Summary: Josie rolls into Wilmington to spend the summer with her uncle. She didn’t expect to find a band in his storage room.
The Runarounds - Neil Crosby x oc
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Josie had spent the last few weeks drifting between her uncle’s shop and the makeshift rehearsal space upstairs, the hours bleeding together into a haze of guitar riffs, drumbeats, and late-night laughter. More often than not, she found herself curled up on the saggy couch, listening as The Runarounds practiced until the walls seemed to hum with their energy.
From the first time she heard them—shortly after her own song had spun unexpectedly across the radio waves—she had been captivated. There was something raw about them, something that pulled her in and refused to let go.
The way Charlie’s voice cracked at certain lyrics, the ones she now understood carried the weight of someone he couldn’t let go. The way Neil moved on stage, like every note ran straight through his bloodstream, passion pouring out of him until it lit up the whole room. The way Topher’s focus never wavered, his bass anchoring everything as though he played for his life. The way Wyatt swayed to the melody, lips pressed to the mic as if coaxing the words out of hiding, his bass lines grounding the air itself. And Bez—always Bez—sweat flying from his brow as he hit every beat with furious precision, proof of the fire that drove him.
It was more than music. It was magic.
And in the middle of it all, Josie found herself making an effort with Bender. Up close, she wasn’t nearly as intimidating as she first seemed; her sharp edges softened when she spoke about film, or about the band, her passion as obvious as the ink stains on her hands. One afternoon, Bender had even pulled Josie into her orbit and introduced her to her friends Amanda and Sophia—Sophia, who Josie now realised was the girl behind Charlie’s unspoken heartbreak.
“I don’t know how you put up with them,” Amanda groaned after Josie shared the details of her day, which mostly consisted of her being half-buried in couch cushions while the boys tore through set after set.
Josie couldn’t help but smile. “They’re not so bad.”
“Yeah, Bender doesn’t think so either,” Sophia giggled, only to earn a sharp jab in the ribs from the redhead beside her.
Josie hesitated for a second, then leaned forward. “I heard about what Charlie did. So not cool.”
Sophia shrugged, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “Yeah. I just don’t get him sometimes.” A sigh slipped out before she could stop it.
Josie let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the air. “He’s got a lot of personality.”
“You can say that again,” Amanda muttered, rolling her eyes skyward.
Bender’s voice cut cleanly through. “Okay, enough about those stupid boys. Tell us about you. A record deal?”
Josie froze, her heart giving a sharp thud.
“Oh yeah, tell us about that,” Sophia pressed, her smile soft but curious as she leaned forward, eager.
Josie’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve as her gaze skittered to the floorboards. “Oh, um… it’s no big deal really.” The words tumbled out too quickly, too practiced.
“How can you say that?” Amanda laughed, incredulous.
“It’s a huge deal,” Bender added firmly, her brows lifting.
Josie shrugged, trying to laugh it off, but the sound came out thin. “Well, I guess… I’m just not sure if that’s what I want to do with my life. I came here this summer to get away from it all.” Her voice softened, her chest tightening with the confession. “I didn’t expect to be front row seats to an up-and-coming band.” She let out a nervous chuckle.
“You don’t enjoy it? Making music?” Amanda asked, her voice gentler now, the edges of teasing gone. The three girls watched her closely, and Josie felt like every wall she usually kept up was slowly being peeled away.
“No, I love music,” she admitted, the truth heavy on her tongue. Her gaze flicked up, catching each of them in turn before dropping again. “I love songwriting and singing and how I feel when it all blends together.” She drew in a breath and lifted her eyes. “Music is everything to me.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Bender asked, blunt but not unkind.
Josie exhaled, a sigh that seemed to empty her whole chest. “It’s just… the stuff I write about is my life, you know? My deepest emotions and my—” she broke off, inhaling sharply, “my life.” The words scraped raw against her throat.
She swallowed. “Hearing it on the radio, watching other people listen to my lyrics… the thought of performing them? I don’t know. I always wanted to get out of my hometown where everyone knew me, knew my past. And now I’ve just given my problems a larger stage.” A dark little laugh slipped from her lips.
Her gaze found the floor. “I don’t know how to write about anything else.”
“I get it,” Sophia said quietly, her expression pensive. “When Charlie sang my lyrics… it really hurt me at first. Made me feel like a fool. But then, seeing how people responded, how it affected them…” She trailed off, the weight of it lingering.
Josie nodded, something inside her loosening at the recognition.
“Look,” Amanda said, her smile bright but kind, “we’ve only heard one of your songs and I thought it was great. It’s up to you what you want to do with your life. Do it for you. Not for anyone else.”
“Yeah, and in the meantime, you can help our hopeless romantics write the greatest love songs in the world,” Bender added with a laugh.
Josie rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her. “Maybe they can help me write my own love song.”
