, trying to soften the blow. "You've always taken such good care of him, and he knows it."
"If anything had happened to him, I just don't know what I would've done, oh lord," she mumbled, burying her face in both hands.
"Ain't nothin' happened to him, Ma. Just relax," her son chimed in, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Next time you gotta move a little quicker and shut that door before he bolts. Cats are fast."
"There won't be a next time," Ester snapped back. "I was just so reckless!"
Stepping in with a warm, reassuring smile, you pulled her into a sudden hug. "Stop beating yourself up, okay? Everything turned out fine."
Fine. Perfectly fine. Even if it could have gone terribly wrong.
You weren't going to let your mind go there.
After a few more apologies, Ester and Gregory headed out for the night. You immediately grabbed your phone to text Emma and Bill, letting them know the chaos was over and Mr. Darcy was safely back home after his little disaster of a field trip to the park.
Frankie, meanwhile, stood near the front of the room, taking in the apartment with a quiet gaze.
"You got a new TV," he noted.
"Yeah," you said, walking over to him. "The old one broke."
"How?" He turned to look at you, his eyes moving over your face, taking his time.
"No clue. It just stopped turning on."
"You still got it?"
"It's under my bed," you laughed softly.
"I can take a look at it if you want. I'm pretty good with that kinda stuff."
"Oh yeah?" You tilted your head, turning to face him fully. "Seems like you've been pretty good at fixing a lot of things lately. Cars too?"
His mouth twitched into a subtle smirk. "I got handy hands."
Frankie leaned his head to the side, his gaze dropping straight to your lips. That shift in his expression sent a sudden spark straight up your body; an electric, undeniable pull that only happens when you finally find yourself alone with the ex-ex-boyfriend you just got back together with, especially when he looks like that.
Before you could say another word, Frankie slid both hands around your waist and pulled you flush against him.
"What are you doing?" you smiled, letting your hands trace up his chest. "Darcy is watching."
"Mmm," he hummed, taking a careful step backward and guiding you with him out of the living room and into the hallway. His hands slid down to your lower back, one of them giving a firm squeeze. "I think he ain't looking anymore."
Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Mr. Darcy casually curling up on the sofa cushion.
Before you could turn back around, Frankie pressed his mouth into the side of your neck.
You closed your eyes, letting out a soft moan as the heat of his skin against yours completely unraveled you. Frankie pulled you closer, his grip tightening.
"God, I've missed you so much," he whispered against your ear. "You have no idea."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him. "I missed you too. So much."
Frankie’s hands traveled up your back, his fingers digging in, pressing and squeezing, tracing every line of your body, and every touch sent a pulse straight through you, making your heart hammer wildly against your ribs. Your skin burned everywhere he touched, and suddenly, an aching urgency settled deep between your legs.
You needed him. You hadn't been with a single soul in all those long months in New York; hadn't even been able to look at anyone else. Your mind had been completely consumed by the ache of his absence. But now, that old longing morphed into something fierce and unbearable, a sudden fire sweeping through your veins with twice the force.
Keeping you pinned to his chest, Frankie guided you down the narrow hallway, taking blind steps backward until his heels hit the frame of your bedroom door.
He didn't pause; he backed you straight into the dark room, his mouth leaving your neck only long enough to find your lips in a desperate kiss.
You stumbled toward the bed together until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Frankie followed you down, looming over you as you sank into the sheets, his hands immediately framing your face.
He devoured your mouth, pressing you deeper into the mattress as his hands traveled along your sides, skimming upward until his fingers dug into the fabric of your dress.
You arched your back into his touch, a gasp escaping you as he slid his knee between your thighs, applying firm pressure right where you needed it most. Another moan slipped from your lips.
Frankie pulled back for just a second, reaching over to flick on the small bedside lamp.
Rising up onto his knees, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the floor.
Watching him like that sent a rush of heat straight through your blood. His hair was messy, his pants were already unfastened, and the warm light of the lamp washed over his bare shoulders and chest.
"Help me," you murmured, shifting onto your side to give him access.
His fingers found the zipper of your dress, pulling it down with a smooth glide. He gathered the fabric and worked it over your hips and down your legs; hurried, but careful not to ruin it.
Left in only your underwear and a strapless bra, you sat up just enough to reach behind yourself and unhook the clasp, letting it fall away. Frankie stepped off the bed for a split second, shucking off his pants and underwear in one swift motion before climbing right back over you.
Your hands immediately went to his waist, sliding down to cup and squeeze his rear. Frankie let out a breathless laugh against your lips as he settled fully between your legs.
His mouth slammed back onto yours in a messy kiss, and Frankie groaned against your lips as he pinned your wrists to the mattress above your head. You bucked your hips against his, desperate, and he answered with a hard press of his weight that brought his bare body flush against yours.
The feeling of his hot skin sliding against you made you completely lose control. You tore one hand free from his grip, tangling your fingers into his messy hair to pull him closer, closer, and closer, sinking your teeth gently into his lower lip before licking the nip away.
"You drive me crazy," Frankie growled, raspy against your mouth.
He broke the kiss to drag his lips down your jawline, trailing slick short kisses over your throat and down to the slope of your chest. His free hand dropped to your breast, squeezing firmly, his thumb rolling over your skin until you cried out, arching wildly off the bed.
"Frankie, please," you gasped, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his back.
"Tell me what you want," he muttered, his breath fanning across your neck as his mouth latched onto your skin, biting softly before soothing it with his tongue.
His fingers slid lower, trailing down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your underwear while his hips kept up a steady agonizingly good rhythm against yours.
"I want you," you gasped out, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him back up until his eyes locked onto yours. "Right now, Frankie. I don't wanna wait another second."
Frankie let out a ragged breath. "I want you too, I want all of you. These past few months... it's been a fucking torture." His voice cracked slightly. "You got no idea how many nights I laid awake waiting for this moment, thinking maybe it was never gonna happen again."
You reached up, cupping his face in both of your hands, feeling his jaw and the warmth of his skin. You pulled him down into a tender kiss.
"All this time," you whispered against his lips, "it's only been you, Frankie. Just you. Nobody else."
Frankie let out a sigh, his eyes fluttering. "Only you."
Your eyes flicked for a brief second toward the bedside table; remembering how the drawers had stayed empty, how the shelves in your bathroom had been empty too, and you looked back up into his dark eyes.
"I haven't been with anyone else," you admitted softly.
He shook his head. "Neither have I."
A wave of relief washed through your chest; how many late, lonely nights had you lain awake wondering if he had moved on? How many times had you forced yourself to stop imagining him with someone else? Hearing him say it out loud made the months of ache instantly vanish, leaving only the burning reality of him right here, right now, completely yours again.
"Do you have a condom?" you asked softly.
Frankie let out a quiet sheepish laugh. "No. I didn't think anything was gonna happen tonight. I... I didn't think we were gonna... I didn't think you'd even let me—"
"Oh," you interrupted with a soft giggle, cutting him off before he could overthink it. You reached up, gently stroking his cheek and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "It's okay." You searched his eyes. "I'm still taking the pill. If you're comfortable with... with us, like before?"
Frankie paused. "Are you comfortable with that?"
"Frankie, I need you right now," you whispered, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. "I trust you."
His mouth covered yours again in a hard kiss, swallowing your gasp as his hands slid down to your hips. Frankie hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, tugging them down over your thighs. You lifted your hips, desperate to get them off, needy for the feeling of his skin against yours without a single layer between you.
As soon as he pulled the lace free and tossed it aside, Frankie shifted lower; before you could catch your breath, he took your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipple before pulling it deep with a suck.
You arched off the mattress with a soft cry, hands scrambling to bury your fingers deep in his hair. "Frankie, please..."
He groaned into your skin, and dragged his mouth back up, marking your ribcage, your throat, your jaw, until his lips slammed back onto yours as you wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders, pulling his weigh against you again.
Frankie pulled back just enough to break the kiss. He lifted two fingers to his lips, generously wetting them before sliding his hand down between your legs.
The moment his slick fingers found your entrance, a growl rasped from his chest. "Oh, Jesus..."
You were soaking wet, slick and burning hot for him. He worked his fingers through your folds, spreading your own wetness over your clit before sliding two fingers deep inside you. You gasped loudly, hips instantly rolling into his hand, chasing the deepness, the agonizingly good friction.
Frankie sucked in a breath at how tight and drenched you were around him. He slowly pulled his fingers free, using his own slick hand to grab his length and stroke himself once, coating his broad, bulbous head in your moisture.
He dragged the crown of his cock up and down your soaking entrance, rubbing himself against your sensitive pussy until you were practically begging, your thighs trembling against his hips.
Then, Frankie lifted his head and locked his gaze directly on yours.
"Look at me," he rasped.
Keeping his eyes pinned to yours, Frankie began to push himself inside you, filling you inch by slick, agonizing inch.
The rest of the world dissolved the moment he filled you completely. For a few seconds, Frankie held still, buried to the hilt, letting your body stretch and adjust around him. You let out a long exhale and closed your eyes, yielding entirely to the weight of him.
It was pure overload. Every nerve ending between your legs flared to life, burning hot.
As he began to move with slow, deep strokes that drew almost all the way out before sinking back in, a wave of warmth spread from your core straight out to your fingertips.
You felt yourself melting into the mattress, liquefying from the inside out, completely helpless against the stretch of him filling you up over and over again.
"Look at me," Frankie panted. "Open your eyes, baby. Look at me."
You opened them, your vision slightly blurred, just in time to see the absolute ruin on his face.
Driven by the months of distance and built-up desperation, Frankie snapped. He pinned your thighs wider apart, grabbed your hips with a grip that would leave bruised handprints by morning, and began to drive into you hard and fast.
The sound of slick skin slapping against skin filled the quiet room and your lustful mind; a guttural groan tore from his throat with every deep thrust, his hips snapping forward, pounding into you until the headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall.
"Fuck," Frankie swore, his voice broken and raw as he fucked you senseless, burying himself as deep as he could go. "You feel so good... you have no idea how much I missed you..."
You couldn't form words anymore. Every hard stroke struck that exact spot inside you; you arched your back violently off the bed, your fingers digging into his biceps, your thighs trembling as you met his frantic pace, riding the overwhelming dirty wave of pleasure he was pounding into you.
His grip on your hips softened just enough to pull you flush against his chest, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The frantic pace slowed into long deep thrusts, each one sliding all the way in until there wasn't a breath of air left between you.
"I thought I lost you," Frankie murmured against your cheek, his voice wrecked as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
A quiet sob caught in your throat, your hands sliding up his back to hold him close, feeling the sweat on his skin.
"I'm right here," you whispered, arching up to catch his mouth. "I'm not going anywhere."
Frankie let out a shuddering breath against your mouth. "Look at how beautiful you are."
He thrust in deep, a groan escaping him when your inner walls rippled around him, squeezing him tight.
"You're mine, aren't you?" he breathed, his voice dripping with months of aching, desperate longing as his thumb found your clit, stroking softly with every deep push. "Tell me you're mine. Say it."
"Yours, I'm yours," you gasped out, your head rolling back against the pillow as the sweet, unbearable tension built up. "Always yours, Francisco."
He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours. "I missed you so damn much, baby. I'm never letting you go again."
You tangled your fingers tight in his hair, pulling his face down until his mouth was inches from yours.
"Frankie, please... don't be gentle. I need you to fuck me hard. Right now."
His dark eyes flared, his pupils dilating until there was barely any color left in them. He didn't say a single word.
Instead, Frankie shifted, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them over your head with one hand. With his free hand, he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up completely.
He dragged himself almost all the way out, letting the head of his shaft tease your soaking entrance for one agonizing second, and then slammed back in with a hard thrust that knocked the air straight out of your lungs.
A loud breathy gasp tore from your throat as your body clamped tight around him. and his free hand slid down between your bodies; his thumb found your slick swollen clit, applying a soft pressure while he kept pounding into you.
The combined rush of his deep strokes and his thumb sent an intense shockwave straight through your lower belly. You arched wildly off the bed, high, as breathy moans teared out of your throat.
"Shit... I'm not gonna last," Frankie panted.
Hearing that, knowing you were driving him over the edge just as fast, sent a surge of pleasure straight through you. Every filter you had left completely dissolved.
"Don't stop," you gasped, your fingers scrambling for a hold on his shoulders. "Please, Frankie, don't stop... fuck me, please, yes, right there, yes, yes, yes—"
The unbearable coil in your core finally snapped; your inner walls clamped down tight around his cock, pulsing in uncontrollable waves as a massive orgasm crashed over you.
You threw your head back as loud helpless cries spilled out as your whole body shuddered violently around him, and feeling you contract around him completely broke whatever control he had left. Frankie let out a curse, his hips snapping forward in a series of deep, desperate thrusts, driving straight into your climax.
"Fuck, you're so tight—" he groaned, his voice completely wrecked as his head dropped into the crook of your neck.
With one final stroke, he buried himself to the hilt and held himself there, his body stiffening as he came inside you, his heavy breaths and ragged groans hot against your skin while you both rode out the aftershocks.
He collapsed forward, taking most of his weight onto his elbows so he wouldn't crush you.
Slowly, Frankie pulled himself out, a hum escaping his throat as he rolled onto his side and immediately pulled you with him. He wrapped one arm around your waist, tugging you against his chest until your head was resting under his chin.
"Come here."
You slid one leg over his as you let your hand rest over his heart, feeling it hammer steadily beneath his warm skin. Frankie reached down and, with his thumb, traced small circles on your hip, while pressing soft kisses into your hair.
"You okay?"
"Better than okay," you whispered, a small smile pulling at your lips. You tilted your head up, catching his eye in the golden light of the lamp. "I missed you."
He leaned down, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to your lips; no rush, no desperation left.
"Me too, baby," he breathed against your mouth, pulling the blanket up over both of your shoulders to shield you from the cool night air. "I'm not letting you out of bed tomorrow."
You smiled, nestling your face deeper into the crook of his neck.
"You think they're wondering where we went? At the wedding, I mean."
Frankie let out a quiet chuckle. "Emma definitely is. We can head back soon, if you want. The reception's far from over. I know you don't wanna miss the rest of the night, huh."
"Yeah, you're right," you murmured, a gentle smile touching your lips at the thought. "I don't want to miss it."
"Good," Frankie whispered, wrapping both arms tighter around you and pulling you so close there wasn't a breath of air between your bodies. He pressed a long kiss to the top of your head. "So... five more minutes?"
You laughed softly. "Five more minutes."
The cool night air on the party barely helped with the flush still burning on your face. You were sensitive all over, your legs shaking and feeling like lead as you tried your absolute best to walk straight.
You had done what you could in the bathroom mirror, fixing your hair and fixing your makeup, but the telltale glow was impossible to hide. Frankie, on the other hand, looked infuriatingly intact. Except for a couple of faint bark smudges on his white shirt from climbing that tree, which were hidden under his jacket anyway; you’d never guess what he’d just been doing.
As you both stepped into the courtyard where the party was still going strong, Will was standing near the edge of the patio, holding Emma around the waist to keep her upright.
The second Emma spotted you, her arms shot up.
"There they are!" she yelled, completely smashed. She stumbled forward a step, squinting as her eyes tried to focus on your face. "Oh my god, how's Darcy?"
"He's fine, he was up in a tree, terrified, and Frankie had to—"
"Oh my god, you had sex!"
"Em!"
"It's all over your face!" Emma swung her glare over to Frankie, pointing an accusing finger. "You too! Oh my god, you two had sex! Together! You're back together!"
Your cheeks turned nuclear hot.
Will, still holding onto Emma, let out a massive grin. "Wait, what?"
You rolled your eyes, desperately trying to play it cool as you looked around the yard. "Where's Bill?"
"Over there," Will smirked, pointing with his chin. "Been at it a while."
You looked over and spotted Bill out in the middle of the dance floor, spinning Luna around by her hand while she laughed her head off, with Jamie shimmying his shoulders right beside them.
Frankie chuckled softly, leaning in a little. "She's having a blast, huh?"
Before you could answer, Benny yelled something unintelligible from the center of the crowd, making Will turn around on the spot.
"To the groom!" Benny shouted then, charging in to scoop Santi up off his feet.
Yov was standing right next to them, laughing hysterically while Santi, with a bunch of bright garlands tangled around his neck, balanced up in the air.
From up high, Santi spotted you and pointed an energetic finger right at you. "My sister!"
Laughing, you reached out and grabbed Frankie's hand, lacing your fingers with his as you pulled him straight into the crowd.
The boyfriend act, part 33: "The one with Santi's wedding, part two"
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader
SERIES MASTERLIST
Buy me a coffee - Ko-fi
Chapter summary: Santi and Yov’s wedding night approaches, bringing with it a tide of long overdue confrontations you can no longer delay. Somebody goes missing again, and you're driven into another unexpected search.
wc of entire chapter: 29.k
wc of this part: 13.2k
A/N: Okay, fair warning: this chapter is huge. I’ve been working on it for a while and as I was editing, I decided to toss in a few extra details I thought would make it nicer. To make the reading experience smoother, I decided to split it into two parts (yes, a chapter split into two parts, which is then divided into two more... lol). I could've uploaded the whole thing in one go, but I know that can make navigating the chapter a bit clunky, and breaking it up makes it easier to pause and pick back up later. Anyway, thank you so much for waiting so patiently and for sending so much love to my inbox and dms. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it’s a special one <3 love you guys!!
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You shouldn't feel so bad; this was probably over a while ago.
A while ago, sometime between your last day in Boston last December and yesterday. But it's impossible for you to try and guess. You're tired of guessing.
Guessing when it all ended. Guessing when things shifted. Guessing when they decided you were no longer worth the effort. Can you blame them?
At the risk of becoming self-victimizing, you think of yourself as collateral damage. The before-woman; the stepping stone shortcut to personal change.
It happened with Evan in your early twenties, who met his future girlfriend, whom he is still happily dating to this day, right in the middle of his relationship with you. With Carlos a year later, who met the woman he left you for at a party you invited him to; they got engaged two years later. Charlie too, who 'broke up' with you on the third date because he met someone else. Harry, of course, the trigger for all of this. And if your logic isn't failing you on this hungover morning, this is just another moment to add to your journal of broken hearts; of not being chosen.
Over the years, you think, you’ve become the prelude. The woman before the one, an emotional palate cleanser.
Want to meet your future wife? Date me first. You’re the opening act. The guy will probably bump into her on the street while he's technically still seeing you; she’ll drop her groceries, he'll help her pick them up, their fingers brushing against a head of broccoli, and just like that—fireworks, fate, the whole cinematic montage.
And you’ll be there too, of course. Standing just a few paces away, watching it unfold in real time, clutching your coffee and smiling like an idiot because you love love, even when it guts you. Who are you to stand in the way of destiny?
You’re starting to think this is your real calling. Maybe you should open a matchmaking service. It’d do numbers. You’d make a fortune. You could put Harry and Lisa on the website banner. Or maybe all the others; you have a solid portfolio under your belt.
Yeah, you're being dramatic, overly dramatic. Who cares?
You sigh, exhausted, and roll over in bed as you feel a lump forming in your throat, thinking that by your own logic, Francisco will meet the love of his life next. Because now, he's a new man. He must be ready for it.
New house, new car, new beginning. It wouldn't even surprise you if he met someone at Santi's wedding while you drown your sorrows in different glasses and different drinks.
But he isn't like the others. He isn't like Evan, Carlos, Charlie, or Harry. Because right before the end, right before everything came tumbling down like a house of cards after Christmas, you found yourself daydreaming about possibilities, about options that until then had felt distant and completely foreign.
You were so sure; you felt it in your heart. You could feel it radiating from him. No one had ever been able to tell you they loved you just with their eyes before, and no one had ever seen right through you the way your sworn enemy did. A kind of vulnerability that didn't hurt.
It was over. It was written in every bit of the careful distance he kept from you, so cautious and timid; in his measured words and polite support; in his averted gaze and stiff posture. It was all over him.
And because you're a big girl, you'll accept it with dignity because you have no other choice. There is no more room in your nature for painful, undignified reactions. There are no more fake boyfriends who can rescue you, no more lies to appease what you have to face. Just you, alone this time.
It doesn't matter. A broken heart isn't the end of the world, even when it feels like one. But even when you try to be realistic, you can't stop thinking about how beautiful it would have been—if it had been him.
You assume you have to get out of bed at some point. It’s the logical thing to do. But if you could just suppress your basic bodily needs for a little while longer, you’d stay right here all day.
Your bedroom door is shut, and the harsh sunlight filters through the curtain. You lie with your back to the window and your eyes closed, the covers pulled all the way up to your ears. There is no other way you could possibly exist right now.
You’ve always been good with hangovers. Your body usually bounces back quickly, almost as if the alcohol even makes your skin look better. But today, for some reason, is different. Your head throbbed and ached so intensely that it woke you up, and your legs felt heavier than ever.
Groaning, you let yourself toss and turn for a couple of hours, trying and failing to drift back to sleep. All you could do was think about last night. About everything.
Everything. The bittersweet feeling of celebrating Santi and Yov alongside his confession, the knowledge that your old house was now empty and ready to be lived in, the dull ache of your father's absence… and Frankie.
You drank a lot of drinks in his name last night. You celebrated so hard you’d think you were the one getting married. But no, what a joke; not even your ex-boyfriend was willing to show you a shred of sentimentality face to face.
You thought about him all morning, unable to stop torturing yourself with thoughts so…
What if he’s with someone else?
Your heart stopped in your chest for a second as you sat up in bed, squinting against the light. Mr. Darcy was sleeping soundly by your legs.
It made sense, didn’t it? Men usually act like they're completely over it when they’ve already moved on. Maybe that’s what you failed to see this whole time. If Frankie was acting so distant, so normal, so polite; could it be because he’s already involved with someone else?
Oh, God. Listen to yourself right now. You sound like one of those crazy people who overanalyze absolutely everything like emotional masochists.
You have to get out of this bed.
When you opened the door, you heard Emma's voice drifting from the kitchen. The clicking of her laptop keys let you know right away she was working, along with the constant "mhm" and "aha" she uttered every few seconds.
You went straight to the bathroom, where your reflection did you no favors. Messy hair, smudged eye makeup, eyes and mouth puffy from sleep. You washed your face with plenty of ice cold water and cleanser, then did the best you could with your hair, securing it with a claw clip at the top of your head.
While you got ready, Mr. Darcy stood right by your feet, guarding the empty space around you like an emotional guardian. He did the same when you stepped out into the hallway, and again as you walked into the kitchen with your laptop in hand, ready to set it up next to Emma's just so you could do something and feel useful.
“Good morning,” she said when she saw you, muting her mic for a second. “How are you feeling?”
You grimaced. “Like shit.”
“Here. This is for you.” She reached out, sliding a glass of water and an Alka Seltzer toward you.
Quietly and obediently, you took the Alka Seltzer while watching your laptop screen come to life.
Sitting in front of a screen when you felt like absolute shit was probably a terrible idea, but what else were you supposed to do?
You didn't want to think. About anything. You didn't want to think about the wedding, or the people you'd see there. You didn't want to think about what the hell you were going to do once this was all over; would you go back to New York? You didn't even want to think about what you were going to wear to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. You’d been trying to choose between three different dresses, but they all made you feel too much of this, too much of that, or too much of something else entirely. Everything was a decision: to speak or to stay quiet, to leave or to stay, this dress or that one.
Why the hell couldn't someone just tell you what to do?
Oh, yes. Donovan Darligheld could. With his red ink notes all over the manuscript you’d sent him, his directions and suggestions so clear and concise. He was a straightforward man who knew exactly what he wanted. What other choice did you have but to follow his lead?
It's nice to step into someone else's shoes, especially when they're fictional. There’s something soothing about living inside someone else’s head for a while when your own is out of commission. And if there was anyone more screwed up than you at this exact moment, it was Miles.
Oh, Miles, savior of the day.
Eager to write away your stress, you managed to finish the chapter that had kept you blocked for a week. Because it’s easy to write about Miles being miserable when you feel pretty miserable yourself. Creativity is easy that way.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Emma wrapped up her work and brewed a pot of coffee for the both of you.
"I was just talking to Will," she sighed, flopping onto the couch next to the cat. "Have you talked to Santi?"
That made you snap your head up immediately. "Why? Did something happen?"
You instantly reached for your phone, which sat silent and forgotten next to your laptop.
"Just that he had a terrible hangover," she answered. "But he left around twelve for that thing with Yov's parents."
"Oh, no."
You didn't have any messages from Santi, not even a missed call.
"Only Benny was left," Em added.
Of course, because Frankie had work early today, you thought.
"And how's Will?"
"Just like you'd imagine," she laughed. "I'm gonna go see him later. You wanna grab some food? I'm starving."
"I actually feel a little sick. I'm not hungry," you tilted your head, "but let's get something so you can eat, and I'll have some later when I feel better."
“You sure?”
You nodded.
"Uh, okay. So… how’re you feeling about last night?" Emma asked, tilting her head.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah?"
"Course I am."
"You sure?" She turned to face you, bathed in skepticism. "'Cause we can talk about it—"
"I know," you cut her off, suddenly straightening up as a heavy sigh slipped past your lips. "But what’s the point, honestly?"
"Talking helps," she said, raising her brows. She stood and got close to you "Just talking. Doesn’t have to have some big grand purpose."
You bit the inside of your cheek, hard. Anger bubbled up inside you like the steam from a whistling kettle, a ringing in your ear that had you slowly pressing your index finger against your earlobe.
Well, fuck it.
"I just don’t get it," you finally gave in. "I don’t get how or why he’s acting like this… so, I don't know, unbothered. I mean, I get he’s trying to be civil, but doesn’t he feel even a little urge to talk things out? Or is this just it? 'Cause what's the use in talking if he doesn't even care to fix a thing?"
Emma clicked her tongue. "Francisco’s being a fool. He probably thinks it’s over on your end, so he’s playing it cool," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Ain't no way I believe he’s over you. Not for a second."
Letting out a long sigh, you dragged a hand over your eyes and cracked a dry chuckle. "You really think so?"
"I know so. When he got back to Austin a few weeks ago, he went down to the bookstore looking for you. Did you know that?"
Your head snapped toward her. "What?"
"Yep. Didn’t tell you 'cause… well, I don’t know," she shook her head. "You were up in New York having a good time, and besides, he asked me not to say anything."
"Oh, so you’re just taking orders from him now?"
"No! Hold your horses, grumpy. I just didn’t wanna mess up your mood," she said, gently pushing her laptop away with one hand. "Didn't tell me what he wanted, probably just to talk, but he looked pretty let down when he saw me instead of you, obviously."
You pressed your lips together and rested your hands on the counter. "What did you tell him?"
"Told him you were in New York, which threw him off a bit. And when I asked if he wanted me to pass along a message, he said I better not mention he stopped by."
Silently, you ran your tongue over your top teeth.
"I don’t think he’s moved on," Emma went on gently. "I just think he’s trying to be polite for the sake of everything going on right now. And look, I get where he’s coming from, but it ain't fair to act like nothing ever happened. I won't lie to you, babe," she shook her head, "I know this hurts, and I know you wish he’d react differently. But he’s a grown man, and he’s gotta figure that out on his own. If he can’t see what he’s doing wrong, well… that’s his loss. You deserve way better than that."
You scoffed, your eyes stinging with tears. "Yeah, but… is it really his fault if he just doesn't care anymore? What if he’s just keeping things as they are because he doesn't feel like doing anything else? Is that so wrong?"
"Even if that were the case, he’s acting like a coward," she said, shaking her head firmly. "'Cause some things need to be said, if only to give you closure. And he's not giving you that."
A tight ache blossomed in your chest. You slouched your shoulders and ducked your head down.
"I don't wanna talk about this anymore."
Emma closed the distance instantly, leaning in to rest her head on your shoulder. Her fingers traced gentle, warm circles across your back.
"Alright. No more talking. But last thing, I swear: you deserve somebody who'll do whatever it takes to stand by you, no matter what."
"No, no, no. I'm sorry, Jimmy, but I am not apologizing to her because I didn't do anything wrong."
"You did—"
"No. All I did was say things to her face instead of going behind her back like everyone else does here. Is that wrong? Hey, Bethany, I'm talking to you!"
You raised your eyebrows, watching Noemí march up to Bethany and point a finger right at her.
"Tell her," you cheered.
Listen to this: Noemí and Bethany had been friends when the reality show first started. They got along great and made a good team. But then Sandra arrived, and the trouble began; she didn't just wedge herself between them, she also helped Bethany move in on Noemí’s love interest.
Bethany was a bitch.
"You're easy! Everyone here knows it!" Noemí gestured toward the rest of the cast. "You think we don't know you tried to sleep with David? He told me!"
"Oh, shit," you laughed, reaching out to pet Darcy as he strolled past the couch.
"That's a lie, you're a goddamn liar! Look at all the drama you make up just to avoid facing reality. And the reality is that nobody here likes you!"
"See, Darcy? That's why you should never underestimate people."
At your words, the cat flopped onto the rug, belly up, his whiskers high and proud.
"That's what I thought. Mhm."
You stretched out more comfortably along the couch, pulling the blanket a little higher over your shoulders.
The day had gone by quickly. I guess that's what happens when you wake up late and completely exhausted.
After eating, Emma left for Will's place, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You distracted yourself by writing for as long as your brain allowed (which was until about seven in the evening) and then decided the best thing to do was try to wash away some of the heavy weight you'd been carrying around.
You took a long, peaceful shower; you washed, exfoliated, moisturized, and did the whole routine, stepping out of the bathroom feeling renewed and smelling like a dessert.
By then, your appetite had kicked in, and you headed to the couch to eat, knowing that in half an hour a next Love Next Door episode would start. It was the reality show you’d watched religiously every single week since you moved to New York. Alex had originally shown it to you because a former high school classmate of her was on it, and then everything just clicked; you couldn't not watch it, you had to know what would happen. And this week, in particular, was juicy.
Now, Bethany was crying while Noemí laughed mockingly and shook her head.
You didn't buy any of it.
Just as Logan (David’s friend, and the one who had secretly told Noemí what her supposed friend had tried to do) was about to say something important, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
You let out a slightly frustrated sigh. Who dared to interrupt your Love Next Door time?
"Hey."
"Hey," a voice said on the other end. A tired Santi. "How are you?"
You smiled. "Can I ask you the same thing?"
He gave a humorless laugh. "I've had a day… a day."
"Are Yov's parents there?"
"Yeah, and his sister too," he sighed. "Jesus, I feel terrible. All I've wanted to do all day is sleep."
"What did Yov say to you?"
"Yov was the same way," he laughed. "Less miserable than me, at least. His parents were sweet, anyway. They let us rest a good bit, but then we went out to dinner. Did you know the restaurant on the corner of Jett is gone?"
"It’s a laundromat now."
"That's an odd choice. What the hell do they do with the kitchen?"
You shrugged, as if he could see you. "Maybe it's a laundromat with a kitchen, so you can go cook your meals while you wash your clothes."
He laughed. "I can hear the hangover in your voice. Have you eaten yet?"
"A little while ago."
"Drink some water. You never drink enough water."
"I have been drinking water, okay?" You sat up suddenly. "And what about you? You alright? I can hear your hangover, too."
"Hm."
You waited a moment to see if he had anything else to say.
"Hm," you mimicked, after his prolonged silence.
"So…" he started.
You grabbed the TV remote and hit pause.
"How much did I say last night?"
You pursed your lips. "Our old house is for sale, and you made an offer behind Yov's back. And she obviously has no idea."
"Right," he huffed a humorless laugh. "That… that's half true and half lie."
"How's that?"
"I did make an offer, but it was pretty informal."
You shook your head, your hand going up to your forehead. "Santi."
"I know, I know, alright? But it was a silly thing. I'm not buying a house without telling Yov, and I'm sure not using our savings or anything."
"You have to tell her about this. Even if your offer was casual or whatever. It's clear all this is getting to you."
You heard him sigh on the other end.
Silence fell between you.
"You really want the house?"
A beat. "I do. I mean… it's a great house, isn't it?"
"It is."
"I mean, it's got enough bedrooms, bathrooms, the yard is huge. You remember how much we played out there all the time?"
Flashing back to brief memories, you smiled. "Of course I do. Like when Mom got mad 'cause we had a mud fight in her garden," you laughed.
He chuckled. "Yeah."
Little feet out of the garden, your father used to repeat, teasing the two of you every time you went outside in the afternoons. Your mother had fenced it off with a green plastic fence and little wooden posts.
"I don't know if it's still the same, probably not," Santi continued, "but I'd love to see my kids growing up there, you know what I'm saying?"
"Yeah."
"Just picture it. In a few years, a full house. Kids running around, us in the kitchen having a glass of wine like Mom and Dad used to, making something good to eat 'cause the cool, rich aunt has come to visit from her glamorous life in New York."
That got a laugh out of you. "What are you even talking about?"
"What? You don't like the idea?"
"Of course I do. I can totally see myself as the cool, rich aunt. I'm manifesting it, y'know?"
"And the glamorous New York life?"
"I'm a simple woman. New York is fine, but without too much glamour."
"That's fair."
"And about the house—don't go changing the subject," you laughed softly. "Are you gonna talk to Yov?"
"Yeah, I plan to. Though I don't know when the right time is. I don't know if doing it tomorrow is right, and then during the wedding… I just… I don't know. What do you think I should do?"
"You can't put it off too long, that'll only make it worse. You should tell her tomorrow, after dinner. Present the idea, be honest. And if your offer wasn't anything serious, make sure to tell her that too. But you can't stretch this out until after the wedding. What, are you planning on telling her on your honeymoon?"
"No," he laughed.
"Thank goodness. So?"
You heard him sigh on the other end, letting out a sound that was half groan. "Tomorrow, after dinner."
"I'm gonna ask you about it tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled. "And what happened last night? How'd things go between you and Frankie?"
"What do you remember?"
"Eh. Just that it was you and him. Not much else."
In the silence, you stared at the paused TV screen, weighing how much you should say. Santi didn't remember a thing.
"Nothing happened," you said, shifting your gaze down to your feet. "Really, nothing."
"And is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It is what it is. And I think… I think it's for the best in our situation, isn't it?"
"Uh. But did you talk about anything?"
"No," you threw your head back. "I mean, Frankie was pretty polite and that's about it. Wished me a good life in New York and everything."
Santi clicked his tongue. "You're mad."
"I'm not mad," you protested. "Listen to what I'm saying, alright? It's fine. It's for the best."
With a push, you got up from the couch, letting the blanket drop to your feet.
You walked barefoot to the kitchen. "Frankie is doing his thing and I'm doing mine, and the only thing I care about right now is getting ready for your wedding and doing my own work. I'm happy for him, really."
"Uh-huh. And if I promise to talk to Yov about the house tomorrow, are you gonna be honest and talk to Frankie?"
You laughed. "What the hell are you talking about? I don't have anything to talk about."
"Really? Why's that?"
"Because he made it clear."
"There it is. What are we even talking about, now?"
You crossed your arms and leaned back against the counter, your fingers tracing your ribs.
You clenched your jaw, feeling the tension run straight to your teeth and temples.
"Santi, it's been almost a year. And a lot has happened, especially for him. I've seen how much he's changed, and I know that couldn't have been easy, and maybe…" you shrugged, feeling small, "… maybe I'm just not what he wants anymore."
"That's an awful lot to assume, bub."
You pressed your lips together and looked down at your feet.
"Well, you know him better, don't you? He's your best friend."
Applying a bit of pressure, you bit the inside of your cheek. A sudden, crushing weight broke into your chest.
An awful lot to assume. Yeah. Maybe it was a stretch, but did you even have another choice with how your brain was racing right now?
Assuming; that’s all you’d been doing for months on end. No matter what happened, nobody ever had the decency to be straight with you. So what then? With how tight-lipped everyone was, with how little they actually gave you, if you jumped to conclusions or just did the best you could with whatever crumbs of information you had, was that really on you?
"Have you talked to him about this?" The question came out a little bit harsh, fueled by your souring mood. "About what happened between us... did you say anything to him?"
A pause. "Uh, well, yeah, back when everything went down—"
"Yeah, I know. But I'm not talking about that fight."
"You made it pretty clear you didn't care."
Your eyes narrowed. "I thought it was pointlessly dramatic to drag it out back then. But I know you spoke to him again, I mean after Henry... after he passed."
"I did."
"So why keep me in the dark about it? Why didn't anyone mention he moved when he did? Why does nobody ever tell me anything?" As the words poured out, your anger spiraled. "You didn't even tell me he almost died. And then he just shows up again and everyone acts like it's business as usual. Like we just magically reset, right?"
"Hey, that's not—"
"No, Santi, it is," you snapped, your brow furrowing as your tone hardened. "Because I am exhausted. I'm sick of everyone sweeping everything under the rug. You did it from day one, all of you, hiding your fight, hiding his move, and every damn thing that followed. And then I'm left standing there looking like a complete fool whenever the truth leaks out, forced to pretend I wasn't completely blindsided—"
"I didn't think—I kept quiet because I knew how wrecked you were over it before, and I didn't want to rub salt in the wound. We've been over this, bub—"
"I'm pushing thirty. I know I'm your little sister, but that doesn't give you the right to curate my life or shield me from anything."
"I know," his voice dropped.
"And honestly... did you actually talk to Francisco about what happened, or did you just pull a tough-guy routine and tell him to stay away? Did you have a real conversation and actually back me up, or was it just two stubborn idiots beating their chests?"
On the other end, the line went deathly silent.
Santi sighed.
You swallowed hard. "Y'know, ever since I met Francisco and things were awful between us, I never asked you to take my side. And I’m not asking you to do that now either, 'cause it’s not fair and I'd like to think we're adults who can handle things better than that. But I wish that for once in your life, you had done more than just lecture him and then pretend like nothing ever happened. Because he broke my fucking heart."
"Bub, I… I was always on your side—"
"There are no sides here, we're not in middle school," you said, shaking your head.
"I know, Jesus, just—let me finish talking."
You pressed your lips together nervously. "Alright. Go on."
"You know I was always jumping in the middle whenever you two fought. I chewed Frankie out over it more than once, and we've been over this already, more than a few times. You're my sister, my baby sister. Maybe you didn't hear about it, but Frankie and me got into it good over that. And then you started dating, and suddenly I was the bad guy; just for telling you maybe you were moving too fast, to take it easy and be careful. And now I'm the bad guy again for going to see him after I found out what he did to you? For not handling things the exact way you wanted?"
"I know that's the reason you two didn't talk for months, I know it, but seriously, did you actually talk about it, or did you just scrap and then sweep it under the rug just 'cause the situation forced a reconciliation?"
"Yeah, we talked. And I think what's really bothering you right now isn't any of that, but seeing him and me talking normally. Tell me, does it make you feel like I don't give a damn about what he did to you?" He scoffed softly. "'Cause I do care. It's not like it's all water under the bridge like I'm just gonna forget what happened. I haven't."
"Yeah. It makes me feel exact like that."
"Well, I'm sorry. I promise you that's not the case. And trust me, I made sure he knows it, too. Just 'cause Frankie and me are talking right now don't mean it was easy getting here."
You looked up at the ceiling. "So what’d you tell him? I wanna know."
He took a quiet breath before sighing. "First off, that I was disappointed. Not just that he started talking to Rachel again, no matter the reason, but how he handled the whole thing. He had plenty of chances to be honest and he didn't do it. He failed to see he could trust you with it; and us, too. I told him he was a fool," you heard him shift on the other end, "and that he didn't deserve you."
Those last words went right through your chest. Hot tears immediately burned against your eyelids, welling up in an instant.
You swallowed them down, trying not to let your voice give you away. "And what'd he say to that?"
He waited a second. "That he knew."
You nodded in silence, sharing a quiet moment of solidarity with the emptiness of your kitchen and the frozen, paused image of Logan on your TV screen. Your throat tight, squeezing shut.
"I also told him he should talk to you," Santi continued. "'Cause he told me you two hadn't actually had a real conversation about it."
"That's true."
"Not in all this time?"
You shook your head, ducking down as if to make yourself smaller. "No."
"You haven't seen each other since Boston, maybe—"
"He won't. Francisco isn't gonna talk to me about it. He just doesn't do that, it's the whole reason we ended up the way we did."
"You think so? He's... he's made a lot of progress, bub. In a lot of areas of his life. He's not the same person he was last year."
"Maybe. You're probably right. But that doesn't mean he wants to talk about what happened. Besides, I doubt he'd want to do it in the middle of your wedding week. He won't want to cause any drama. He just won't," you wiped your cheek with your hand, smearing away the tears gathered there. "He won't."
A beat.
"Do you want him to?"
Your eyes burned again, and you offered a weak humorless smile.
But you kept the short, honest answer to yourself.
"Yesterday, when we were dragging your drunk ass out of the car, you said something," you reminded him, narrowing your eyes as your gaze drifted down to the kitchen counter.
"What did I say?"
"'Why didn't you tell her'?"
"Why didn't I tell her what? Who, Yov?"
"No, dumbass," a quiet laugh escaped your lips, "that’s what you said to Frankie."
"Oh," he chuckled. "I—I don't remember."
"You don't?"
"I told you, I barely even remember the two of you being there, that's it."
Doubtful, you nodded. "Fine. I believe you, for now."
"You want me to come over?"
"Santi, no," you sighed. "You can't."
"Why not? I don't like talking like this over the phone. You know I don't wanna fight with you."
"Listen to me," you ran a hand through your hair, "we're okay, alright? There are things that make me angry and I should've brought them up sooner, but that's all. We can talk another time. But seriously, everything is fine."
"You didn't sound fine a second ago."
"Santiago, I'm hungover, I'm hungry, and I'm emotional. Seeing Francisco yesterday was... I dunno, it was weird, and it brought up a lot of things. There are things that bother me and I just told you what they were, but that's it. I know what you told me is true, I trust you. And I know it might sound like childish complaining, but—"
"It isn't. It's not childish," he cut you off. "And I'm sorry for making you feel that way. I'm sorry for not being mature enough at times. I know I let my anger get the better of me back then with Frankie, and I know I should've been more transparent with you. I should've treated you differently from the start. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."
Once again, you nodded as if he could see you.
"Thank you. I forgive you," you offered a faint smile, tilting your head and lifting your chin.
"Great, 'cause you're my favorite sister."
"Ha, ha. Because I'm your only sister, right?" You rolled your eyes. "Old joke, Pope."
"Pope?" He laughed. "Sounds weird coming from you."
"Why? Are only the guys allowed to call you that?"
"Well, no. You can call me Pope."
"Does Yov call you Pope?"
"No, but Papi sounds pretty close—"
"Ew! Shut up! Don't say that!" You pulled a disgusted face and feigned a gag. "What is wrong with you? I'm telling her."
Santi laughed on the other end of the line. "Grow up."
"You grow up, you're getting married on Saturday."
"Oh, man," he sighed. "I'm getting married on Saturday. Have you packed your stuff for tomorrow yet?"
"Not yet, but I'm only taking an overnight bag. How much could I possibly need? If I forget anything, I can always come back and get it."
"Try to avoid doing that, alright?" Suddenly, he sounded like the adult in the room. "I don't want you rushing back and forth for something. Even if it's close."
The Commodore Perry Estate wasn't far from your house; barely a fifteen-minute drive with good traffic. And tomorrow, after five, all the main guests would be checking into their rooms.
Santi had a point, even if he was overreacting a bit. But since it was his wedding, you let it slide.
"Don't worry, I'll have everything ready."
He huffed a soft laugh on the other end. "I need talk to you tomorrow. Face to face."
"About what, huh? Tomorrow is your rehearsal dinner, and you shouldn't be spending your energy on anything but your future wife and that house you want to buy but haven't told her about. I'm gonna be watching you, Santiago."
He laughed. "Now who's changing the subject?"
Rolling your eyes, you pushed yourself off the counter and walked back to the living room. There were just some things you didn't want to hear right now.
"I'm sorry."