“Maybe,” Sophia echoed, her smile soft, and Josie felt the words settle in her chest like a quiet promise.
-
The boys were itching for a gig. Josie had watched them grind for weeks, practicing until the sky outside went black, sweat dripping down their brows and pooling on the floor. Song lyrics were scrawled across every available surface—napkins, scraps of paper, the back of receipts—but for all their frantic scribbling, nothing solid was sticking. No new songs. No call from Danny Mace.
After one particularly unsuccessful jam session, Josie climbed the stairs again. The air upstairs was hot and heavy with the scent of sweat and stale guitar strings. She found Wyatt sitting on the edge of the stage, an acoustic guitar resting against his thigh, fingers idly brushing the strings like he wasn’t even thinking about it.
“Hey, Wy,” she said softly, her voice careful, as though she didn’t want to disturb whatever half-thought he was holding onto.
His head lifted. “Oh, hey, Josie. I thought you had gone home.” His voice carried a faint tiredness, though his eyes brightened when they landed on her.
“No, actually.” She shifted her weight, suddenly self-conscious. “I was hoping—I mean, I found this old television downstairs, and I fixed it. And I was wondering… do you want to play Mario Kart with me?” She smiled, the words tumbling out faster than she’d planned.
Wyatt’s face broke into a grin. “Abso-fucking-lutely I want to play Mario Kart with you.”
Josie giggled, a little startled at how easy the laugh came out. “I knew you were my favourite for a reason.”
“Oh yeah? What about Neil?”
Her smile faltered for just a second. “Neil?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him. Don’t deny it.” His grin widened, teasing but not cruel.
“Shut up, dude.” She glanced around the room like someone might be listening, though they were clearly alone.
“What? No one else is here,” Wyatt chuckled, rising to follow her as she headed toward the stairs.
“There could be mice in the roof,” Josie muttered.
“Well, he isn’t Cinderella, so I don’t think they’d tell him.”
“I think you mean Snow White,” she said, smirking. “And you never know! So shh.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Where’s this TV?”
-
“What’s going on here?”
The sudden voice made Josie jump. She and Wyatt were hunched close to the glowing screen, controllers clutched tight.
“Don’t break my concentration, Charlie,” Josie snapped, her eyes glued to the race. “I’ve almost got him.”
Charlie laughed, delighted by her tone.
“Not even close,” Wyatt teased, though his grip on the controller tightened.
Charlie plopped down in a beanbag beside Josie, watching with an easy grin. “C’mon, Wy, she’s gaining on you.”
Josie darted a glance sideways at him, giving him a quick smile before focusing back on the race.
“Yes!” she shouted as a blue shell spun out of her mystery box.
“No, no, no,” Wyatt groaned, panicked, while Charlie’s laughter filled the room.
Josie was on her feet before she knew it, hopping in place as her character sped past Wyatt’s spinning kart and crossed the finish line in first place. Wyatt tossed his controller in exaggerated defeat. Charlie jumped up with her, clapping, and pulled her into a spontaneous hug.
“I knew you could do it,” he said into her hair, his voice warm.
Josie’s heart gave a confused little lurch as they both dropped back into their beanbags, the glow of the TV painting their skin in blues and yellows.
“Thanks, Charlie. That’s why you’re my favourite.” She gave him a teasing smile.
His grin widened. Beside them, Wyatt scoffed and then laughed, shaking his head.
“Not Neil?” Charlie asked with mock innocence.
Wyatt howled with laughter, falling sideways into the beanbags.
“What the fuck?” Josie sputtered, cheeks blazing. “Why does everyone think that?”
Charlie gave her a look that made her stomach twist.
“What?” she demanded.
“You literally stare at him the whole time we’re playing,” Charlie said matter-of-factly.
Josie groaned into her hands.
“And you smile so wide every time he talks to you,” Wyatt added, his grin wicked.
“Fuck!” Josie dropped her face entirely into her palms. Her voice came out muffled. “That’s so embarrassing. Does he know?” She peeked between her fingers, horrified and half-expecting them to confirm her worst fear.
“No, of course he doesn’t,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Phoebe Rhoades has clouded his mind.”
The name was like a pinprick, sharp and small but enough to draw blood. Josie felt her chest tighten, though she forced a laugh.
“I mean, uh—Neil’s an idiot, okay?” Charlie added quickly, seeing her face fall. “He’s just excited that she—”
“It’s fine,” Josie interrupted, forcing brightness into her tone. She needed the subject to shift. “How’d it go at the recording studio?”
Charlie groaned. “We can record this Friday, but we need three grand.”
“So, a gig?”
“Yeah, a well-paying gig.” He exhaled sharply.
“Fingers crossed,” Josie smiled, trying to infuse the air with optimism. “How’s the new song going?”