"Nah. It's alright. Why don't you get some sleep? Want to grab a coffee tomorrow morning? I'm free until eleven."
"I have to work tomorrow. But you can come see me if you want."
"Alright. I'll be there. Love you, bub."
"Love you."
"Sleep tight. Take an aspirin."
"Yeah, yeah. You too."
Laughing softly on the other end, Santi hung up.
At three in the afternoon, you pulled down the bookstore’s blinds. It was a bit earlier than your usual closing time, but the day's commitments required it.
It had been a chaotic day. Between incoming shipments and a steady stream of customers, you spent the entire morning juggling tasks and organizing stock. The boxes from the new arrival sat piled up in the main aisle like a miniature Tower of Babel, and you were a hundred percent sure that misstepping off the small step stool while stocking the top shelf was the exact reason your lower back was now throbbing.
To make matters worse, you hadn't had a single cup of coffee.
Bill hadn't been working today, which meant no one dropped by with coffee and pastries; a cruel way to realize just how much you’d come to appreciate that habit of his. Still, he had a good excuse: a busy morning taking Julie to a doctor’s appointment. Just routine stuff, nothing to worry about.
None of the day's exhaustion really mattered, though, knowing that in a few hours you’d be sitting in a plush, luxurious hotel room with every comfort imaginable. No accounting reports, no stock lists, and no rude customers bending book spines backward—something you secretly agreed with doing, but only when the book was actually yours.
Out there, your only responsibility was to be a good guest, a good maid of honor, and, above all, a good sister.
Your small suitcase was already parked by the door when Will pulled up at four-thirty. You were balancing two garment bags over a couple of fingers, watching Emma cradle Mr. Darcy in her arms as they said their goodbyes.
Much to his dismay, Darcy wasn't coming to the hotel, obviously. The whole thing would be way too stressful for him (and for you, honestly) so you arranged for Ester, your neighbor from next door, to watch him.
She used to cat-sit before Emma moved to Austin, so she already knew all his little quirks and habits. She was a great sitter. Naturally, you’d still be coming back to check on him first thing tomorrow morning anyway.
As you shut the apartment door, you felt like an abandoner of a mother.
"He’s gonna be just fine. He’s a New York cat, remember? He’s probably used to this kind of thing by now," Emma teased, adjusting her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose as she walked toward Will’s car.
"Darcy?" he asked as you walked up.
Emma lifted her suitcase, Will took it. "Yep, getting left behind with another sitter."
"Who?"
"Ester, my neighbor." In one swift motion, you lifted your suitcase halfway before he took it and put it in the trunk. "She used to watch him before."
Carefully, you arranged your dresses alongside the luggage. Will waited for you to step back before closing the trunk lid.
He tilted his head. "She trustworthy?"
"’Course she is," you laughed. "Why? You a cat expert now?"
Will grinned, confident enough that his eyes lit up.
"Now, I don't wanna brag... but Bingley speaks real highly of me."
Smiling (and ignoring how the mention of the kitten inevitably brought his owner to mind) you got into the car and waited for Will and Emma to finish kissing behind the vehicle and finally decide it was time to leave. Honeymoon lovers.
Taking advantage of the moment, you pulled your phone out of your purse and opened your messages.
[You]: on my way to the Commodore :) wish me luck
After hitting send, you turned around and looked out the rear window at the storefront of Bill’s café.
The small tables were set up outside, packed with people enjoying their cups of coffee, tea, and smoothies.
Your phone buzzed in your lap.
[Bill ☕🍪]: good luck tonight !
[Bill ☕🍪]: tell me how it goes
[Bill ☕🍪]: if there’s any pilot causing a scene out there…
You smiled, shaking your head, just as Emma shut the car door after getting in.
[You]: I doubt it, he’ll probably keep his distance
[You]: I know you’re expecting movie drama, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen, sorry :(
The typing dots danced on the screen for a few seconds.
[Bill ☕🍪]: biggest fumble of the decade
[Bill ☕🍪]: that man needs someone to lay it out right in front of his face
[Bill ☕🍪]: I got a plan for tomorrow
[Bill ☕🍪]: nobody puts Baby in a corner
A small laugh escaped your lips as you read the last message.
Emma turned around to face you. "What's up?"
"Nothing, just Bill."
"The guy from the coffee shop?" Will asked, starting up the engine.
"Yeah," Emma answered him. "He's going to the wedding with her tomorrow, did you know?"
"Really? How is he, good guy?"
Emma scoffed. "Course he is. And he’s always been sooo sweet… now that she’s single, I doubt he's gonna waste any time."
"Em," you laughed, knowing she was just trying to stir the pot. But Will was all ears, and right then, you caught the subtle intentions behind your friend's words.
Will offered a polite smile and nodded, and right on cue, Emma looked back at you, smiled, and winked.
Looking down at your phone, you typed out:
[You]: what are you planning?
The typing dots appeared again.
Typing, typing, typing.
Buzz, buzz.
[Bill ☕🍪]: I got my ways, we’ll discuss it tomorrow
[Bill ☕🍪]: but just like I said
[Bill ☕🍪]: nobody puts Baby in a corner
What did it matter if your hair was still damp from the long, delicious shower you'd just taken, or if you were leaving vanilla-scented droplets on the delicate white duvet?
The bathrobe felt so good against your freshly exfoliated and prepped skin, like dozens of soft caresses trailing over your body; a body that was relaxed, clean, comfortable, and above all, exhausted.
WAKE UP!
You can’t fall asleep, what’s wrong with you?
I only closed my eyes for a second.
"Ugh," you groaned, letting out a sound that betrayed you were no longer in your fresh twenties, as you sat up on the comfortable bed and released a heavy sigh.
There wasn't much time left before you had to start getting ready. In fact, you should've been doing it already. But the second you walked into the room, you couldn't help wanting to enjoy it.
The bathroom was beautiful, complete with a massive soaking tub and plenty of miniature luxury products lined up on a little shelf, ready to be used. But you had brought your own things, and being a woman of habit and fixed routines (lately), you stuck to them.
You'd let the hot water wash over you, the steam ease your muscles, and simply allowed yourself to enjoy it.
Yes, you enjoyed it, even though you couldn't help thinking about how many other people had rested their bare bottoms right there, making you silently pray that the housekeeping here was top-tier. And that thought led you to stare at the tiles, and the grout between them; was it clean? What was that tiny spot over there?
You quickly realized you were spiraling, and knowing yourself well, you knew the root of the problem was your own anxiety. Not the tiles, not the tub, nor the imaginary strangers' bare bottoms.
Shortly after rinsing off and cleaning yourself up with a shower, you stepped out, wrapped yourself in a robe, and collapsed onto the bed.
It wasn't your fault you almost fell asleep. The room was spacious, dressed in shades of ivory, gray, and black. The bed looked like a fluffy cloud, with an iron canopy anchoring the center of the space, and above it, a glass lamp projected a warm light that you kept off, since enough daylight was still filtering through the arched windows framed by long cream-colored curtains. Right there, a set of French doors opened out onto a small balcony.
You had left your suitcase between the two upholstered armchairs next to a dark wood coffee table, and over the terracotta rug, your shoes were scattered everywhere.
Right. The time for indulgence was officially over; it was time to move.
Moving away from the cozy temptation of the bed, you walked to the dark wood coffee table and snapped open your suitcase.
You went to the vanity mirror first. Plugging in the hair dryer, you began the process, letting the whoosh air drown out any lingering anxious thoughts. And once your hair was completely dry, feeling incredibly soft and smelling faintly of the vanilla and argan oil you’d used, you began to style it.
You didn’t want something stiff or overly shellacked, just something… effortless. But elegant, still.
Section by section, you gathered your locks toward the crown of your head, and with smooth, precise strokes, you brushed it into place, securing the whole mass. Then, you expertly twisted the tail of hair and coiled it upward, pinning it firmly in place to create a sleek, sophisticated topknot. You made sure a few delicate strategic tendrils were left loose to softly frame your face, completing the look.
After a quick spray to hold it all in place, you returned to your suitcase. You pulled out the strapless bra you needed for the dress and adjusted it. Then, grabbing the tub of body lotion from your bag, you scooped out a generous amount.
Starting from your shoulders, you worked it in, feeling the coolness of the cream sink into your exfoliated skin, restoring that velvety feel as you covered every inch of your arms, legs, and collarbone. And then, fully prepped and relaxed once more, you turned and looked at the garment bag hanging from the iron canopy bed.
Unzipping the bag, you carefully lifted the dress from its hanger.
It was the right decision; a beautiful dusty, silvery-blue satin that seemed to catch and ripple the dim light of the room like liquid silk. As you stepped into it and pulled it up, the cool fabric glided effortlessly over your freshly moisturized skin. It felt like heaven.
The front featured a soft cascading cowl neckline that framed your collarbone and dipped just low enough to be subtly daring without losing its sophistication. It hugged your waist and hips in a sleek body skimming silhouette before falling gracefully to the floor. But the real drama lay in the details: sheer, ruffled ribbons of the same muted blue fabric spilled down from the side seams, cascading past your knees in delicate, fluid waves that would flutter with every step you took.
Stepping in front of the full-length mirror in your room, you smoothed down the front of the skirt.
You didn't want to sound too full of yourself, but you looked gorgeous. Even without having finished your makeup, you were pretty much ready to head out.
As it often happens during moments of anxiety or low motivation, taking the time to get ready and dress up could do wonders for your mood. And right now, you felt so much better.
Plus, you were right on track with the dress code: elegant, formal but not overly so; a classic cocktail vibe.
Earlier today, you'd sent a picture of the dress to Yov, asking if it was right or if it was too much… or maybe not enough? It depends. She told you it was perfect, adding a sweet, encouraging note: I bet you look drop dead gorgeous in it <3
You replied to her message with an embarrassed reaction pic, refraining from asking if she'd talked to Santi about anything. It was none of your business, and it definitely wasn't the time.
Either way…
It didn't take you long to do your makeup. It was just a rehearsal dinner, so you kept things pretty low-key. A touch of concealer here, a brush of blush there; high, curled lashes, your eyes done just the way you liked them, and a gloss only a shade darker than your natural lips. You grabbed your favorite perfume, spritzed it on all the key spots, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
[You]: u ready yet?
You sent the text to Emma and waited for her to reply with a not yet.
Her room with Will wasn't far from yours; maybe you could go keep her company so you wouldn't be stuck in here by yourself.
[Em🤍]: heading down
[Em🤍]: u there yet?
What?
What time was it?
Flicking your eyes up just a few centimeters to the top of your screen, you cursed under your breath. Two minutes to seven.
Had time seriously flown by that fast?
[You]: Leaving my room right now :)
Barefoot, you hurried over to grab your heels. Sitting on one of the armchairs, you slipped them on in a rush, awkwardly buckling the ankle strap before springing up as fast as you could. You snatched your purse off the bed and made a beeline for the door.
You opened it and stepped out, and instantly, the most delicious scent hit your nose. Your brows knitted together as you caught it, inhaling a bit deeper while pulling the door shut behind you. Oh, so good.
Spinning on your heel, you took a couple of hurried steps before coming to a dead halt.
Francisco. Standing right in front of the elevator.
His eyes snapped to you the second you stopped. It took you a microsecond to recover your composure and keep moving.
"Hey," he quietly said.
You didn't waste a second, taking him in from head to toe. He was wearing light gray tailored trousers, a crisp white shirt neatly tucked in, and a matching light gray blazer layered over it. On his feet were black dress shoes. And his hair, classic: styled yet artfully rumpled, with loose strands softly falling across his forehead. And resting on the bridge of his nose was a pair of glasses...
Oh, not his usual ones, but a new pair. Or at least ones you hadn't seen before. Delicate round metal frames that suited him entirely too well.
"Hey," you replied, taking another step closer.
The cologne was definitely his. Up close, the fragrance was stronger but far from overwhelming.
For some reason, you couldn't stop inhaling it.
"Heading down?" he asked, though he seemed to instantly realize how silly the question was, making a quiet self deprecating gesture.
A small smile touched your lips, just that.
He let out a subtle sigh and pressed the elevator button.
Fine. It was a good start, perhaps. If you faced him first now, maybe everything would be a little less awkward later.
Maybe. Maybe that sensation in your stomach right now wasn't butterflies or nerves, but something far more realistic and easily explained; maybe you were just reacting poorly to that tiny bottle of liquor you opened when you got to your room. You'd only had a couple of sips, that was all. Just to take the edge off. But it had a strange taste you couldn't quite place, even after reading the label, which didn't say much anyway, just a few herbal notes and not much else, and the alcohol content wasn't even that high, to be honest—
Ding.
With a gentle chime, the elevator doors slid open. Francisco extended a hand, inviting you to step inside first.
Without so much as looking at him, you slipped in and took a spot on the right side, keeping your eyes glued to the floor.
He walked in, bringing that intoxicating scent with him, and you cursed him all over again. He pressed the button for the lobby, and within seconds, the doors sealed shut completely.
You stole a split-second glance before snapping your eyes straight ahead once more.
Was any of this really necessary? Of all the days in the year, Francisco had chosen today to look like this, to smell like this, to carry that careful look in his eyes?
And with those damn glasses... who on earth did he think he was? Hugh Grant?
A faint, frustrated sigh escaped you almost before you could stop it.
Beside you, Frankie straightened up. "How—how have you been?"
You bit the inside of your cheek and glanced at him. "Fine."
He gave a single nod. "How was Yov's party? Did you have a good time?"
You stared straight ahead at the space above the doors, where the numbers ticked down as the elevator descended rapidly. "Yeah, it was good."
From the corner of your eye, you felt his gaze studying you, maybe waiting for more. But you gave him nothing.
Right then and there, you reached a hasty conclusion: staying as far away from him as possible was the only way forward. No talking unless absolutely necessary, no shared smiles, no quiet little moments; just the bare minimum to keep things from turning painful. For everyone's sake, but mostly for your own.
Mostly for your own, because your heart clearly hadn't gotten the memo, thumping like an idiot against your ribs.
Foolish, reckless heart.
The elevator doors parted, and Francisco appeared to say something, but his words muffled together in your ears. You didn't hear him, nor did you pause to try.
Feigning composure, you stepped out of the elevator and walked away from him without another thought, catching sight of a flower-lined path at the end of the long hallway to your left, leading toward the area where the main guests were gathered.
The clinking of a fork against a crystal glass cut the room’s chaos dead in its tracks.
Yov’s mom stood up. With one hand, she smoothed down her dress; with the other, she squeezed her husband’s fingers as he looked up from the table, no doubt relieved it wasn’t him holding the microphone.
Unhurriedly, you dabbed the corner of your lips with a napkin. Your dinner was half-finished, and two glasses of wine were already settling in.
"Alright, I promised I wouldn't get too sentimental, but looking at the two of you sitting there, it's impossible not to look back," she began, throwing a warm smile toward the couple at the head of the table. "Our Yov was always fiercely independent. A gentle yet resilient spirit, someone who worked endlessly for everything she wanted. Love was never a priority for her; a broken heart, as happens to us all in this life, had put that part of her world on hold. She had her goals, her projects, and a life fully built on her own terms. She didn't feel like anything was missing. And that was true."
From her seat, Yov let out a soft, nostalgic smile, dropping her eyes.
"We always told our children to chase their own freedom: study, work hard, live with honesty. That was our greatest wish for her. And then... Santiago came along," she paused, offering her son-in-law an affectionate look. "They started out as good friends. But Héctor and I knew it was something more from the very first time we heard Yov say his name. There was a different spark in her eyes. Of course, she fought it at first, clinging to her independence, feeling that deeply human fear of opening up to someone else. Because that's exactly what love demands."
A pang hit you right in the center of your chest. Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, barely daring to blink.
"The thing is, Santi never came to change her or hold her back. He didn't come to be an anchor; he came to be a propel," she continued. "He became a true partner in life. Someone who didn't just stand by as she reached her dreams, but walked beside her through every single step; the bright days and the hard ones. They proved that real love doesn't cage you or weigh you down. It's free, it's equal, it's tender. It's about standing shoulder to shoulder in every choice, choosing each other every day without losing who you are along the way. It's about sharing that vulnerability."
She paused briefly, her eyes glistening with pride as she looked at them.
"We've watched you grow together these past few years, and this big step is only the beginning of a brand new chapter. Santi, you're already family, and we love you as a son. We wish you all the happiness in the world, and I can't wait to see what the future holds... Though I do know what I'm wishing for: grandkids!"
Yov burst into a laugh, burying her face in her hands, while Santi looked at her with a bright playful grin.
"We're all waiting for that!" your mom chimed in from her seat, raising her glass. "No pressure, of course."
As the laughter lingered, Santi reached for Yov's hand across the table and kissed her knuckles. Yov brushed away a happy tear.
Your throat burned, but the laughter offered a brief moment of relief. Still, a hot sting clung to the edges of your eyes.
God, love was a beautiful thing. Despite the fears, despite the armor, despite all the broken hearts left along the way... when love was this free and true, it was worth every damn risk.
Desperate for air, needing to escape the sudden wave of emotion threatening to swallow you whole, your eyes flicked almost involuntarily to the side.
To Francisco. Just right there.
He wasn’t laughing or clapping. He sat completely still, barely leaning against the back of his chair, staring straight at you.
But the second he realized he’d been caught, his brow twitched just a fraction of a millimeter. He looked away almost instantly, fixing his gaze on the glass of water in front of him.
Mai looked at him immediately, her gaze snapping toward you a second later. Unable to hold it, you looked away.
You'd seen her before dinner started, right when you went over to say hi to Ben. She'd given you a tight hug, asked how you were doing, and told you twice in a row how beautiful you looked. You'd told her she looked gorgeous too, which she really did. She and Ben looked completely in love.
"What a beautiful speech," Emma said beside you, and you were grateful for the distraction. "And so moving, right? Almost makes you wanna get married."
Will turned to her in a heartbeat. "I'm in."
Emma laughed and swatted his shoulder; he grinned, blushing.
"Yeah, it really was lovely. I honestly think Yov and Santi are soulmates," you said. "They're so lucky to have found each other."
"Yeah," Emma smiled, nodding. She rested her hand over yours. "You're my soulmate."
You smiled back. "And you're mine."
From the other side of Emma, Will sighed. "Man, I wonder who mine is."
She turned and locked eyes with him, pursing her lips. "Careful what you say, William."
He grinned. "You know I love it when you call me William."
"Ugh," you rolled your eyes, unable to hide the grin pulling at your lips, and turned the other way.
Your mom was chatting up a storm with Yov’s family. From what you could gather, they were already making plans for a family winter vacation right here in Austin.
It sounded promising, having your mom around. You didn't know how serious she actually was about spending time here, but deep down, you were getting excited like a little kid.
Everything was going to be fine. You were sure of it.
You asked for another glass of wine.
On a night like this, less than twenty four hours before her eldest son's wedding, it only makes sense for a mother to go on and on about how proud she is. But everyone at the rehearsal dinner knows the bride and groom all too well and shares that very same excitement. So, she settles for the next best thing to brag about: you.
Her only daughter, the cherished spitting image of her husband; so sharp, quick witted, so capable, so gorgeous, and oh, she's writing a book!
You had this exact conversation with your mom during Tuesday night's dinner, begging her please not to mention what the book was about or spill anything overly personal. And true to her word, she was keeping her promise.
Every time someone asked what the story was about, she'd offer a variation of:
“I can't tell you! But Donovan Darligheld is overseeing it. Do you know Donovan Darligheld? The one with the dog house book—no, the cerberuses! You know him?”
Most of the people on the receiving end of these chats were Yov's family, as they were the ones who knew the least about any of this. And while you loved that your mom was proud of you, you couldn't stop your cheeks from burning or your skin from prickling with sheer embarrassment.
Still, if you were being honest, this was far better than her cornering you with uncomfortable questions like: Has Francisco come over? Are you gonna talk to him? You want me to talk to him?
None of that was necessary. Frankie was polite enough to come by right as dinner wrapped up to greet your mom. He asked her a couple of quick questions about how she was doing and then quietly slipped away. But you didn't miss his underlying discomfort or the soft judging looks your mom shot him through her sweet smiles. Your mother never forgot a thing.
Her opinion on the matter was important to you, of course it was. She knew everything, having spent endless hours talking and laying it all on the line with you after she came back from Europe. You told her about Boston, about Rachel, about how it all went down and how it ended; about the accident, about that phone call outside the club. Everything. And her stance was crystal clear and unwavering.
One night, over a shared bottle of wine on the couch, she had told you:
"Honey, you gotta understand one thing: in this life, men will take advantage of you as much as you let them, in every way possible. If they know you'll forgive them, they'll just keep on doing it. You've gotta ask yourself if making a decision as huge as forgiveness is actually worth it. Not everyone deserves it. You think Francisco deserves it?"
Back then, you had shifted your gaze toward the coffee table in the middle of the living room.
Be honest, you told yourself. Deep down in your heart, you believed you knew him. You did know him.
He hurt you. He broke your heart. Yet every time you forced yourself to hate him or think the worst of him, it just felt… unnatural.
An idiot, a fool—that's what he was. A fool who didn't know how to handle the situation and ended up steamrolling your heart in the process. A professional at self-sabotage.
You weren't defending him, but you couldn't say with any certainty that he'd done it out of pure malice. You knew that wasn't the case.
"He's not a bad man," you replied, feeling like one of those women you had always analyzed or wanted to save; the kind you just want to grab by the shoulders and say, Wake up, he doesn't deserve you. "Do you think I'm lying to myself?"
She tilted her head, pausing for a moment. "No. I think you've always been good at reading people, at seeing right through them. You're perceptive, just like your dad. You see the good in people. And Francisco isn't a bad man, but what he did wasn't right. And you deserve more than that, which doesn't mean he can't give it to you."
She sat up straight and leaned in toward you, making sure to lock eyes with you as she continued:
"But he's gotta earn it, honey. I know you love him, but the only way you can forgive him is if he actually deserves it, if he proves that he cares about you enough to change and become the man you deserve. You can't accept anything less than that. You shouldn't accept anything less than that. Did I ever tell you about the time your dad and I split up?"
Confused, you frowned. "You two split up?"
"For two whole years, yes."
"Really?" You sat up straight. "Why didn't you ever tell us?"
"I don't know, I guess the occasion just never came up. But your dad and I met so young. He was in his first year of college and I was a freshman, y'know; the inexperienced, overprotected oldest daughter who had just left her hometown for the first time. Your dad was an adventurer; his life had been so different from mine." The smile that formed on her face was tinted with nostalgia. "We were polar opposites, plain and simple. But I fell in love with him as soon as I saw him, and when I got to know him better, I can tell you I knew right away he was the one."
Before you even realized it, your eyes were tearing up and your chest ached. Not entirely because of their love story, but because for the first time in years, your mom was talking about your dad, remembering your dad.
"But your grandparents didn't like him," she continued. "They didn't like how he was, who he was, or where he came from. But I didn't care. That was the first rebellious act of my life: loving him. No matter what, we stayed together for a year and a half, and I was so happy. But my parents decided to turn their backs on me, and they didn't speak to me for months. Your dad was furious; he couldn't understand how they could be so unfair."
"I didn't know that," you said, shaking your head. "I mean, I knew grandma and grandpa didn't like dad very much, but was it really that bad?"
"Yeah. Well, after years went by and Santi was born, they knew the only way to be around was to put their differences aside."
"Why didn't you ever tell us this? I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near them if I'd known how much they despised dad."
She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Your dad and I decided it was for the best."
You disagreed.
"Anyway, after a while, your dad started growin' distant. He was missing work, sleeping late, and over time we started fighting. Then one night he told me it was over, that he was bored, that he wasn't right for me, and I don't know what else. I got so mad, so angry with him, that I didn't even fight back. I just told him he was an idiot, immature, and I left," she revealed. "I walked away, time passed, and I didn't see him anymore. I graduated, found out he'd graduated too and moved to another state, and we never ran into each other for two whole years. And then, one afternoon I was leaving work, exhausted and in an awful mood, on my way to meet some friends at a downtown bar, and there I saw him again, sitting at a table with a group of friends. He was laughing, and that just pissed me off." She chuckled. "I mean, you can laugh like that even when we haven't seen each other for two full years?"
You laughed at that.
"So all that anger came rushin' back. I remembered his words, remembered everything he said the day he left me, and I just... walked up to him and let him have it. Everything I didn't say that day, I told him right there. Even if it felt useless, and it felt pretty useless at the time, I just had to say it."
"And what did he say to you?"
"That I was right. And I told him that what hurt the most was that during those two years, he never even tried to get me back. And he told me I'd never replied to a single letter or voice message."
"Oh no, mom, don't tell me it was the classic—"
"The classic 'what letters?' situation?" She laughed. "Yeah, it was. Turns out your dad wrote to me for months, but I'd moved out before any of them arrived. He wrote to your grandparents' house too, but they returned them all. And when I confronted them about it, they told me they thought it didn't matter 'cause our relationship was over anyway. Your dad confessed later that they'd paid him a visit a few weeks before our breakup. Oh, they told him such horrible things. The poor guy spent weeks torturing himself over it until he finally broke up with me."
"What did they tell him?"
She sighed and pressed her lips together. "You can imagine. That he was useless, that he wasn't good enough for me, that it was only a matter of time before I realized it and left him. So in a moment of panic, he broke up with me first. And that pissed me off, 'cause to me, how on earth could he believe my parents so easily instead of me, when I was constantly tellin' him I loved him and that we were meant to be?"
You shook your head, a sudden surge of fury burning inside you as you pictured those painful words. How could your grandparents have been such cruel wretches to your dad? You knew they had never gotten along, but this? It made you hate them.
"He felt terrible, and he apologized to me a hundred times. For not tellin' me, for just walkin' away. And I gave him another chance," she smiled, "but it wasn't easy. It was hard for me to trust him again, even if it wasn't a massive lie. 'Cause he'd still left me. He'd given more weight to your grandparents' words than mine. I told him that if it didn't work out, if he didn't get his act together, if he ever hid something like that from me again, I was gone. Of course, by then, things were different; he had his job, his own thing going, and I had mine. But from that moment on, your dad was different. He stood up to your grandparents with so much grace, he defended me against everything, and we worked real hard to build everything we had. Never, ever did he hide anything from me again. At least not that I ever found out about," she chuckled.
Her eyes were glassy by then, but the bright, steady smile on her lips took over her entire face.
"He grew up, sweetheart. He matured, and he made sure to become a better man. Otherwise, we never would've been what we were," she continued, her tone turning a bit more serious. "And yeah, it's not the exact same situation, but this is what you've gotta prioritize: you can't accept anything less, no matter how much you love him. You can love someone with all your heart, but the change has to come from them. If Francisco wants you back, he's gotta prove to you that he'll never hurt you again; and that takes time, and trust, and he has to earn it. And it's up to you to decide if it's worth it, if you feel in your heart that trying again is worth the effort."
Weeks had passed since that conversation, but every single word remained etched in your mind just as vividly as that night.
Was it worth trying? Did you even want to take him back?
In your mind, the answer was clear; so, so clear. But you didn't know if that possibility even existed in his thoughts.
Your mom liked Francisco, but she was mad at him for how he'd treated you. She knew about his therapy sessions, the move, everything you'd told her as soon as you found out. Because that was how you two were now: the mother and daughter who talked about everything—can you believe it? And at this party, you knew that if you needed to run off somewhere, you could always retreat into her arms.
Now, with the party spilling out into the backyard and all the guests holding drinks, it was easier for you to catch a breath of fresh air and look up at the dark sky, seeking a moment of calm.
You imagined this was exactly what it felt like in those movie scenes when the main character decides to just let life take them wherever it wants: with a hopeful gaze fixed on the sky, in the middle of a party, and a somewhat strange flutter in their chest.
Not that you thought you were the main character, huh. Just saying.
The sprawling, neatly manicured lawn of the Commodore stretched across the grounds, the golden lights making it look slightly yellower than it actually was; like a plush, velvety carpet of thick olive blades.
It looked so inviting that you felt the urge to kick off your heels and walk barefoot all the way to the last tree at the back, past the clustered bushes, the wide stone steps, and the water fountain.
With a quick glance behind you, you confirmed that everyone was completely lost in their own conversations. Your mom was chatting with Yov’s, the bridesmaids were plotting something in a corner, Santi and Yov were slow dancing a bit off to the side, and Will, Ben, Mai, and Emma were waiting at the bar inside.
You looked down at your feet and stepped onto the first stair, then took the rest until you were halfway down. Resting your hand on the marble railing, you reached down toward the buckle of your heel. You unclasped it, slipped the shoe off your foot, and quickly did the same with the other.
Barefoot, you finished going down the stairs, stepping quickly on tiptoes past the water fountain until you reached that lush green blanket of short grass.
When your feet finally touched it, you were pleasantly surprised by how cool and damp it felt.
You closed your eyes, taking in the chill beneath your soles and the breeze sweeping through the space between your waist and arms, making the skirt of your dress dance against your thighs.
As the air shifted, a few stray locks tickled the back of your neck, and you reached up to brush them away. And then, footsteps; steady against the solid ground just before the grass, coming right toward you.
When you turned, your face guarded first.
There he stopped—Francisco. Looking like a kid who knew he'd done something wrong by interrupting your quiet moment.
For a few seconds, you just stared at him in complete silence before turning your body fully toward him.
He spoke your name softly. "I'm sorry, I was wondering if it was possible... if we could talk for a second?"
Immediately, your heart began to hammer against your ribs.
He saw you hesitate, and at your uncertainty he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His fingers twitched only to force his hands deep into his pockets instead.
"Yeah?"
Frankie took a step forward, his eyes dropping to your bare feet against the damp grass. A tiny leaf from a bush was stuck to the tip of his shoe.
"The other night, in my car... about what we talked about, I don't think I was... I wasn't clear. I feel like I gave you the wrong impression."
"About what? About how glad you are that I'm moving to New York?"
He froze. "No..."
You let out a breath. You knew what he was about to say.
"Frankie, it's fine."
"But that's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, then?" You offered a soft smile. "You're not glad I'm going to New York?"
He let out a quiet bitter laugh through his nose, shaking his head.
"I'm glad you're doing what you want to do. That you're taking this step, if it's what you truly want."
You gave a small nod.
"I know. Thank you. You said that the other night."
Frustrated, he dragged a hand across the back of his neck. His eyes dropped to the ground before locking onto yours again.
"What I'm tryin' to tell you is..." He paused, his breath catched in his throat. "...is that I'm gonna miss having you here."
His simple words made your racing heart skip a beat, coming to a dead stop for a fraction of a second. Heat rushed to your cheeks and your entire chest.
"And I couldn't help feeling like maybe... maybe the other night I made you feel... I don't know, I just felt like I said something wrong," he continued, searching your face. "It's not all the same to me that you're leaving. Beyond everything that happened between us, I knew coming back to Austin meant running into you again, and I knew it might be strange... but I was looking forward to it."
You lowered your gaze as your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy, because you listened to his words, and while they brought a flicker of comfort, it felt hollow. Friendly, safe.
"I know," you nodded, slipping a soft smile over your face like a mask.
He gave a quiet nod of his own.
"I know this isn't the time or the place, and I promise after this I'll leave you alone, but I..." He searched for the words, his eyes drifting to the dark lawn behind you. "I'm really, truly sorry. For everything. For absolutely everything. I—"
"It's okay."
He shut his mouth, though every line on his face said he wanted to say so much more.
"I mean it, Frankie—"
"Hey, c'mon! What are y'all doing over there?"
Both you and Francisco turned toward the voice; Fiona was hurrying toward you across the yard.
Frankie looked at you, his eyes lingering on your face as if pleading for a few more seconds. But you stepped off the grass and passed right by him; you could feel the weight of his eyes on your profile as the bridesmaid grabbed your arm.
"We need to take pictures, come on!" she urged, then paused, looking down. "Why are you barefoot?"
And as you walked back toward the party, you fought the urge to turn around and look at Frankie, walking a few steps behind in complete silence.
Cutting that conversation short felt necessary; because deep down, you were terrified that if he kept talking, he would say something that proved, once and for all, that this was nothing more than a final, definitive goodbye.
I think this might be the chapter you've been waiting for, so please enjoy! But be aware of graphic violence, blood and injuries, death and destruction. All the things we want Tovar to bring as he finally goes after his wife…
Set in the 11th century, the plot centers around Pero Tovar as he's caputured and sold as a thrall to a Norse family. Bad fate finds him, and he struggles to free himself and escape. But he also meets new people who in time become friends and allies, and bad fate, can turn into good fortune for both him, and the most unlikely Norse woman.
Series Master List
Warnings for the whole series: graphic violence, slavery, abuse, sexual and otherwise, references to non-con sex, arranged marriages, time period typical stereotypes of both men and women and anyone "foreign".
No use of Y/N and the reader is kept as blank as possible, but, she's the daughter a Norse lord in 11th century Norway and will have features that correlate to that.
Tovar watched Godric return the way they'd come, and sent up a prayer that the man would be safe and find his way to Merewic. He wasn't a religious man, even less so after the past two years, but maybe someone would listen and watch out for Godric.
The sound of horses on the road pulled his attention back, and he saw a rider leading a second horse approach from the city gate. Suddenly he heard a low bark, and a large dog emerged from the shadows, and bounded towards him.
"Ravn!" he exclaimed, catching the shaggy dog as it tried to jump up onto him, clearly forgetting he was no longer a puppy, "How are you here?!"
"She wasn't allowed to bring him to Northmere," Asgeir said as he halted the horses, "So she made me promise to take him back to Ulvehi, but I know it broke her heart to leave him behind. Seems only fitting we reunite her with both him and you tonight."
Tovar gave Ravn's head a scratch, and then took the reins to the second horse from Asgeir.
"Lead the way, we need to move fast if we're to catch them on the road tomorrow."
"Yes, we have a lot of ground to cover. And it will be slow going in this rain, so we better get moving."
Tovar nodded, and swung himself into the saddle of the roan gelding. It would be a long night, and his body would feel it tomorrow, but he needed to push that to the side now. He had a feeling tomorrow would either end with you back in his arms, or not at all, and he would need all his strength and wit to force the best outcome.
Without another word, the two men set off down the road, shadowed by Ravn.
They had some luck with the weather, not an hour had passed before the insistent drizzle suddenly stopped, and the dark clouds began to drift apart, showing a moon that was almost full. The road became brighter, and they could pick up speed, covering more ground.
"Tell me about this lord that she's been forced to marry," Tovar said as Asgeir came up alongside him on his horse, "You let slip that he is not a good man, but she already knew that."
"He is not," Asgeir replied, "Or maybe he is as all Christian husbands are. But there was fear in his household, and after the wedding I heard…" he cast a nervous glance at Tovar who scowled at him.
"Speak," he barked, "Let me hear what he did to her, I need to know."
"The envoy that came to Ulvehi, Edmund; they say he runs the household, not the Ealdorman. There was talk that he threatened to put his own child in her belly if she didn't conceive fast enough with the lord."
Tovar's grip on his reins tightened until his horse neighed and shook its head in protest. The image of what would've been done to you was all too clear in his head.
"And is this Edmund travelling with them now," he asked between gritted teeth.
"No, he's stayed behind in York."
"Pity," Tovar growled, and dug his heels into the horse's sides, spurring it on.
As the first rays of sun began to chase them from the east, they reached a small hamlet, a thegn's hall at the centre.
"This must be Hartham, those are Cuthbert's banners, I recognise the crest," Asgeir said, pointing from the edge of a small forest they had just ridden through.
"Look at the size of that place. We cannot attack it, we'll never get her out."
Asgeir nodded, and the two men watched Hartham in silence for a little while as they both thought over their options. The small hamlet was waking up, smoke rising from the houses, and they could see people moving about as they went about their chores.
Eventually Tovar broke the silence, "I have an idea, follow me," he said, turning his horse to the side.
Leading them around Hartham, making sure they stayed out of sight, he made his way back up to the road where it disappeared into a forest again.
"The road must cross that river up ahead," Tovar said as they were back in shelter of the forest, "And there is no other road leading away from it. Let's find the ford, and see if it's a good spot for an ambush. If not, we scout ahead."
Asgeir nodded, and followed Tovar as he set off at sharp canter, Ravn running next to his horse. As they rode, Tovar went through his options. An ambush with only two men and a dog was a gamble. And he wasn't sure he could trust Asgeir, he might be waiting for an opportunity to capture or kill him, and win glory from the Jarl. But on the other hand, he could've just brought the guards from York and taken him as he waited with Godric. Two runaway thralls at the same time…
Tovar sighed, and slowed his horse as the road approached the river. He would have to trust Asgeir, he had no other choice. This was his best chance to get you back, and he needed all the help he could get.
"Here," he said, halting his horse, "This is a good spot. They will have to ride single file across the ford, and then continue up that gully," he pointed up along where the road continued on between high banks, "When the first few are across, I'll set Ravn loose. He will run for her, and she'll know it's me who's come for her. I'll attack the last few men first, create some chaos as Ravn scares the horses."
"Sounds like a good plan, kill as many of them as possible before they realise what's happening," Asgeir replied, "Should I attack the front of the line as they turn back towards your attack?"
"No, I want you to blow your horn, unseen, and in the forest. Lure them in and make them think there are more bandits attacking. Once they give chase, try to come back to the ford and kill off any that you see."
Asgeir nodded, "Best we get into position, they'll be coming through here soon."
"Old man," Tovar interrupted Asgeir, "I hope you're still good with that axe. Fight well, and I'll let her decide what to do with you when we're done."
"I'm fighting for her," Asgeir spat back, bristling as his horse moved under him, "The only reason I didn't turn you in back in Jorvik, is because I see that you love her enough to risk your life by coming here and freeing her. And I am old, if I die protecting her so be it, I'll be in Valhalla before the sun sets."
He pulled his horse around, and disappeared between the trees, before Tovar could reply. He watched the other man ride off for a few moments with a frown. All he could do now was trust him, and hope for a swift battle.
He hid his horse in the woods, and then settled in to wait. He stood concealed by a thick oak tree, low shrubs hiding him as he rolled his shoulders and unsheathed his sword. The ride through the night had taken its toll on his body, he wasn't used to riding long distances these days. Even before his capture in England he hadn't been riding much as he lived in the village, and the two years of thralldom had weakened his body. He felt it now as he tried to shake life back into his stiff limbs. Everything depended on the next hour, and he felt fear trickle down his spine in an unfamiliar way. He'd come close to death many times, on the battlefield, in brawls, bandit attacks. He'd even woken up once with a blade against his throat, as a man he'd trusted stole his belongings. But he'd never really feared a battle, not in the way he did now. If he was killed today, he would leave you, and his child, behind. And the life he'd condemn you to then, he didn't even want to think about.
A low growl from Ravn by his side pulled him from his thoughts. Sinking down to his haunches, he peered through the trees with his hand on the large dog's collar. Before too long, he too heard the sounds of horses on the old Roman road, and a few minutes later, the first rider came through. As the party approached the ford, they paused, four riders crossing single file, then Lord Cuthbert on his large destrier. The grey horse snorted and tossed his head as the lord spurred him into the water. It was a young stallion, inexperienced and hot, and it danced back and forth across the ford as the lord tried to control him.
Ravn whined as he spotted you, riding behind the wagon, as it entered the ford, and Tovar's eyes flew to you. Your head was bent, your hair covered by a veil that wrapped around your neck, and a large brooch glimmered in the dappled sunlight, holding it together. But you didn't look well, and for a moment he wondered if you were ill, so bent was your posture, your face blank as you gazed at nothing. His heart felt like it was squeezed by a force outside of his control as he gripped his sword harder, his hand still on Ravn's collar.
Two servants were behind you, and then three more armed men, and Tovar crept forward carefully through the underbrush. Out in the ford, the wagon lurched and halted as the driver whipped the two horses that were pulling it.
"Get a move on!" one of the guards yelled as he rode up past you, and Tovar sent up a silent prayer.
"Now, Ravn, go to her."
He pushed the dog forward, and Ravn broke into a run, barking as he went.
At the sound of the dog, you looked up, turning in the saddle, and Tovar caught a glimpse of your widening eyes as he rushed the last guard in the line. It was a moment's work to slide his sword into the man's side, and then the shout went up.
"We're under attack! Protect the lord!"
Tovar pulled his sword free as the dead man fell from his horse. Ravn barked, and you gathered your reins, pulling your horse around to face Pero.
The second guard kicked his horse, yanking at the horse to pull it around too, and charged Tovar just as Asgeir's horn blew loud in the forest at the other end of the ford.
"Kill him, there's more coming!" the guard by the wagon yelled as the guard charging Tovar gave up a battle roar.
The horse neighed, and hooves kicked dangerously close to his head as Tovar stepped back, dodging round the side of the narrow path. The guard tried to turn the horse again as he lost sight of Tovar's sword, but it was too late. The horse stumbled as its leg was cut, and a moment later, Tovar drove his sword into the side of the man.
Two down.
The guard by the wagon had turned to the sound of the horn blowing, three of the men at the front chasing after the men they believed hidden in the forest. The lord and one guard stood battle ready at the mouth of the gully.
As the horse screamed Tovar darted forward, grabbing hold of the reins of your horse.
"Run, hide in the forest with Ravn."
You nodded, holding on tight as the horse stomped underneath you, "Be careful."
There wasn't time for more. Ravn barked and darted forward, as the guard by the wagon shouted a warning.
"Protect the lady!"
Tovar slapped the rump of your horse and it took off, splashing through the water. Ravn barked again, and the lord roared as he spotted the dog.
"That's her dog! Grab her! They've come for her! Don't let her escape!
You spurred your horse as Cuthbert's stallion reared at the sight of Ravn, neighing in fear, and you charged, putting Ravn between yourself and Cuthbert's horse as he made to grab you. It reared again, and Ravn nipped at Cuthbert's legs as he screamed and lost his grip, tumbling into the water.
"Ravn, here!" you called with a backwards glance, letting your horse gallop at full speed into the gully, and he followed.
"Get after her! With me!" Cuthbert roared, stumbling to his feet as his destrier fled into the woods, "Kill him, and catch her!"
Tovar saw you ride off as the two remaining guards wrangled their horses under control, and he advanced on the one closest. He was still on his horse, and he grinned as he saw Tovar approach, raising his sword. Tovar stepped forward, two quick steps, and feinted an attack, nicking the horse's chest with only the tip of his long sword, as the guard swung wide. The animal screamed and stumbled, and Tovar slipped to the side as the sword cut nothing but air, grabbing the guard's arm and pulling him from the horse. The blood smeared his hand as he drove his own sword into the man's neck, turning the water red beneath him.
As he pulled his sword free he looked up into the gully, and saw you. You'd paused, turning to look back at the scene, and with panic he waved, yelling.
"Ride! Ride!"
Cuthbert saw you too, as Tovar raised his sword again.
"Kill him!" Cuthbert screamed, drawing his own sword, and the last mounted guard between them readied for the attack, levelling his long spear.
Tovar swore under his breath, there was no room for a proper charge. The wagon blocked half the ford and dead men and frightened horses blocked the rest, yet the guard came on regardless, water splashing around the horse.
Tovar stepped aside at the last moment, using the horse's momentum to dodge. The point of the spear hissed past his ribs and he slashed at the shaft, knocking it aside. The horse thundered past him.
"Coward!" the guard shouted, wrenching the animal around and drawing his sword as he realised the spear was too cumbersome in the tight space. Tovar spun around, and steel rang as their blades met, the horse almost knocking into him as it charged through the stream.
The force of the sword's blow jarred Tovar's arm all the way to the shoulder, the hit holding more force than he expected. And the guard pressed him immediately, striking high and then low. Tovar gave ground, grunting as he parried another attack. Two years ago this man would've been dead already, two years ago he was much stronger, faster.
The thought flashed through his mind as the guard threw another blow against his sword, and Tovar turned it aside. Going low, he drove a cut at the man's thigh, but the guard twisted away, and came at him with a savage backhand stroke.
Pain exploded through Tovar's right arm and he staggered back as blood splashed across his sleeve. The sword had sliced deep into the flesh between shoulder and elbow, and for a heartbeat his arm went numb as he stumbled back.
The guard grinned, "You're done, cur," and perhaps Tovar should've been. Two years of thralldom had taken its toll, he was out of breath, unfit and tired. But years of fighting had taught him something that he called upon now; survival. And now, more than ever, he had to survive.
Egging his horse on, the guard raised his sword for a killing blow, but Tovar stepped into the swing, and the blade tore through his cloak instead of his neck. His arm screamed in pain as he crashed into the horse's shoulder and the animal reared. The guard lost his balance and grabbed for the reins, but it was too late.
Tovar drove his sword up beneath the man's arm, a gasp escaping him as blood bubbled from his lips. He toppled from the saddle and struck the water with a splash as the horse fled and Tovar's sword was wrenched free. His right arm burned, warm blood dripping down from his fingers, as he tightened the grip on the hilt, and looked towards the gully and drew a deep breath of relief. There was no sight of you, you'd slipped away, and now all he had to do was reach you.
Cuthbert cursed as Tovar advanced on him, "I'll see you hung for this. She is my wife, the Norsemen have no right to her anymore."
"No one has any right to her," Tovar spat, as Cuthbert tried to find better ground to fight, the two men circling each other, "I'll kill you for what you did to her, and let you bleed out like a stuck pig right here on the road."
Suddenly footsteps came crashing through the underbrush, and Tovar swung round as Asgeir came stumbling out, his axe held high and blood streaming from a cut on his cheek. A shout went up behind him, and as Tovar and Asgeir hastily retreated towards the mouth of the gully, Cuthbert looked triumphant. From the woods three guards came running, panting as they skidded to a halt by their lord.
"Where is she?" Asgeir asked Tovar as they closed ranks at the narrowest part of the road.
"She got away, with Ravn, down the gully. These are the last ones."
Asgeir glanced at Tovar's arm as they retreated another step, blood was still dripping down his hand, mixing with the blood on the blade.
"That's a deep cut, you're not much use in a fight now," he commented, and Tovar growled.
"I can still fight."
"But you're no use to her dead, I'll hold them off."
Tovar took his eyes off the advancing men for a moment, they were moving slower now, faced with the two men and the sharp sides of the gully. Asgeir saw Tovar's look, and gave a sharp jerk with his chin.
"Go to your wife," he said as his eyes flicked toward the gully, "And your child."
It was all Tovar needed, with one last nod at Asgeir, he turned and ran. Behind him a battle roar went up, and he knew the old Viking would put up a hard fight.
Asgeir listened as Tovar sprinted away down the road behind him, and then he roared, raising his axe as the men charged down the narrow path. The first one sprinted up, and Asgeir blocked his swing, the impact ringing out through the forest, metal on metal. The hook of the axe caught the sword and swung it to the side, and Asgeir gave the man's chest a swift kick that sent him stumbling backwards.
But the second man was right behind, the sword narrowly missing Asgeir's neck as he dodged back. His axe came up, and a powerful swing drove home, deep into the man's side. He screamed and grabbed at his belly as the sword fell useless to the ground, blood pouring out. But the first man was back on his feet, and he swung his sword, forcing Asgeir back another step as the lord urged the last guard on. Metal rang against metal again, and Asgeir felt his strength waning, blow upon blow raining down on him, his axe taking every hit as the two men pushed him back.
The gully opened up, giving more space, and Asgeir lunged, a final effort, blocking a hit with his left arm, his right lodged his old battle worn axe deep into the neck of the first guard.
Asgeir roared in pain as his left arm shattered, but the man in front was dead as he stumbled to his knees.
One less for Tovar to fight.
Wrenching the axe free, he swung around, but the sword slid into his side, reaching his lungs in one swift motion. Trying to draw breath, he coughed once, and fell into the pool of blood.
The sound of your heart was deafening in your ears as you raced down the road, your breath coming in quick bursts, and your mind was spinning. Risking a glance over your shoulder you saw no pursuers, but you couldn't hear anything over the sound of the horse's hooves. Ravn was sprinting next to the horse, and just seeing him made you feel safer. He wouldn't let any of the guards get close to you if they caught up.
Looking up ahead again you saw a track leave the straight Roman road and disappear into the woods, and you pulled on the reins, slowing your horse as you glanced back again. How far were you supposed to go? How would Pero find you if you just kept riding?
The track was almost overgrown, and dark in the early morning light, as you slipped off your horse, making up your mind. A sharp slap on the rump sent it off down the road, and you hurried off towards the half hidden track. Putting your hand inside your skirts, you pulled out the small dog Pero had carved, and set it down on the side of the path. Not where it would be spotted by anyone, but by someone looking for a sign.
"Come on, Ravn, in here. If he doesn't see it, you'll have to guide me back to him."
The track wound through the overgrown bushes, and the sharp thorns caught on your veil as you hurried through. Impatiently you tugged it off, your hair coming free as you came to a dead end.
A low barrow stood at the centre of a clearing, the forest thick around the edges, and you quickly looked around, circling the mound. There was nowhere to go but into the thick forest, but the familiar carvings on the stone that stood by the overgrown entrance of the old burial mound calmed you. Turning around, you faced the track. This was where either Pero or Cuthbert would find you, next to the long forgotten grave of a Norseman who'd died in this foreign country. If you died here, Freya would at least find you. You unsheathed the dagger under your cloak, and held it tight in your hand as you steeled yourself for what would come next.
Tovar sprinted down the road as the shouts of battle fell away behind him. He wished he'd had time to grab one of the horses, catching up to you on foot would be slow, and he had no idea of how far you'd ridden. He could already feel his strength waning, he wouldn't last much longer. His arm was throbbing, and he changed his grip, holding his sword in his left hand. The blood was no longer dripping down onto his hand, but the hilt of his sword was sticky and wet under his fingers.
Gripping it tighter he adjusted his stride, loping down the track while trying to listen for foot steps behind him. The forest was dense on both sides and he could see the fresh hoof prints from your horse racing ahead in the mud.
His side cramped and forced him to stop, pressing his palm against his ribs as he gulped for air. He only gave himself a few seconds though, then he pushed on, taking long strides. Up ahead he could see the tree thinning out, maybe coming out into the fields again. If he could get out there he might be able to spot you.
Suddenly he glimpsed a flash of white in the corner of his eyes and he stopped, taking a step back. The hoof prints were jumbled here, and he saw Ravn's prints too. The horse had stopped and then raced on ahead, but not Ravn. Crouching down he dragged his hand through the long grass and found what had caught his eye.
"Lista, cariño," he mumbled, picking up the white bone dog hiding in the weeds. The narrow trail was almost hidden from view, but he pushed aside a branch and hurried down the narrow track.
Ravn was pressed to your side, his ears pointed towards where the track led into the clearing, and you could hear the branches rustling too. You wouldn't hide, or run. Ravn would defend you, and you wouldn't let anyone take you again without a fight. Not now that you knew Pero was alive, and here! He was really here! You'd hardly believed your eyes when you saw him charging out from the forest, his sword raised. But his voice as he told you to run, that shook life into you again, and now you knew you had to fight and hold on until he made it here.
Ravn growled as someone pushed through the branches, but your knees almost buckled in relief.
"Pero!"
It took him only a heartbeat to reach you, his hands grabbing your arms as you stumbled towards him. His mouth was on yours, hard and bruising, as you gasped, trying to grab him, make him come closer even though he was already pressed against you.
"Amor, mi vida," he mumbled, pressing another firm kiss against your lips, "Are you unharmed? Are you hurt?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sobbed as he held your face between his hands, his forehead against yours.
"Are you hurt?" he asked again, and you shook your head.
"No, I'm…"
His hand slipped down to your belly, barely beginning to swell, so much had happened in such a short time, "Is she well?"
You had to laugh, between tears and kisses, "Are you so certain it's a girl, my love? She is fine, I hope. It's still too early to tell."
"Are you sure you're unharmed?" he asked again, his eyebrows pulled tight as he ran his hands over your dress, "This is so much blood."
You lifted your hand, and it came away sticky from his arm, blood coating your palm, and ice filled your veins.
"Pero, you're injured, show me your arm."
"It's just a small cut, it's not bleeding anymore. Amor, we have to get away from here," he replied, his hands still holding onto your shoulders as you pushed back the fabric of his tunic where it had been ripped. Beneath it his skin was cold to the touch, and slick with blood.
"It's not a small cut, Pero," you said, shrugging off his hands so that you could rip open the sleeve and expose the wound below. The sight made your stomach churn, "I need to stitch this up, and clean it. And you're still losing blood."
"There's no time," he protested as you pulled your scarf from where you'd tucked it into your belt.
"We did not survive this long, and come this far, for you to bleed out here," you snapped at him, fear making your hands tremble as you wrapped the white silk tight around his arm, praying it would stem the flow of blood.
"Amor," he replied, his voice suddenly soft as he cupped your cheek with his other hand, "I won't die here, not now that I've found you again."
You leaned your face into his hand, closing your eyes as you felt his callused fingers caress your skin, you'd missed his touch so much.
"Is there a path into the forest?" he asked after a moment, "We need to hide our tracks an-"
A low growl from Ravn cut him off, and you glanced down at the dog. His hackles were up, and he was growling at where the path met the clearing. Pero turned around and pushed you behind his back, pulling his sword out with his left hand as a branch snapped in the forest.
Pero cursed low as one of the Ealdorman's guards pushed through the brush, followed by the Ealdorman himself, his sword raised.
"Who sent him?" Cuthbert spat, "Your father? I'll burn his pitiful farm to the ground for crossing me. Hand her over, and I'll kill you quick."
The last thing he said to Tovar, who growled and pushed you back a step.
"You're the one who'll die here for what you did to her," he replied, and Ravn snarled, his teeth bared.
Cuthbert glanced at the large dog licking its lips as it dropped its head between its thick shoulders. With a shove he pushed the final guard towards Tovar.
"Take him, kill the dog too."
The guard looked uncertain, Ravn's snarls left no questions about what would happen if they attacked. His sword was raised, but he looked nervous as he took a short step towards Tovar.
It happened so fast you nearly lost track of Pero as Ravn leapt forward. The guard tried to dodge, but Ravn caught his ankle in his jaws, clamping his powerful teeth around the man's shin. The sword swiped down as the guard yelled, and Ravn whined, letting go just as Tovar struck. His blow would've taken the guard's head clean off, but Cuthbert charged and rammed his arm, making Tovar roar in pain as he stumbled to his knees.
"Pero!" you called, rushing forward as the guard raised his sword. Tovar's face was pale and drawn as the blow hit his sword, and he couldn't hold against it. Falling back on to his back, Tovar tried to raise it again just as Cuthbert grabbed your neck, his arm coming up under your chin. With force he pulled you back, and you felt the cold blade nick your skin as you cried out.
The guard struck again, gasping as his sword drove into the soft ground, as Tovar's sword slid into his chest. The weight of his body forced him down over it, and blood coated Tovar's arm as it poured out, dark and shining.
Pero shoved the dead man off him and stumbled to his knees, raising his sword at the Ealdorman.
"Let her go, and I'll let you live," he said, but his sword arm was useless, and his left was trembling, and he knew the Ealdorman could see how spent he was as he forced himself to stand.
"No, you leave, and I'll let her live," he replied, forcing your head back a smidge, as the knife cut into your skin again.
"If you touch her again…" Pero growled, taking a step forward, as you struggled to find your balance with your head forced back.
Cuthbert grabbed your jaw, his fingers digging into your bones as he moved the knife down to your belly, twisting your body as your fingers moved.
"I'll cut her bastard out first," he threatened as your hand closed around the hilt, pulling your dagger free.
The air escaped him with a wince when it slipped up under his ribs, his body tightening its grip on you for a moment.
"No."
His eyes were wide as you twisted the blade deep in his lungs, watching blood stain his lips as his breath rattled, and his dagger clattered to the ground.
Pero was next to you with two long strides, shoving Cuthbert away, and grabbing your dagger as the man fell onto his back with a heavy thud.
Pero's arms were around you again as he pulled you back, as if he was afraid the man drawing a final rattling breath would suddenly try to grab you again.
"Mi amor," he panted as he tried to turn you away from the sight, his hands moving over your neck where it had been cut. But you stood rooted, watching the blood of the Ealdorman seep into the ground, before you spat on it.
"May the Norns cut away your name."
Chapter 19
I hope you loved this chapter! Action is so hard to write, but I think it's fun, and I hope you could picture the fight as it developed, and that I kept you on the edge of your seat! And, finally reunited again!!
synopsis: as wedding bells ring for tommy and maria, it has joel looking forward to his own future with you. but with that, a tough decision must be made for himself.
word count: 9.2k
warnings/tags: the line dancing miller brothers are back, baby! fluff, half of this is kind of a filler chapter so i apologize for that, anxiousness, wedding stuff, the gang is all back together (hell ya), pining, joel is a fool in love, brief mentions of nightmares from PTSD, smut (m! oral receiving, f! oral receiving, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, brief nipple play, ass play, consensual choking, joel makes reader watch as he cracks her lol), joel is always freaked out for his lady (as he should be 🙂↕️), if there’s anything i missed please lmk. as always, no use of y/n.
** I know it's been forever since the last update so if you'd like to be removed from the tag list at the bottom, please let me know **
Autumn bleeds into winter and winter bleeds into spring in the blink of an eye.
Everyone returns back to their normal routines: work, school, soccer practice and games, therapy, and a tiny dash of wedding planning—which is mostly your mom asking you a ton of questions. You’re also helping Maria and Tommy finalize their decisions too, since their wedding is less than a month away.
You and Joel both agreed you’d take your time with your own wedding planning—you wanted every aspect of it to be something you and Joel both love, down to the very last minute detail. You’re also easing into plans with Robert selling you the ranch, which you both agreed to start looking at some extra furnishings and possibly extending some parts of the house. It’s been busy, but you’ve decided you’re taking your time to enjoy the present and the people who surround you.
It’s a Saturday morning and the sun wakes you with a vengeance. Though it’s cooler, sunlight still bleeds through the curtains intensely, not quite reaching the softer glow the winter solstice offered a couple of months back instead.
Joel’s grip tightens around your torso as he nuzzles his face into your neck. He kisses your skin softly once before a gravelly good morning, baby scrapes his throat and vibrates off of the column of your neck.
You murmur the sentiment back, stretching before turning to face him. He’s all bed head and dark brown eyes that sends a warmth down your spine, and it makes you smile.
You’re about to kiss him when his phone starts to ring. He groans and reaches for it on his nightstand, and his face screams impending doom.
“Hey Cap, how’s it going?”
His captain.
Your heart drops to your ass.
Last time his captain called, he sent Joel and Tommy away for a month.
You think of all the work Joel’s put into himself, with going to therapy to tackle his PTSD head-on the best that he can, being more open with what he’s feeling and thinking, and expressing himself in a way you’d never seen before. His nightmares are still frequent, but you both get through it together and utilize the strategies that Dr. Elias has offered to Joel.
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, sitting up to lean against the headboard as you try to not let your overthinking consume your being.
“Yeah, alright. Sounds good. You too. Bye,” he says, hanging up the phone.
“Everything okay?”
He looks up at you with a small smile.
“Yeah. Tommy and I have some training tactics to teach our next shift, so he was just making sure we’re good to go.”
You can’t hide the way your shoulders sag with physical relief.
Joel raises an eyebrow at you and a small smile quirks on his lips.
“You worried about me, baby?”
You roll your eyes at the coy tone in his voice.
“I’m always worried about you, Miller. I thought he was calling to ship you off again for another month.”
Joel chuckles softly and sits up, pulling your body gently into his before he lays you both back down.
“Nah. You’re stuck with me.”
You grin at him before kissing his cheek. “Good.”
He flips you around so you’re on top of him, and he brings you down for a kiss. Then another. And another. The next thing you know, you’re slowly grinding yourself against him and wishing to god you had all the time in the world to lay up in bed with him to enjoy some slow, lazy sex.
But with adulting comes responsibilities, so before you two can get any further, you regretfully pull away. He groans and tosses his head back against the plush pillows.
“What time are you meetin’ Maria?” he asks, looking up at you as you sit up straight on him. His large hands start sliding up and down your thighs, and you bite your lip to keep yourself on track.
It’s absolutely fucking mind-blowing that one person makes you want to go absolutely feral just with a simple touch. You find that you have to control yourself now more than ever around him, and there was never a time in your life before you met Joel that you even thought feeling like this was possible.
He knows how much his touch affects you too, the cheeky fucker he is, because he’s sporting a sly smirk as he eyes your body like you’re breakfast.
Your eyes glance at the clock on his nightstand.
“In about an hour,” you say.
“We have plenty of time then,” he negotiates.
You raise a brow in suspicion. “For?”
“You know what for.” He ruts your hips forward, and you gasp as you slide over the bulge in his sweatpants.
“As much as I’d love to do this with you right now, you also have to get up to get your final tux fitting with Tommy. Or did you forget?”
“I didn’t forget, it just… slipped my mind,” he says with a shrug.
You roll your eyes. “Uh huh. Sure.”
You tap his side gently two times before you try to get off of him.
“Up n’ at ‘em, cowboy.”
He grips your thighs to prevent you from moving, and you laugh as he flips you over so you’re laying underneath him. He pins your wrists above your head, and looks down at you with a soft grin.
“Can’t wait for it to be our weddin’ day comin’ up.”
Your grin mirrors his as you wrap your legs around his torso, bringing him down to you so you can kiss him.
“I can’t wait either, Joel. The prospect of spending the rest of my life with you gives me tingles and butterflies,” you confess, and he chuckles against you.
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you too. Now c’mon, we gotta get ready.”
He grunts before you both get up and get ready for the day.
You both go your separate ways not long after. Maria picks you up and Joel leaves the house to meet with Tommy.
You’re in the middle of discussing wedding details with Maria when your phone rings, and Andy’s name lights up across the screen.
You pick up, putting him on speaker.
“Hey Andy. You’re on speaker. I’m in the car with Maria,” you say.
“Hey baby sis. Hi Maria. It’s actually perfect that you’re with her, because I have a question,” he says.
“Which is…?”
“So, Maria, I’m super into your cousin Natasha. Do you think she’d want to go on a date with me? And possibly be my date to your wedding even though we’re both going?”
The nervousness in his voice makes you quietly aww to yourself. You’ve always secretly loved when he chose to show his softer side.
“I think she would, Andy. She really likes to dance so maybe ask her to go dancing with you?” Maria suggests.
“That’s brilliant. Thank you, Maria. Could… maybe… you guys come with? Like a group date night? It’s been a long time since I’ve been serious about someone and I don’t want to royally fuck this up.”
“Tommy and I are finishing up last minute wedding details with our planner, but we’d be free Saturday night, so we’re in.”
You nod along. “Yeah, that sounds fun. Joel and I are in for Saturday night, too. You should ask Cole, Emi and Josh if they want to join us too.”
“Yeah, I will. I’ll give them a call and text the group after to confirm.”
“Sounds like a plan. It’ll be fun, Andy. She’ll have a great time,” you reassure him.
“God, I hope so,” he nervously chuckles. “Thanks ladies, I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
“Love you, bye,” you say before you hang up.
“I think it’s so cute that Andy’s so smitten over Natasha,” Maria says, putting her car in park. You’d promised her you’d go with her to pick up her dress after the final alterations have been made. Maria’s dress is absolutely beautiful and she looks stunning in it. You know Tommy will absolutely lose his shit when he sees her walking down the aisle.
“I think so, too. I don’t remember the last time my brother was so worried about impressing someone he likes,” you say with a laugh.
“Dancing will be great. It’s been a hot minute since all of us have gone out just to have fun.”
“You’re right. Between the holidays last year and school schedule for Sarah and Joel’s work schedule, days go by in a blur. And now you’re getting married in a couple of weeks. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been riding a high this whole time and haven’t come down. I can’t believe I’m going to be a wife,” Maria gushes, and you grin at her with love as you both step into the dress shop.
Maria is greeted by the seamstress, ushering her to the dressing room to try on her dress one last time to see if everything fits perfectly.
And when she steps out of the dressing room, you gasp as you take her in. She’s absolutely stunning and her dress fits her like a glove.
“Maria, you look unreal,” you breathe, and her laugh is watery.
“You think so?” She asks, turning toward the mirror to look over the dress again and again. You step up next to her, grabbing her hand to give it a squeeze.
“You know what I think? I think Tommy is a lucky, lucky man. He’s going to lose his ever loving mind when you walk down that aisle.”
“You’re next,” she says with a genuine smile, and you huff a laugh as you shake your head.
“Nah, none of that about Joel and I. Let’s focus on you and Tommy. Guarantee he’ll cry when he sees you.”
“Tommy’s not really an emotional man. You think he will?”
You meet her gaze in the mirror.
“I’d bet money on it.”
-
Andy: We still on for tonight?
Maria: Yup! Time to get out your dancing boots y’all.
Emi: I’m ready! 💃
Cole: Yessirrrr
You: Brooks and Dunn won’t know what’s coming. 🤠
Joel: Buy a guy a beer first, sheesh...
Tommy: These boots are made for dancing, and that’s just what they’ll do…… or however it goes. ;)
Andy: Don’t worry honey @ Joel. I’ll buy you several rounds tonight. ;)
Josh: What about me, pookie?
Andy: You know I got you <3
You: Stop flirting with my fiancé.
Emi: And my husband… wtf lol
Andy: Not my fault you can’t spit game.
You: And how exactly do you think I got this ring on my finger, Andy?
Joel: There’s enough of me for everyone. ;)
You: Keep saying that and you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.
Emi: LMAO
Maria: Yikes, Joel. Better watch it.
Tommy: What Maria said, brother.
Joel: She loves me.
Cole: Gross, get a room.
Joel: Don’t mind if we do. ;)
Andy: YUCK.
You: Yeah, you’re definitely sleeping on the couch tonight.
-
“Why do I need to sleep on the couch?” Joel pouts at you from across the living room, and you shake your head with a laugh.
“Because you’re not behaving, Miller.”
He takes three strides before he plops down on the couch next to you, raising a brow.
“Do I ever?”
“Touché.”
He grins and wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.
“It’ll only get ten times worse when we’re married.”
“Oh?” You rear back from him, sporting a questioning look.
“If you think I’m touchy now, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
He leans in and presses his lips to yours, hands moving down to your hips to lay you down on the couch.
You can’t help but smile against his lips, gently putting your hands on his chest to push him away from you.
“Can’t wait for you to be my wife,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss your neck.
You bite your lip to stifle a moan, because you know if you get into it with him right now, you’ll both be late.
“We’re never going to hear the end of it if we’re late tonight,” you say, but your willpower is diminishing right before your eyes.
“They give us shit anyway. Not my fault my fiancée is sexy as hell,” he grumps. You laugh at that, sitting up on your elbows.
“Yeah? I’m glad you think so.”
“It ain’t just my opinion, baby. ‘S a fact. And I’m the lucky bastard who gets to spend the rest of his life with ya.”
“I’d say I’m very lucky too, cowboy.”
“So does that mean I don’t have to sleep on the couch?”
You bark out a laugh and slump back down, shaking your head. You admire him above you, all rosy cheeks and grand smile. His hair is a bit longer and his dark curls are showcased beautifully to frame his tan skin. His eyes are warm and full of light, and he looks so happy.
Your heart swells at that and how much progress he’s made with himself. You can tell he’s prideful, but he’s as humble as they come. He never boasts about how well he’s doing, but you make sure you always tell him how proud of him you are.
“The look in your eye tells me you wanna be late tonight,” he whispers.
You snap out of your daze and reach up for his cheek, bringing him down for a kiss.
“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be leaving the house at all.”
You feel his cock harden against your leg, and you bite your lip.
“Sounds real temptin’.”
“Maybe I can hold you over for a little while, hm?”
“Oh?”
“Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.”
“Fuck, don’t tell me that. Swear to god I’ll blow a load right in my fuckin’ jeans.”
“Get used to it. I’m going to be your wife, after all.”
He closes his eyes as the back of his head rests against the couch.
You deftly undo the button and zipper of his jeans, and he lifts his hips to help you shimmy the material just enough down his thighs to pull his hard, throbbing cock out of his boxers.
“And I’m the lucky woman who gets this for the rest of my life,” you deadpan, and his eyes snap open to look down at you. You shoot him a flirtatious wink, and he chuckles while shaking his head.
“My god, woman. What you do to me.”
“Ain’t seen nothing yet, Miller.”
You pump his silky flesh a couple of times, and the groans that emit from him have slick coating your panties instantly.
Every single cell in your body is drawn to this man. It has been since you laid eyes on him in Rosemary’s, and you know deep down this feeling will never fade away.
And fuck, thank god for that.
You start by teasing his tip with your tongue, slow and sensual. Seeing the way this man years for your touch, your mouth, you—it’s enough to drive you insane in the best way possible.
It’s like a secret power you have, and mix that with determination?
He won’t last.
You decide to get down to business, knowing you both still need to get ready for tonight. Being late isn’t an option.
You slide his length into your mouth, taking him as far as you can without gagging. The groan he emits vibrates his whole body, and your hands land on either of his thighs before you set a steady pace.
Your head bobs up and down, being sure to swirl your tongue over the tip for a little extra sensation. He shivers at that, hands by his sides itching to touch you.
“Can’t believe how lucky I am that my fiancée takes such good care of me,” he murmurs, moaning as you hum around his cock and take him all until your nose is met with the wiry hairs at the base of his cock.
You move your head up, sliding your tongue along the underside of his length before releasing his head with a small pop.
“I reciprocate what I receive, Mr. Miller.”
You proceed to suck on the tip, tongue flicking and teasing just how you know he likes it.
Any words he was going to say instantly die on his tongue, and his hand shoots out to cradle the back of your head as his resolve crumbles right before your eyes.
He’s panting now, with beads of sweat materializing on his forehead. His brown eyes are hooded, looking at you with furrowed brows and a pleading stare.
His body draws taut, and with his tip on your tongue, you can’t help but send him soaring over the edge.
“Give it to me, Joel.”
He comes on command, and you take his length down all the way one more time as you feel the warmth spill down your throat.
He lets out a deep moan that turns into a small whimper, and he’s clenching his teeth as you release his cock from your mouth.
You pat his thigh and push to stand up, but he’s quick to grab your hand before you get too far. You stop in your tracks and raise a quizzical brow down at him, and he’s got this satiated smile on his lips that makes you swoon.
The way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat or two and your blood pump a little faster. You almost cave in to your desires of being deliciously fucked by him, but you refrain with every ounce of control you have left.
You need to be on time. Your brother has always been there for you, so the least you can do is show up in a timely manner.
With a shaky breath and thighs squeezed together to relieve any friction you can, you smile down at him.
“C’mon cowboy,” you say while watching Joel tuck his cock back into his boxers and jeans, standing up to buckle himself up again. “Time to show off your dance moves.”
He huffs and laugh and shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your temple before he gives your ass a love tap.
“After you, beautiful.”
-
You’re ready to go with your boots and Wranglers on, sporting a long sleeve floral top to finish the outfit.
Joel’s hand caresses your thigh as you sit in the passenger seat of his truck, looking out of the window at all of the dazzling lights the city nightlife has to offer.
It doesn’t take long for Joel to find the bar and find parking. Your eyes scan the parking lot and you see Andy and Emily’s cars parked next to each other.
“Looks like we’re not the first ones here,” you say, and Joel spots their cars and gives you a cheeky grin.
“They probably wouldn’t have noticed if I kept you back a little longer.” He’s wiggling his eyebrows and you laugh with a roll of your eyes.
“You know they would have, and Andy would be the first to comment on it.”
Joel chuckles knowingly as he hops out of the truck, rearing it to the passenger’s side before he opens your door. He offers his hand and you take it, hopping down before you both make your way into the bar.
One of Joel’s hands rests on your lower back as he guides you through the bar, and your eyes scan the room before settling on Emily, Josh, Andy and Natasha.
“You made it!” Emily says, enveloping you into a tight hug. You laugh and wrap your arms around her, kissing her cheek.
“Hey Emi. Hi Josh,” you say, making your rounds to say hi to everyone and giving them hugs.
“Thank you for being here,” Andy whispers, and you grin at him before nodding reassuringly.
“Of course.”
“We made a bet on who was going to show last,” Josh says.
You eye them all and with a laugh, everyone says “Cole” in unison.
“Not a doubt in my mind. Love him to pieces but his time management sucks,” Emily says, rolling her eyes.
“Cheers to that,” you say.
“Let’s go get them some drinks,” Joel says, and they agree before the three men head over to the bar.
“So,” you start, looking at Natasha. “You like to dance?”
“Love it,” she gushes.
“I wanna make a new bet, but between us. Gotta fill Maria in when she gets here, but I bet our brother is going to pull out all of the stops to impress you tonight,” Emily says.
“Oh, no doubt,” you laugh. “I’ve never seen him so smitten over someone. Truly. And we’re not saying any of this to scare you off. Andy just isn’t a very emotional guy, so it’s nice to see his human side come out every once in a while.”
Natasha laughs at that, smile beaming bright as she looks down at the small circular table you’re gathered around.
“Truth be told, him and I haven’t stopped talking since Sarah’s birthday party. I was wondering when he’d ask me out officially, and I can tell he’s nervous so I’ve been going easy on him… for now,” she says with a wink, and all three of you laugh. “But he’s a great guy. It’s been really nice getting to know a more personal side of him.”
“Finally, someone to light a fire under his ass and keep him on his toes. He needs it,” you say. She grins and is about to say something else before the three men come back to the table, drinks in hand for everyone.
Joel hands you yours and you murmur a small thank you to him before kissing his cheek, settling against him as he pulls your back into his front. You sip on your drink diligently, eyeing the bar and noticing it’s getting a little more crowded.
Your eyes flit to the door to see Tommy and Maria walking in, and you wave them over with a smile as they try to spot the group in the crowd.
Maria pulls Tommy by the hand over to the table, and they greet everyone with a hug or handshake before they head off to the bar to get their own drinks.
It’s only a few minutes later that Cole walks in with a woman, heading to where you all stood.
“Should’ve bet money on it,” Emily says, and you laugh as Cole approaches you both.
“Nice of you to finally show up,” you tease. He rolls his eyes with a grin, and the woman he’s with steps up beside him with a kind smile on her lips.
“This is my girlfriend Talia. Talia, these are my sisters, my brothers-in-law Joel and Josh, my brother Andrew, his girl Natasha, and my other brother-in-law Tommy and sister-in-law Maria are at the bar getting drinks,” he says, and Andrew snorts at the introduction.
“Jesus, this group is starting to sound like a classroom roster,” he says, and everyone laughs.
“Gotta give it to you, Andy. Getting ten people together for a night out is impressive,” you say with a teasing grin. He huffs a laugh and mumbles amen before sipping his drink.
Talia grins as she waves at everyone. “It’s so nice to finally meet y’all. I’ve heard such wonderful things.”
“Wonderful things? Cole might’ve been lying to you,” Emily says with a smirk. Talia laughs again and Cole rolls his eyes.
“I can be nice and say good things about you guys… sometimes. Just don’t get used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say. He winks and points a finger gun at you before whisking Talia away to get a drink.
Maria and Tommy come back, saying hi to Cole and introducing themselves to Talia in passing.
Maria sidles up next to you, sipping on what looks like whiskey.
“I absolutely cannot wait to be married to Tommy, but fuck, wedding planning is so damn stressful,” she huffs, taking a hefty sip of her drink.
“God, yeah. It really is. Josh and I had a wedding planner and we were both still stressed. Your special day is so close though, and we’re all so excited to see you two lovebirds up at the altar,” Emily says, clinking her glass with Maria’s.
“You’re so sweet. I can’t wait either. It’s hard to believe that Tommy and I met five years ago and have been together for four. Time flies when you’re having fun,” she gushes, and Tommy pulls her in for a hug and a sweet kiss.
“Sure does, pretty lady. Can’t wait to officially call you my wife.”
“Speaking of their wedding,” Andy says, looking down at Natasha with hopeful eyes. “I know you’re already attending, but would you maybe wanna be my date?”
You can tell he’s nervous, but everyone plays it off as if they’re not all holding their breaths waiting for her answer.
Natasha grins and steps closer to him, playfully poking his chest. It’s almost like she’s trying to size him up in a teasing way.
“Only if you can spin me ‘round and two-step properly tonight. Then I’ll be your date.”
“I love me a challenge,” he says. You want to beam at how happy your brother looks. Both of them, actually.
Cole and Talia return shortly before the DJ announces the dancing will be starting briefly.
“Let’s get this party started. To a fun night,” Cole toasts, and everyone brings their glasses in to clink with one another to cheers.
The DJ announces that the dance floor is now open, inviting everyone to join. The group makes their way to the dance floor, and you eye Joel up and down with how good he looks. Cowboy boots, worn jeans that make his ass look fantastic, a green henley that hugs his biceps perfectly, and his goddamn Stetson.
He catches you looking at him and he shoots a knowing smirk your way.
“Like what you see?”
“You know I do, Miller.”
“Mm. Don’t tempt me to take you into the back of my truck where we could both get arrested for indecent exposure in a public place.”
“Thought you knew every sheriff in Travis County,” you roll your eyes with a huff, smirking at him.
He belly laughs at that, pulling you into him before giving you a kiss.
“And you say I’m insatiable.”
“Well, you are. Guess I learned it from you.”
“‘N I know damn well I’m a great teacher,” he says with a suggestive undertone, and you have to laugh it off or else you’ll jump his goddamn bones on this dance floor.
“Shut up and dance with me, Miller.”
He chuckles at the diversion. “Yes ma’am.”
He holds out his hand to you and the DJ begins to play a George Strait song before everyone starts to sync up and dance.
The night goes on with two stepping and Joel spinning you around like the expert line dancer he is. You’re grateful he and Tommy took the time to show you and Maria how they like to dance, or else you’d probably be lost as hell on the dance floor.
By the time the night came to an end, you were all sweaty and breathlessly laughing as you all walked out of the bar.
“God, I haven’t danced like that in years,” Tommy says, chuckling as he wipes the sweat off his brow.
“You’ve got me in your good graces, Andrew. Didn’t know you could show a girl such a good time,” Natasha says to Andy, quickly followed by a flirtatious wink.
“Aw hell,” he says, puffing out air before pulling her into his side. She giggles as he kisses her cheek, and the way she looks up at him makes you smile.
You just know your mom is going to be gushing over every single one of you at Maria and Tommy’s wedding.
You can already see her misty eyes and hear her heartfelt voice.
“Next time we’re all together will be in a couple of weeks watching these two lovebirds walk down the aisle,” Cole says, jutting his chin toward Maria and Tommy.
They both smile and look at each other as Tommy pulls Maria closer to him and gives her an affectionate squeeze.
“And I expect to see every single one of you on that dance floor with us.” Maria points at the group with a mock glare, and everyone laughs.
“I know you’ll have that place running like the Navy,” you say, and she snorts a laugh.
“You already know,” she winks at you, and you all share one more laugh before everyone starts to say goodbye to each other.
“I will see you two tomorrow for Sunday brunch, yes?” Maria asks you and Joel.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” You kiss her cheek and hug her goodbye, doing the same with Tommy before you and Joel head back to his truck. He opens the door for you and gives you a peck on the lips before rounding over to his side to get in.
“You tired yet, baby?” He asks absentmindedly, reversing out of the parking spot.
“Not really. What’d you have in mind?”
“Let’s take a trip to the ranch. ‘S a nice clear night, bet we can see all the stars there.”
You nod with a smile and he reaches his hand over to rest on your thigh once again as he drives to the ranch.
It doesn’t take long to get there, and when he does, he makes the bed of his truck comfy for you both to lay in the back.
It’s silent for a little while as you both admire the night sky, the song of crickets and the water softly flowing downstream the only sounds you hear.
Joel is the first one to break the silence.
“I love how peaceful it is out here. Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it.”
“Soon enough you can do this every night if you wanted,” you murmur.
“I still can’t believe you’re buyin’ this place from my uncle,” he chuckles, turning his head to look at you.
You meet his gaze.
“I didn’t have the heart to let this beautiful place be sold to some stranger. I know how much this place means to you and Tommy.”
“My momma loved this place too. Dad would sit on the back porch swing with her and he’d play her somethin’ on the guitar. I remember seein’ them one time and thinkin’ I couldn't wait to do that with the love of my life one day.”
You reach down for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and giving him a soft squeeze. You didn’t need to say anything; Joel got your message loud and clear.
You look back up at the stars, and Joel leans up on one elbow to look down at you. You shift your gaze back to him, soft smile adorning your lips as you arch an eyebrow.
“Yes, Mr. Miller?”
He reaches down to brush your cheek with his thumb, moving his head down so his soft lips connect with your forehead.
“I love you, ‘s all,” he whispers, kissing your forehead again.
“I love you too,” you whisper back, voice full of seemingly every surety being with him has brought you.
He’s got that endearing soft smile on his lips, and you reach up to run your hands through his hair.
He leans down and lays his head on your chest, arm wrapping around your torso as he pulls you in tight. You stay like this for a while. You’re not even sure how long, but it’s comforting and you almost start to doze off.
Joel sighs and sits up again, tapping your side gently.
“C’mon pretty lady, let’s get you home so you can get some sleep.”
You nod absently, Joel ushering you to the passenger seat of his truck.
The lights are all a blur once you get back into the city, and you’re quick to rid your body of the clothes you wore to the bar once you’re in the comfort of your shared bedroom. You quickly shower before throwing on an old oversized sleep shirt, flopping down into bed.
Your bones settle and it’s only then that you realize how exhausted you are, and you’re fading out before another thought crosses your mind.
-
You wake to the bed empty beside you. You frown, furrowing your eyebrows as you slowly try to blink your bleary eyes open all the way. The clock on Joel’s nightstand reads five fifteen, glaring back at you in bright red numbers. Your eyes shift to the soft glow of the morning.
The sun hasn’t risen quite yet, and as much as you want to go back to sleep, your curiosity outweighs any need for extra rest.
You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the plush carpet. It’s awfully quiet in the house—too quiet. All you can hear is the birds chirping as they sing their morning song.
You make your way downstairs, and you almost jump out of your skin as you see Joel’s figure leaning over the kitchen island. You lean on the kitchen entryway to study him for a second. He’s holding a cup of coffee in his hand, hair mussed, sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
He looks delicious like this, only for your eyes to see, but his face has a look of concentration written all over it. You push off of the wall you were leaning on before padding into the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his thick torso. You kiss the back of his shoulder gently, hands rubbing up and down his stomach.
“Mornin’, honeybee. You’re up early.”
You hum against him. “I was missing you in bed.”
He softly chuckles before setting his cup of coffee down, turning in your arms.
“Were you now?”
“I was. What’s got you up so early? You looked deep in thought a couple of seconds ago.”
He softly smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Had a nightmare last night again. Didn’t want to disturb you ‘cus I couldn’t go back to sleep. Then Cap texted me saying he wants me to come in today to discuss somethin’. About what, I’m not entirely sure. Just goin’ over all the possibilities in my head, I guess.” He shrugs, running a hand through his hair.
You furrow your brows in worry. “You should’ve woken me up, Joel. You know you don’t need to face these nightmares alone,” you sigh, feeling devastated for him. “You don’t think he’s gonna send you away again, do you?”
“You looked so peaceful baby, n’ I know how tired you were. And Tommy said Cap hasn’t reached out to him about anything, so I don’t think it would be somethin’ like that. I have to go in and talk to him to see what this is all about.”
You nod in understanding.
“What time does he want you to go to the station?”
“Not until later in the afternoon, so we’ll still be able to enjoy our time at brunch with Maria and Tommy.”
Joel maneuvers you so your back is against the kitchen island, and his arms cage you in on either side of your body. Butterflies roll rambunctiously through your tummy as he lifts you up onto the counter. A giggle slips past your lips as you drape your arms over his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist so you pull him in close.
The corners of his mouth tip up as he watches you, still screaming of sleep with a soft smile on your lips.
“Have you heard from Sarah? Feels weird without her in the house,” you say, threading your fingers through Joel’s thick hair. She went to soccer camp for spring break, and she’ll be gone for the next week.
“It does. I keep thinkin’ she’ll be walkin’ around the corner at any given moment,” he says with a chuckle. “She called me before we left for the bar. She’s settlin’ in the cabin with Katie and a few of her other friends. She’s excited.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure it’s nice for her to have a break from school with no homework. Gives her a chance to focus on just soccer and having fun with friends.”
“It does,” he says, voice slipping an octave. “Also gives us a chance to do whatever the hell we want, when we want.”
“Joel,” you laugh, but it comes out as more of a desperate sigh of his name as his lips attach to your neck. He presses soft kisses to your skin slowly and deliberately, moving up to your jaw before smiling into you.
“Let’s go back to bed, Miller. I’m still tired and I need my beauty sleep,” you toss him a cheeky grin, and he chuckles before helping you off the counter, smacking your ass as you head back upstairs to your bedroom.
“I can see you rollin’ your eyes from here y’know,” he says, and you turn back to look at him.
“You know me so well, cowboy.”
“Well I’d hope so.” He pulls you down onto the bed, dragging you into him. You cozy up, resting your head on his chest and draping your arm over his torso. He traces your forearm with his fingertips absentmindedly, giving you a kiss on the forehead afterward.
“Believe me, Joel. I think you know me better than I know myself sometimes.”
“Ditto,” he huffs a laugh. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
-
The two weeks leading up to Tommy and Maria’s wedding pass by in a complete blur. Time had nearly given you whiplash and before you knew it, you were helping Maria get ready to walk down the aisle.
She’d made the most beautiful bride with her radiant smile and the pure love in her eyes as she locked eyes with Tommy (who definitely got teary eyed—and now Joel owes you $20) as she walked down the aisle.
Joel had given you a wink and a smile while they were exchanging vows, and you got butterflies from thinking how you two will be next.
And that’s exactly what your mom gushes to you about at their reception. You’re dancing with her on the dance floor in the beautiful hall they rented out, surrounded by twinkling lights and dark oak with large floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing tall pine trees that tie the scenery in perfectly.
“Are you excited you’ll be the next one in the family wearing white?” She wiggles her brows at you and you laugh.
“I am. Still seems absolutely unreal that I’m getting married. Life changes so quickly.”
She beams at you, cupping your cheek in her hand. “That it does, my baby girl. I just want you to know I’m so proud of all of the obstacles you’ve overcome. You’ve allowed yourself to love again and it’s led you to an amazing man who truly loves you. He looks at you like you hung the moon and stars, my dear. That’s something so sacred and special. Your dad and I couldn’t be happier that you’ve found Joel.”
Tears threaten to spill from your waterline. You lean in and hug her, holding her tight. “I love you, mommy. Thank you for always encouraging me and being there for me when I was at the lowest point in my life.”
“I love you so much, my darling girl.”
You look up through misty eyes to see Joel watching you both with a soft look in his eyes and a smile on his lips. You smile back at him before separating from your mom, dabbing away straggling tears.
“You know, when all of us went out dancing a few weeks back, I kept thinking that you’d be gushing over how all of your children have found someone. I know all you and dad have ever wanted was for all of your kids to be happy. And we can’t thank you both enough for showing us what real love looks like. It’s challenging and rewarding all at once, and seeing as you and dad have been together for so long, it’s always made me want that for my future marriage. I know Emi, Cole and Andy feel the same way, too.”
“My god, you’re going to make me burst into tears. I can’t take it,” your mom laughs, and you kiss her head.
“I don’t mean to make you so emotional, it’s just… true. So, thank you. To both of you.”
“We love you four more than anything. We’re so grateful you all grew up to be such wonderful individuals, and seeing you all have someone to share life with now is so rewarding as a parent. Now all that’s left is for y’all to give us more grandbabies,” she chuckles.
“When the time is right, Joel and I will be glad to do so.”
“So you’ve talked about that with him already?”
You nod. “Yeah, we’re aiming for at least two. I was a little unsure just because of the age gap with Sarah and all but he had her when he was young and she’s been begging for him to give her siblings,” you say.
Your mom’s eyes literally twinkle as she clasps her hands together. “I just know you’ll be such an amazing mother.”
“Thank you. I’ve had a great role model,” you tease, and she laughs before wiping a tear away.
Your eyes catch Joel’s once more, and he makes his way over to you and your mom before hugging her and kissing her cheek.
“May I steal your beautiful daughter?” He asks, and she laughs before stepping back.
“She’s all yours.”
Your mom leaves you both to dance, and Joel wraps his arms around you and starts to sway you to the slow song echoing through the speakers.
“I’m here to collect a little fiancé privilege,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Can’t keep my hands off you when you look this good, now, baby. C’mon.”
“You can’t keep your hands off me ever, Miller.”
A boyish grin stretches across his lips. “You got me there. There’s just somethin’ that gettin’ to love on you does to me. Can’t explain it.”
“Mm, well as much as I’d love to have your hands all over me, it’s gonna have to wait until later.”
He looks around the room before spinning you out, then back into his body so your back faces his front. His hands grab your waist and he leans to whisper in your ear.
“Everyone is distracted right now, darlin’. Don’t think anyone will miss us for a few minutes.”
“You seem so sure of yourself, Joel.”
“It’s ‘cus I am. ‘M a cocky fucker when I wanna be, baby.”
You laugh at that. “You? Cocky? Never.”
“Yeah yeah, but you love it.”
“Mm, do I?”
“Well, let’s see. You scream my name often enough and always seem to be so fuckin’ wet every time I touch you, so yeah. I think you do.”
You gasp at that, abruptly turning to face him. Your eyes scan the room one more time before you roll your lips into your mouth, taking a deep breath. Before you know it, you’re dragging him to the restroom down the hall.
The bathroom door closes behind you both and he locks it, hoisting you up onto the spacious countertop. He slots his body between your legs and you wrap them around his waist, pulling him close to you. You grab him by the tie and yank him to you, smashing your lips to his.
You groan into the kiss, desperation bleeding from your body as you paw at him. He takes the liberty of trailing his kisses down your jaw to your throat, licking your pulse point as he moves even further down. He nips at your collarbone and you cradle the back of his head, pushing his mouth into your skin.
“God, you’re so intoxicating,” he breathes, lips finding their way to the top of your breasts. He wastes no time in pulling down the neckline of your dress and the cup of your bra in one go, mouth enveloping around your pebbled nipple.
You gasp at the welcome sensation, absentmindedly grinding yourself against him. He immediately slides a hand under the skirt of your dress, pressing his thumb against your aching clit. You bite your lip to hold back a moan, but he makes it nearly impossible when he starts to circle your clit with his thumb torturously slow.
“Joel,” you whisper, trying to grind your hips again to get that friction you so desperately crave.
His mouth releases your nipple with a small pop. “My baby wants me that bad, huh?” He murmurs, watching your expression with dark, carnal eyes as he circles your clit even faster.
“Fuck, you know I always want you, Joel.”
He nearly growls at that.
“Say it again.”
This time he moves your panties to the side, scooting you forward on the countertop for better access before he pushes his middle finger into you.
“I always want you, Joel. Forever. I’m yours,” you cry, gripping onto the lapel of his tux jacket before he steps back. He takes your hand and helps you off the counter before spinning you around to face the giant mirror before you.
You take in your appearance. Your lipstick is long gone and your eyes are twinkling with desire. Your chest heaves and your eyes widen when you watch Joel lower himself onto his knees in the reflection of the mirror. He takes an ankle in his hand and spreads your legs wider apart.
His warm palms slide up your legs, bringing the skirt of your dress with them before he leans forward to plant soft, wet kisses on your thighs. You moan softly, trying to anticipate his next move—but he’s completely disappeared under the chiffon fabric.
You feel him slide his fingers through the sides of your lace panties, sliding the material down your legs. You instinctively put your legs closer together before stepping out of the lace material, but as soon as they’re off, Joel spreads your legs again.
“What a perfect fuckin’ sight, baby. Pussy’s so goddamn wet for me.”
He takes both of his hands to raise your dress again, and this time you take the material from him so he can see clearly.
He takes his hands and spreads you open, thumbs swiping over your folds with a featherlight touch.
“Please, Joel.”
“Please what, baby?” His voice sounds strained and gravelly and it makes you clench.
“I need your mouth on me.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, you feel his tongue glide from your clit all the way back to your entrance. You gasp at the sensation as he runs his tongue up and down your slit a few times before prodding it into you. You choke on a moan as you grip the countertop with such strength you almost strain yourself.
His mouth is warm and wet against you, setting a pace that has your toes wanting to curl and your eyes to roll into the back of your head. Joel’s tongue slips from you and travels upward, teasing your other hole before sliding all the way back down to your clit.
He circles his tongue expertly, both hands gripping your hips like a vice as your legs start to tremble from the overwhelming sensation. He sucks your clit into his mouth, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep as quiet as possible.
“Joel!” You whisper-shout, the ache that was once a low flame lit inside you now a full-fledged wildfire. He pulls his mouth off of you, and you whimper at the loss.
He stands to his full height again, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his slacks as fast as he possibly can. Which, for a firefighter, is record fucking time.
“Want you to watch yourself as I fuck you, sweet girl. Wanna let you see how beautiful you are with my cock buried in you,” he says darkly, pumping himself a couple of times before he puts a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you toward the countertop.
He looks down to where his head meets your entrance before his eyes snap back up to your face. You watch his expression as he pushes into you.
You can see your own mouth pop open at the welcome intrusion, but what’s more, is Joel’s expression as he bottoms out. He looks completely wrecked already, muscle in his jaw ticking furiously as he steadies himself. His dark eyes meet yours in the reflection, and a wicked smirk curls onto his lips. He reaches forward, hooking his thumb into your open mouth.
“Suck,” he commands, and you do so without hesitation. Once he’s satisfied, he looks down once more before spitting on your other puckered hole. Your brows furrow and your head falls between your shoulder blades. “Nuh uh. Look at me.”
You move your head up to lock your gaze with his once more before he pushes his spit-slick thumb into your asshole.
“Oh my god,” you moan, clawing at the countertop. You feel so full like this, with his cock hot and heavy in you and his thumb adding the right amount of pressure.
“Oh you like that huh? Squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he hisses. You nod vigorously.
“I need it so bad, Joel, please.”
“So polite too. Fuck, baby, you’re perfect.”
He draws back and snaps his hips forward. You have to bite down on your knuckle in order to keep quiet, because this angle is relentless as you can feel every single vein on his cock. It makes your head spin.
“Fuck, Joel you feel so good. So big,” you whimper as he snaps his hips again.
This time, he sets a brutal pace. Any time your eyes stray from your gaze in the mirror, Joel uses his free hand to gently force your jaw to look straight ahead.
“Want you to see yourself takin’ this cock. You’re meant for it, baby. Fuckin’ look at you. So goddamn pretty. My future wife,” he babbles, bringing your body upward so your back is touching the front of him. He hooks his thumb onto your bottom lip, and you watch as he toys with your mouth for a brief second. He leans down to bite on your shoulder before moving up to nibble on your ear.
What really gets you is when he whispers your name followed by a groan right into your ear. It makes you clench around him, and that just spurs him on to fuck you even harder.
You look absolutely wrecked in the best way possible. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes full of desperation and forehead coated with perspiration as he fucks you from behind. It almost seems to give you a healthy glow, even.
He moves his hand down, wrapping his fingers around your throat. You nod at what he’s implying, and he lightly squeezes the sides.
Your body is succumbing to an earth-shattering orgasm with each thrust of his hips and squeeze of his fingers. You’re not sure how much longer you’re able to hold on for. Joel moves his thumb out of you before bringing his hand to the front; fingers tracing quick, tight circles over your clit.
“I want you to come for me. I can fuckin’ feel it. Let go, baby. I’ve got you,” he instructs, and it’s like your body just listens on command. The white hot sensation spreads into every one of your limbs and swims in your veins, and the last thing you see is your mouth agape as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your legs tremble like leaves, almost too weak to hold yourself up as you feel the devastatingly euphoric bliss consume your body.
Your orgasm rips through you and Joel is whispering sweet, encouraging things in your ear. But the ringing is too loud in your ears to hear him clearly and your vision is too blurred at the moment to focus on anything around you.
And then you feel him come. His groaning and damn-near whimpering is what brings you back down to Earth, pulsing inside of you as he gives you everything he has.
He pulls his hand away from your clit, huffing a laugh as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. You observe both of your bodies through the mirror, eyes tracing over his sturdy figure. He kisses your shoulder gently before helping you slip back into your panties.
He spins you around to face him, big smile on his face as you both straighten each other’s appearances out to make it seem like you’re both not freshly fucked out.
“What is it about weddings…?” He asks, and you laugh as you recall dragging him away from your sister’s reception to have sex for the first time in your hotel room well over a year ago.
God, that seems like a lifetime ago.
”We’ll probably be worse at ours. Won’t even make it away from the altar,” you deadpan, and he chuckles.
“Reckon we’ll really be sweatin’ like sinners in church.”
You hum in agreement, fingers curling into his hair as you pull him down for a kiss. You taste yourself on him as his tongue easily slips into your mouth.
You rationally pull away from him this time, straightening out his lapels.
“We should head back out there.”
Joel nods and presses a kiss to your forehead before you open the bathroom door, making sure you’re both in the all-clear.
You make it back to the reception room, playing it off like you’re both getting a drink to sip on. Joel and Tommy’s captain is standing in line for the bar, and his face lights up when he spots Joel.
“Miller! Just the man I want to see. Have you given any more thought to what we discussed a couple of weeks ago?”
You furrow your brow in confusion as you look at Joel. He swallows, and you cross your arms over your chest.
What isn’t he telling you?
His eyes meet yours briefly before he flashes a tight-lipped smile at his captain as he retrieves his beer from the bartender.
“Still thinkin’ about it. I’ll have my decision for you soon.”
He claps Joel on the shoulder, taking a swig of his beer. “Take your time. I know it’s a lot to ask,” he says, walking away with a smile on his face.
You pull Joel to the side and look at him with concern.
“What the hell was that about?” You ask, tone sounding much more defensive and panicked than you'd hoped.
“Do you remember a couple of weeks back when he called me into the station to discuss something?”
You nod.
“Well, he told me he’s got big plans in the next year or so for himself.”
You frown, wondering what this has to do with him—and then it clicks. But he says it aloud before you can even fully process the thought.
“He’s retiring… and he wants me to fill his position.”
author’s note: heeeeeeey how y’all doooiiiiin 😅 sorry it’s taken me a year to update this but i hope the kinky smut in this makes up for my hiatus 😗 anyway, i hope you enjoy this and as always your comments / feedback is much appreciated. thanks for sticking around if you read this, it means a lot. 🥹
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: Joel now knows the universe did the right thing when it let him live again. He wasn’t being punished for surviving, no, he was given a second chance to do it all over again.
Chapter Warnings: time jump, love, smut, sick child mention, joel miller #1 husband award winner, chapter made writer cry multiple times, happily ever after
Words: 6,650
A/N: What started as an offhanded idea I had while making dinner has now turned into a full 200,000 word story about love, redemption, family, and healing (ofc). I hope I've done the character of Joel justice. I could never have done this without my beloveds @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon and their unwavering support and links to my Google Docs. Feels crazy that we're here now, exactly 15 months after the first chapter. Thank you for being with me at the finish line. I listened to a lot of "Sidelines" by Phoebe Bridgers while writing this chapter. 💞
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
Spring, 2035
The bed is empty when you wake. Joel is already up and in his workshop. Your robe hanging on the hook is more frayed and faded than it once was, and you grab it, cinch the tie around your waist, and cross the hall to what was once Ellie’s room.
Behind the closed door, you can hear progress: a tool setting down, a drawer opening, the whir of the Dremel. When you step in, you see your husband, hunched in concentration over the worktable, his broad back to you, the white of his shirt stretching across his shoulders.
You wait for the Dremel to stop working before you greet him. “Happy anniversary.”
Joel turns, the dimple-deepening, eye-crinkling smile that makes you melt even after all these years lighting his face. “Hey, baby, happy anniversary,” he greets.
You look past him, at the progress laid across the worktable. “How’s it going?”
“Good, just have to finish some of the detailing on the lid.” He holds up a piece of wood, turning it to show the grooves of what he’s been carving. “See, I’ve got the beveling mostly done, but the chamfer edges need a finer grit, and I can’t rush that part.”
You still don’t know what chamfer means. You’ve heard him say it a dozen times, and each time it sounds more like a type of wine than some sort of woodworking term. But the way his voice sounds, all low and assured when he talks about the wood, like he truly understands it, makes you want to listen to him forever.
“Then I gotta double-check the rabbet joints. If I don’t get the fit right, the whole thing’ll warp once any type ‘a humidity hits it. And then JJ’s gonna be without a toybox.
JJ.
Patrollers had found him three springs ago, left in the car off an old, abandoned highway. Barely even walking at the age of around two years old. You had been called into the clinic on that day, your and Joel’s second anniversary, to assess him. He was so small and helpless then, feverish, weak, and malnourished. Dina had been tasked with taking care of him at the clinic, bonding with him in that maternal way as she nursed him back to health, and she just couldn’t imagine her life without him. Now, the almost-five-year-old is the light of her and Ellie’s life, as well as yours and Joel’s.
You walk over to your handsome husband, brushing the more-gray hair from his forehead, pressing your lips against his warm skin. The memory shows only for a second: Joel’s battered and bloodied body dying in the street. A stranger then, just a patient you had to save. And now his hands are covered in sawdust, and he’s building a toybox for a boy who calls him Grampa. It’s a miracle. “He’s going to love it,” you say softly. “It’s perfect.”
He tilts his head, looks at you with those big, brown eyes of his. “Yeah?”
“Of course,” you assure. “You made it for him… and we all know Grampa Joel can do no wrong.”
Joel’s face softens, those furrowed eyebrows of his loosening. He sets the toybox lid down, runs a calloused thumb over the edge he just smoothed. “Still not sure if I like the dinosaurs on the front.”
“What’s wrong with them?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, resting your head on one.
“Look a bit foolish, don’t they?”
“They don’t. JJ’s gonna lose his mind. He’ll probably try to sleep in the thing.”
The rumble of Joel’s chuckle travels through your arms draped around him. “Gonna be breakin’ all the rules just like his mama.”
“And he’s going to be just as stubborn as his grampa,” you say, kissing his cheek. “Now, come on, we have a party to set up.”
—-
Joel’s yard is alive with the happy shouts of children, the casual conversations of adults, and the cheerful chaos of a five-year-old’s birthday party. Today is your fifth anniversary, a day that once would have been shared only by you two. But this is the life you’ve built, and JJ’s birthday happily takes precedence.
Ellie’s over by the wooden playhouse Joel built for JJ, hands on her hips, smiling as she watches her little boy and Benji play monkey-in-the-middle with Benji’s little sister, Stevie. They’re all shrieking with laughter, and Joel takes all of it in.
When Ellie watches JJ, he knows the look. It’s one he recognizes from somewhere he’ll never return to. He’s had that same look. The kind of look that only shows up when you’re watching something you’d die for. She laughs at something Maria tells her, and she looks so goddamn young and so goddamn old all at once.
He remembers the night Ellie and Dina told him. Him and you, sitting across from them at the dining table. The way Ellie’s voice wavered, like she knew she was handing him something fragile.
“We want to keep him,” she’d said. “We talked about it. We want—we want to be his parents.”
Joel sat wide-eyed, watching the way Dina had squeezed Ellie’s hand. His heart had cracked open, but it wasn’t painful. It was something else. Something that felt like a beautiful, hopeful new beginning that feels rare in this world.
“You sure?” he’d asked. It’s what you ask when someone tells you they’re about to love something that could be taken away.
Ellie had nodded the way she always does when her mind is made up.
“We’re sure,” Dina had said.
And that had been that. The next day, Joel started on the toddler bed, and you began knitting a blanket with his initials, JJ, in bright blue.
He never once thought he’d be standing in his own yard on a spring afternoon, watching Ellie’s son chase a ball across the grass. He’d taught her how to shoot a rifle, how to clean it, how to hold it steady when her hands were shaking. Saved her from a man in a hospital who wanted to cut her open for the sake of a cure that never came. He heard her screams and pleas to get up, to survive. He’d made it halfway across the country with her, carried her through snow and fire and blood and confessions, and he’d done it all with little thought to it, because he loved her.
It was all worth it.
You walk over, in one of your light, spring dresses, a pale green, flower-filled soft fabric that falls just below your knees. You’re smiling at him, and when he grins back, he knows he looks like a goofy fool still head-over-heels for his wife, even after all of these years.
“I think we throw a good party,” you say, finding that perfect crook of yours as he wraps his arm around you. “The kids are having fun.”
“Mm, it is,” he agrees, kissing the crown of your head, breathing in the sweet smell of you, happiness, and spring.
JJ runs across the grass, Benji and Stevie hot on his heels, they’re both covered in grass stains and dirt. JJ trips over his own feet, flies and falls into the dirt. Joel’s heart lurches for a second before the kid pops back up, laughs, and keeps running.
“Tough guy,” you say. “Just like his Grampa.”
Presents are before the cake, and Joel watches, your arm wrapped around him. Ellie sits cross-legged with JJ in her lap. The boy oohs and ahhs at every gift he gets, even if it’s a half-filled box of crayons someone was lucky enough to scavenge. The toy box sits in the corner of the porch, wrapped in an old quilt. He got it done right before the party, needing it to be perfect as he sanded the edges one more time. Both the T. rex and Triceratops on the front are carved, complete with horns and tiny arms. Dina pushes the quilt-wrapped chest forward, saving his gift for last. Joel doesn’t know why he’s nervous about it… there are dinosaurs on it, of course the kid’s going to love it.
JJ tears at the quilt, and Dina and Ellie help him with soft directions. The toybox shows itself, honeyed wood shimmering in the sunlight. JJ stops in his tracks, palms flat against the top of it as he assesses the carvings of his two favorite dinosaurs. He claps and starts giggling, bouncing in Ellie’s lap.
Joel feels the relief flow through his whole body. He double-checked every pivot and edge, sanded it down uncountable times… he would’ve thrown the whole thing out and started again if he didn’t think it was perfect.
Ellie lifts her head, and Joel thinks he sees tears brimming in her eyes before she blinks them away. She sends him a silent thanks in the way she looks at him, then looks down at JJ. Joel nods back, with something that feels like pride and a wish that he could’ve done a thousand more things for her, for all the years of her childhood lost to FEDRA.
The kids are back to playing in the yard with all of JJ’s new presents as you and Dina walk out on the porch, a large, lopsided cake in Dina’s hands, homemade by you and her. It’s not nearly as well done as what Seth would make, but there’s love in every sweet ingredient. It’s perfect.
Dina gets a small smudge of frosting on her wrist, and she doesn’t notice. Joel watches you reach over and wipe it off for her, casual like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times.
Family. That’s what that is.
He’s loved seeing your bond with Dina strengthen and turn into something just as unbreakable as his and Ellie’s bond. You took her under your wing, showed her the ways of the clinic, and now she’s a full-fledged doctor, in whatever sense the apocalypse can make of the title.
JJ’s family surrounds him as he blows out his five candles, and when he closes his eyes to make a wish, Joel’s sure the boy’s wishing for something as simple as a new toy truck or maybe a different episode of Bob the Builder on VHS. The luck of the kid, growing up behind these walls and knowing nothing else now besides a warm home, two loving parents, and a comfortable bed.
—-
You collapse on the couch next to Joel once all the dishes are put away, and the madness of the birthday celebration has quieted down to just some leftover handmade streamers and the birthday banner you’re too tired to take down.
“Well, I think this was a pretty good party,” you say, sinking into the cushions, head finding the familiar groove of his shoulder.
Joel hums a low, happy sound, his arm coming around you. You can almost feel the sunbaked warmth of today still on him. “And a good anniversary.”
You sit together in the beautiful shared silence for a while, letting the hush of the night take over, the only sound present is the tick of the clock and the swish of Jefferson’s tail hanging off of his cat tree. The whole house smells like frosting and cherry blossoms that have started to drop their petals in the yard.
“You know what,” Joel rumbles against your ear. “This wasn’t how I planned to spend our fifth anniversary, but—”
You tilt your head up to look at him. “It was perfect.”
He smiles, and the golden lamplight catches the silver that threads through his dark hair, the lines at the corners of his eyes, the softness in his dark brown eyes that now lives there permanently. “Every day with you is perfect, every single day,” he says, looking at you like you’re the one who made it all happen.
The feeling Joel Miller has always been able to give you- that immediate race of your heart, the butterflies that swarm in your stomach- explodes. You turn to him fully, your hand coming up to cup the raspy side of his face, thumb tracing the heart patch at his jaw.
You lean in, kiss him, slow at first, the way you’ve kissed him a thousand times before, and yet it never gets old, never loses that spark. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, and he deepens the kiss. Your mouth opens for him, and your body answers him like it always does, like it’s the only thing in the world that will ever make sense, because it does. Because he’s Joel Miller, and you’re his.
His fingers curl into the soft skin at the nape of your neck, pushing your lips firmer against his, his tongue seeking into your mouth. A soft, wanting moan escapes you, and he swallows it down, like he’s starving for you. He’s always starving for you.
You’re starving too. You move, swing your leg over his lap, and drape yourself over him.
“Baby,” he groans against your mouth, his hands finding your hips, gripping you through the thin fabric of your dress.
You straddle, then press down, just so you can feel him through the layers. Hard, thick, straining against his jeans already, even after a long day like today.
“Five years,” you whisper, rocking your hips down, earning you a hiss against your lips and thick fingertips digging into you.
“Five years,” he echoes.
You kiss him again, tasting the cup of coffee he just had, and the remnants of the small slice of leftover birthday cake you split in the kitchen. Your hands push under the hem of his shirt, palms sliding up.
Joel pulls away, eyes gone inky with desire, staring into yours. “Wanna do this in our bed, not on the couch.”
You nod, already sliding off his lap and helping him up. He stands with a grunt, and you lead him up the stairs, shucking your dress off at the landing, your bra in the hallway just in front of your office filled with medical journals and herbs, and your panties just outside the bedroom you share with Joel.
The bed is warm when you lie atop it, bare and ready for whatever pleasure your husband wants to gift you. Joel’s eyes sear your already heated body; he stands at the foot of the bed, fingers flicking open his belt and the fastening of his jeans. He’s studying you like he still can’t quite believe it, that you’re real. “You’re mine,” he gruffs.
You’ve never doubted that. Watching his hands move through each button of his shirt, you assure him, “I’ve always been yours.”
Clothes fall to the floor, flannel and denim pooling in a heap; the bright moonlight gilds Joel in a silver brilliance, the scars of his body glowing in the light as he makes his way towards you. He leans over the bed, hand running along your body. “Pretty thing,” he says, all rough and full of awe. “Always so pretty.”
His fingers trail higher, sliding between your thighs. “Joel,” you moan, shameless in the way your legs spread wide open for him, and it makes his eyes flash even darker. There’s no bashfulness in you anymore, not when the man you love knows every inch of your body, not after all you’ve lived through together.
There’s no rush in the way he moves. It’s an almost lazy exploration of pulling pleasure out of you. He’s so, so gentle with you, in the way he spreads you, two fingers parted, pressing them through your folds, feeling, feeling how slick and ready you are. You’re already clenching around nothing, needy for him, hungry for the fullness only he can give you.
“Joel,” you beg, desperation dripping in the way you moan his name.
His fingers start to circle you, and your hips tilt up automatically, greedy and impatient, always needing more from the man you love. He hovers over you, folding his body down across the bed, one palm pressed into the mattress beside your hip, the other between your legs, lazily stroking, almost teasing in the slow way the pads of his fingers drag through your wet, needy cunt. You open even wider for him, letting him see all of you in the moonlight, your limbs restless, almost shivering. Dark eyes drink all of you in, and you stare right back, mouth parted, eyes open wide, unable to look away even as the heat starts to pour through your body.
He watches you writhe and quiver for him, cocky grin glinting across his lips. “That’s it,” he husks, ragged and growled, “such a good girl for me.” His thumb drags across your clit, slow and greedy and circling, and you can’t help the way you grind against his hand, begging for more. “M’pretty wife,” he adds, and you melt and ache and arch.
The urge to feel him is too much, you reach for his cock, wrap your palm around the solid heft of him, thick and hard and heavy in your grip. He thrusts into your fist, can’t help himself, matching the roll of his fingers deep inside your cunt, back and forth, slick and slow as you stroke him. You give it to him the way you know he likes it the best, twisting your wrist, gripping his head tight just the way he loves. Joel’s head tilts back, neck strained, and an almost feral rip of your name leaves him before he snaps his head back down to look at you.
You clench around his thick fingers, and he leans over, mouthing at your throat, licking across your neck, before he bites the sensitive skin there, not sharp, but firm enough that you gasp and your hand tightens around his thick cock. You jerk him slow and steady, loving how he’s already trembling, loving that you can still make him like this. Each time your hand moves, he’s pulsing, throbbing, and when he angles his fingers in you and hits that gushy spot that makes you lose your breath, your hips lift off the mattress as you keen his name.
Tight, firm circles are pressed against your clit, and your world turns into just Joel Miller and the shattering pleasure of his hand inside you, the warmth of his body hovering over yours, and the always present grinding, hungry need shared between you.
He looks down at you, his lips parted, sweat shining on his brow. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” His voice hums through you, that low vibration that can only make you nod as your breath stutters.
“Atta girl,” he croons, thumb swirling your clit while his fingers fuck you open and wetter. You’re nothing but a frantic heartbeat, tight fist, and wet pussy when you crash into your orgasm hard. You collapse and rise over and over again, staring right into Joel’s eyes as he lets you ride your pleasure, thumb stilling against your clit, as he slowly slides his fingers in and out of your cunt.
When you finally settle down, gasping his name, heart racing, Joel pulls his fingers free and drags your slick along the heavy length of his cock. You watch, barely able to keep still, body trembling and gasping.
He grips his cock and sets the leaking tip against your lips. You open right up for him, tongue flat to take in the taste of you and him and the shared years of wanting. The hot weight of him pools heavily on your tongue when you wrap your lips around him and take him into your mouth. He fucks shallow, keeping searing eye contact as you moan around his dick. “Jesus Christ,” he grits, head tilting to the ceiling as you take him deeper and deeper, his thighs tensing under your palms. You swirl and lick, let him bob out of your mouth until you suck him back in.
There’s a grunt, Joel’s hips stutter, and he pulls free. “Baby,” he huffs. “My back is killin’ me after today.” He laughs, a little ruined, a little low.
You scoot, then coax him down till he’s flat and settled in the bed. His back is barely against the mattress before you crawl up his big, tired body and straddle him.
“Comfortable?” you ask, bending down to kiss him, and he grunts an affirmative against your lips.
His tongue seeks into your mouth, hands spreading on your ass to pull you down even closer against him. You rock against him, sliding your cunt along his cock, letting the wet tease of you slip along his length. You angle yourself and can’t help the smile when the wide tip of him catches and sinks into you.
“C’mon baby,” he urges, all doe-eyed and in awe of you even after all these years. You slink yourself all the way down, gasping at how good Joel Miller always makes you feel. You rise and fall languid and savoring as he kisses you, letting the high-pitched, needy growls of his escape into your mouth. You swallow each one, answering it with a moan against his plush lips.
You move together like it’s what you’ve only ever known, your body meeting his, the shared intimacy and peace of knowing your forever in this way. When you sit up, hands bracing on his chest, nails digging into the golden warmth of Joel, you feel the beat of his heart hammering against your palm and the way it always answers to you.
He drinks you down, tracking every way your body moves for him. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans. “Most beautiful thing I ever seen.”
You’re lit by his praise and love, moving faster, grinding down, writhing and shaking, clutching his broad chest as you cum so hard you fall forward, nails digging into his skin. Joel catches your cries of his name with his mouth when he kisses you, swallowing every moan and keen he pulls from you.
The bed groans when Joel starts to fuck up into you with the power an old man like him still miraculously holds. You lean your head back, just so you can watch him fall apart for you. He’s heavy-lidded, plush lips parted as they groan your name over and over; blissed-out Joel Miller is the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen. He lets go of your ass only to clamp his hands on your hips, anchoring you so he can pull you down hard again and again, to take every last inch of him.
He cums with a long, guttural “fuuuuck,” fists balled tight at your hips, cock pumping and twitching inside your heat, as he loses himself in sweet, desperate pulses you can feel all the way through you.
You burrow your cheek into the warmth of his chest, listening to the hammer of his heart as his heavy hand slowly strokes your back. “Holy shit,” you gasp, and Joel chuckles a satisfied sound against your hair.
You roll off him and curl into the crook of his sweaty and sated arm, and he tucks you closer. It’s always so perfect, how easy it is to love your handsome, gruff Joel Miller. You could stay here forever, breathing in the smell of him, your home, and the fresh flowers beginning to bloom in the garden outside.
—-
The clinic is busy today. Joel steps in amongst the almost-full waiting room, nods at a few familiar faces, and turns left to take the familiar path down the hall to your office. He sits in his customary chair in front of your desk, and he waits and waits… a little too long than usual.
He peeks out of your office and catches Blake, the new nurse’s, attention. “She’s in surgery,” Blake tells him. “Complications with Mr. Lassiter’s appendix. She said it might be a while.”
Joel nods and returns back to your office, now settling into your chair, facing the door, the better to see you when you come in. Your desk is cluttered. Not messy, just lived and worked in. He picks up your notebook, leather-bound and soft, a rare find he was able to barter a couple of carvings for this past Christmas. Your name’s on the front, and he runs his thumb over the imprint of Miller.
The pages are already full of your handwriting, and he can hardly decipher it. There are whole sentences reduced to fragments he can’t parse. Perfusion adequate. Lateral incision. Diagrams are drawn, a torso with arrows, a hand with tendons mapped. There are plant names and measurements in the margins, long, complicated Latin words he couldn’t spell if it’d save his life. Each page is full of wisdom, and healing, care and dedication. He closes the notebook carefully, like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Jackson is lucky it has you. He’s lucky.
Time stretches, and Joel rests his eyes, but a busy clinic is no place for rest. He gets up, toes around your office, looking through the shelves full of books and journals. He finds a book on something called histology, flipping through it, his brain understanding not even 5% of what he’s seeing.
People pass the door, all with a place to go or things to do. Patients to exam rooms. Doctors and nurses to their next sick or injured case. But Joel doesn’t see you.
Until, finally, he hears the familiar soft, efficient cadence of your footsteps across the tile. You appear in the doorway. Sleeves shoved past your elbows, eyes a little sunken and hollow. The tired smile only comes when you see him.
"You're still here,” you say, surprise lining your tired words.
"Course I am.”
You close the door and lean against it, head tipping against the wood. "I'm sorry.”
"S’okay. Don’t apologize, baby."
“There were complications. But he’s stable now." You take a deep sigh. “His wife was crying when I updated her. It’s so hard when they cry.”
Joel stands and strides towards you, wrapping his arms around you, and you fall into him, forehead pressing against his collarbone. He smells the sweat and antiseptic on you, but underneath it there’s still the ever-present and sweet sage and vanilla.
"It’s been a long day," you whisper.
He kisses the top of your head, already feeling the way you let yourself unwind with him. He pulls back enough to look at you and meets your eyes. “You’re amazing.”
You blink. "I nearly lost him."
"But you didn't."
You softly nod, like you’re letting his words settle you.
Joel leads you to your chair, sits, and pulls you down into his lap. You fall into him willingly, melting against him.
He unwraps the zucchini bread Maria baked first. "Dessert first," he says. "You earned it."
You hum happily as he breaks off a piece and holds it to your lips. He feeds you another, and another, feeling the way you come back to life with each bite.
By the time you're both splitting the chicken sandwich, your voice already sounds peppier, and you’re yourself again, no longer the exhausted surgeon that walked through the door earlier.
When all the food is gone, Joel holds you, and you turn in his arms, head angling to kiss him. “I needed this. Thank you,” you whisper.
“Anytime, baby.”
You give him a final kiss before standing. “As much as I hate to leave, I should get back out there, it’s busy.” Your shoulders are already straightening, preparing to return to being a doctor.
He rises, and you leave him with a kiss before telling him you’ll see him later.
He grabs the empty tote and steps out of your office. Steven nods at him as he passes him in the hall with a patient. Wendy smiles and waves from the reception desk as she updates a chart. The clinic is still alive, people needing things, finding help, and you’re running all of it. He thinks of the nursery, the late tulips Sadie might have in the greenhouse. Something nice to surprise you, no occasion but this: you survived the morning, and he got to witness it.
He heads for the door and takes a left instead of a right to head to the nursery.
—-
You fight a yawn as you make your way out of the clinic. Joel’s in his customary spot, against the post with his arms folded. You’ve lost count of how many times the sight of him there has instantly soothed you after impossibly long days like today.
“Hey baby,” he greets, hand finding the small of your back like it always does as he leads you home.
The walk home is quiet. You’re out of work later than you wanted to be, but the sight of the sun setting behind the mountains and Jackson doing what it does every evening, winding itself down around you, helps remind your tired and weary self why hard days like this matter.
Your husband leads you to your big, white home, the sight of it is always a balm on days like these. Your pair of rocking chairs on the porch move in the gentle breeze, a blanket you knitted still draped over the back of Joel’s chair for the chilly spring evenings you share outside.
Joel helps you with your jacket as you kick your boots off. Jefferson jumps off the back of the couch and pads over to you. His soft meow beckons you to bend over and give him a couple of pets before you make your way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
You pause at the doorway when you see them.
On the kitchen table in a chipped blue pitcher are tulips. Their petals half-open, red and yellow. You stare at them and grin wide.
“Nursery had a few of them left,” Joel says from behind you, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t plan it. “Figured you needed something pretty today.”
You turn, press your face into the broad, familiar warmth of his chest, and he holds you, chin against your hair.
“Thank you,” you say, muffled against his shirt.
Joel squeezes you tight against him. There’s something about the beautiful simplicity of his gift. A man buying his wife flowers, just because she had a bad day. The world ended, and yet moments like this remain.
Dinner is just what you needed, comforting, hearty, and warm. Stew and leftover biscuits eaten at the kitchen table, with the vase of tulips in the center. Joel lifts your feet into his lap, massaging them with one hand while he eats with the other.
When you’re done, you sit at the table for a while, both of Joel’s hands now tasked with massaging your tired feet. When you get up and reach for his bowl, he tells you to leave the dishes in the sink, that he’ll take care of them tomorrow.
You move to the couch, plopping onto it and sinking into the cushions. Jefferson’s instantly in your lap, lying across it, rumbling purrs as you pet him. Joel’s arm is around you, and you burrow even closer against him as Lonesome Dove plays on the TV. Gus and Call are somewhere in Texas, bickering the way they always do. You’ve both seen it enough times now to mouth the lines.
You used to fall asleep to the rustle of infected in the treeline, the sounds of FEDRA’s brutal control in the QZ, but now you fall asleep to Robert Duvall, a cat on your lap, and the steady thud of Joel’s heart against your ear.
—-
This spring has been high on the sweltering scale, the mountains do little to shield Jackson from the hot rays of the almost-summer sun during the day. Joel passes the construction yard, lifting his hand in greeting to some of his old workers who all look hot and miserable. Honestly, Joel’s a little happy you, and the rest of the family convinced him to retire last year. At first, he wasn’t sure how he’d manage with all of his newfound time, but his grandchild has certainly helped fill his days.
JJ’s hand is tiny in Joel’s, and the boy doesn’t stop yapping. “Grampa, have you ever driven a bulldozer?”
Joel chuckles. “Reckon I have.”
“Did it have a big scoop? Was it yellow? Could it pick up a whole tree?” JJ’s voice pitches higher with each question, his fingers tightening around Joel’s.
“Yes, yes, and yes,” Joel says, remembering the old world with housing projects and cul-de-sacs—that old world that now just exists in stories for the boy who holds his hand.
JJ tugs him toward the fence, drops his hand, and bolts. Joel knows exactly where he’s headed. You’re on your knees in the dirt, tending Sarah’s garden, and the boy is shouting your name before he’s even halfway across the yard.
You turn, a big smile on your face, and goddamn, you still take his breath away. You wipe at your forehead with the back of your wrist, leaving a smudge of soil across your brow. Your eyes squint up at them both with that smile of yours… the one that still, after all these years, makes him forget whatever he was just thinking about. He doesn’t know how it keeps happening, how every single day you find some new way to make him feel like the luckiest goddamn man on earth.
JJ drops to his knees beside you, his little body pressing against yours. Your arm wraps around him in that loving, doting way you’re so natural at, and you kiss the crown of his head in greeting.
“Grampa drove tractors!” he excitedly tells you.
“I know,” you answer, glancing up at Joel with a smile. “He was a contractor, meaning he’d always drive construction vehicles and build really big buildings.”
“Contractor?” JJ asks.
Joel’s knees pop twice when he crouches down beside you two, and he lets out a short grunt at the second one. The boy’s eyes are wide and waiting, wanting to know as much as he can. “Contractor’s what they called somebody who built things. Houses, schools, sheds. Anything folks needed. You’d get a call, show up with your crew and tools, and you’d build somethin’ from nothin’. Just dirt and plans. Couple months later, there’s a whole house standing where nothin’ was before.”
JJ’s mouth hangs open. “You built a whole house?”
“Built a lot of ‘em,” Joel answers. “Everybody loved contractors.”
You chuckle and shake your head. “They sure did,” you say.
JJ reaches out, runs his hand along the blooms of lavender in Sarah’s garden.
“You want to pick some flowers for your mamas?” you ask.
JJ nods, reaching towards a bright purple flower. “Can I pick this one?” he asks.
“The aster? Of course, sweetheart,” you say.
JJ reaches for the purple bloom, but stops. A small, orange butterfly has landed in the center of it, orange and white wings fanned open. JJ goes still, and you put a gentle hand on his arm. Joel watches the butterfly and feels something inside his heart flow before he can name it. Sarah’s voice through the years echoes in his head from the first wails of her tiny lungs as a baby, to her sweet, little voice questioning everything, all the way to her smart, teenage pondering.
“It’s so pretty,” JJ whispers.
Joel’s caught in a memory from many years ago. His Sarah, around JJ’s age now, picking flowers out of the Adlers’ garden, a butterfly just like the one in front of him now, landing on a flower. Her bright, proud smile as she stayed perfectly still and watched.
You lean closer to JJ and whisper, “Don’t scare it, hun.”
The butterfly flutters its wings before it lifts off from the aster. Joel watches it leave. It’s her, but it’s not her. Just a memory of his little girl.
He wishes his Sarah could see him now. What would she think of him now?
He’s asked himself variations of it a thousand times over the years, but never while kneeling in the dirt of a garden dedicated to her with his grandson and his wife, the lavender in full bloom, the sun warm as it shines down.
He thinks about the man he was when she knew him. A father with an okay-paying job, a mortgage, a pickup truck, and a future.
He thinks of the man he became after. The one who traversed the world with a gun in his belt and blood on his hands. The man who couldn’t look at a kid without seeing his own dead daughter, who lost himself completely in that.
Until Ellie broke him open, and you saved him.
He doesn’t know what Sarah would think of the man he is now. But he thinks she’d finally see the man she knew. The man that loved her, that held her when she cried, that taught her how to ride a bike and spool a reel onto a fishing line. The man that now knows to love is to be vulnerable and honest.
Joel now knows the universe did the right thing when it let him live again. He wasn’t being punished for surviving, no, he was given a second chance to do it all over again. Every day, and every moment, he’s reminded of what you’ve given him… this beautiful life.
—-
You don’t really think about the future when you’re safe inside it like you are now. Years will pass, days will blend, and time will be marked not by disasters and survival, but by increments of joy and growth. By the changing height of JJ as he grows, the way the fence behind the house sags a little more each spring after the long winters, and by the amount of white in Joel’s hair and beard.
You and Joel will live and love and heal one another in the same quiet and unthinking ways you do now. Every morning, there is coffee and his scratchy voice, and every night, there is his palm against the small of your back as you head to bed and a goodnight kiss before he turns off the lamp.
You’ll spend the rest of your days behind the walls of Jackson, healing your neighbors and friends. You’ll come home to the large, white house with the cherry blossom tree that now has your and Joel’s initials carved in it. You’ll watch your family and friends grow older. Sarah’s garden will bloom, and the memory of her will thrive with each seed you plant for her.
JJ will start to talk in full sentences, then full-blown stories. At six, he’ll break his arm falling off the treehouse ladder, and it’ll be you who fixes him up, while Joel fusses and busies himself building a better, safer way up the tree. At seven, he’ll ask you to help him make Grampa Joel’s birthday card, complete with WORLD’S BEST GRAMPA written across the top. At eight, he’ll carve his first wooden dinosaur with Joel, and it’ll sit on the mantle next to the copy of Lonesome Dove and the picture Ellie drew of you and Joel for your first wedding anniversary present.
You and Joel will get older with each season, the rain will make your bones ache, and on some days, you’ll both stay in bed just a little longer. Sometimes the days will be hard, or exhausting, or consumed by loss—patients you can’t save, loved ones you lose, whether from something as lucky as old age or the erosion of the world outside your safe walls. But no matter what, you’ll always have the beautiful miracle of being loved by Joel Miller. All thanks to you, he will live on, happy and healed.
(Yoinked this from LinkedIn, genuinely interested in seeing how responses align with demographics) (so far it’s those of us over 35 being indignant but I wanna see how those fully plays out) (it’s cultural and technological history/memory, bruh)
I agree with many ideas already posted. Dieter’s IKaos (see what I did there?), Joel’s side comments on how he could build it better, Frankie being the most helpful along with Marcus P.
Ezra is waxing poetic about how the artwork and candle arrangements create a “welcoming domicile habitat.”
Clint is nodding and pushing the cart, agreeable to anything you place in it- assuring you he can handle putting it together while secretly wondering if he can
Ted is in the parking lot shaking hands while you shop
Javi G would love helping pick out pillows, curtains, rugs — Oberyn is laying on each of the beds and area rugs
I would love to just watch General Acacius take it all in- he would devour the meatballs
I would leave Dave York at home. He would be insufferable. And, if he volunteered to go?!? Well that can only mean he’s on a secret sniper gig and has to take someone out. The worst part is he would complain about the meatballs
Tumblr reminded me, that today is my anniversary of this blog and even though I hung around here way earlier than that, my active journey began just recently 🥹...
I want to take the time to thank all of you for the massive support, love and fun (and collective horniness for all the pedro boys...). I never - in my wildest dreams - thought that I would stand here with over 887 followers so far, 19 written fics and one-shots and an uncountable amount of likes, comments and reblogs within only 12 months. 💖💕✨️
I read every last bit you send me, love exploring the fandoms with all of you, thirsting for new and old contents and doing all kind of tag games (I will do the ones that are still open, I promiiiiise 👉👈).
This blog is such a joyride and a perfect escapism, and you all play such a massive part in it to make me feel save and seen and appreciated.
I'd love to tag all of you, but please forgive me if I've forgotten anyone. I really appreciate every interaction with you all, and I have endless love for our shenanigans here.
Last time was honestly too easy, you know your Pedro boys too well! So this one I'm upping the difficulty! Let's see how well you know the hair....
This is how you play: check the photos below the cut, make your guesses and put them in a reblog, making sure to hide your answers below a "Read More" cut. I'll see your reblog and give you your score
Let's play!
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Tagging some people who might want to play again (because you all did way too good in the last one...)