Charlie groaned again, flopping back. “I’m having trouble with the lyrics. Hey—maybe you can help me!”
“Oh, I don’t know… I don’t write love songs.”
“That’s okay, you can just tell me if my lyrics sound okay.” He jumped up, darting down the stairs for his guitar before returning, eyes bright. Wyatt gave her a small, tight smile.
“Okay, so, it goes like this…” Charlie strummed gently.
“How can I prove my love to you when you already stole my heart?
Can I just…”
He trailed off. “Does it sound like I’m saying what I mean?”
Josie tilted her head. “Um… do you know what you mean? It’s just uh—”
“What?”
“Well, you say, ‘you stole my heart,’ which means you fell in love with her. But then you say, ‘If you stole my heart, how could I prove my love to you?’ and it’s like this—”
“Damn it, that’s what my dad said too. I am a shitty songwriter.”
“No,” Josie said quickly, “I just think you need to think about what you’re actually trying to say.”
“The lyrics suck, damn it!” He strummed angrily, frustration boiling.
“No, Charlie. You obviously have all these great ideas in your head—you’re just struggling to get them written down.” Her voice gentled, coaxing.
“I need this ready for Friday when we record demos, and I can’t even string together, like, two coherent lines—”
“Charlie, listen.” Josie leaned forward. “Come back over tomorrow morning and we can work together.”
“Yeah?” His voice was lighter, almost boyish with hope.
“Yeah.” She smiled.
“Verse me in Mario Kart? I need some actual competition.”
Wyatt scoffed. “You beat me one time…”
“What was that?” Josie cupped her ear, grinning. “A sore loser?”
Wyatt laughed, standing. “I’m going to go have a shower. Don’t eat all my snacks.”
“Oh, I’m definitely eating them all,” Charlie said, plopping down into Wyatt’s beanbag with a dramatic flop.
For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence, the TV casting soft colours over their faces. Charlie strummed absentmindedly, filling the air with half-formed chords.
Then he spoke quietly. “What’s it like having Catesby as an uncle?”
Josie laughed softly. “That’s what you want to talk about?”
“I do have a lot of other questions about your music career…” he teased.
“He is a good uncle,” she said after a pause. Her voice grew softer. “I used to spend a lot of time with him and my grandfather during the summers—sometimes here, sometimes on the road. My mum and dad are…” She trailed off, words sticking in her throat.
Charlie didn’t push, just waited.
“They’re not great parents,” she admitted finally. “They were once, but not for a long time. Uncle Cate is someone I know I can count on, and I don’t know where I’d be without him.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty cool. Letting us play here, letting Wyatt crash… you’re lucky.” He smiled, then sobered. “Sorry about your parents, though.”
“It’s all good.” She shrugged, though the weight in her chest lingered. “I’m actually writing a song about them right now, and I’m having a lot of trouble… not letting my emotions completely overwhelm me.”
“Mmm. Sounds like we both need help with our lyrics,” Charlie mused.
“Yeah.” She chuckled softly. “I guess so. I’m not totally sure anyone will ever hear that song, though.”
“Why not?”
“It might be too… much.” Josie met his bright blue eyes. “Too personal.”
“Why do you make music?” he asked suddenly, gaze unwavering.
She hesitated, then let the truth out. “I guess it’s an outlet for my emotions. A way to express how I’m feeling. To give myself a voice.”
“And you don’t want anyone else to hear it?”
Josie shrugged, her chest tight. “I’m having trouble with the whole… everyone else part of it. My family was always talked about in town. All our problems gossiped about. People knowing everything about me, the pity on their faces…” She felt anger flare, hot and bitter. “I’m just not sure I want to share it with the rest of the world.”
“Maybe you should look at it differently,” Charlie said softly. “Like a chance to share your story in your own words. To take control of the narrative. And maybe create something beautiful that could help people in situations like yours.”
Josie blinked, caught off guard by the thoughtfulness behind his words. Her heart softened. “Maybe,” she whispered, smiling faintly. “Thanks, Charlie.” She leaned over and pulled him into a hug, warm and unguarded.
“Ready to go home?” Catesby’s voice broke through the moment, making them jump apart like guilty teenagers.
“What are you, a fucking ninja?” Josie grumbled, scrambling to her feet as her heart raced. “Announce yourself!”
“Bye, Charlie,” she called over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow—and thanks again!”
Charlie waved after her, still smiling.
In the car, the quiet hum of the town outside, Catesby asked, “Something going on there?”
“Huh?” Josie’s eyes stayed fixed on the passing streetlights.
“With Charlie? Something going on?”
“What? No, we’re just friends.” She glanced sideways at him, narrowing her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business anyway.”
Catesby lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation.”
Josie rolls into Wilmington to spend the summer with her uncle. She didn’t expect to find a band in his storage room.
The Runarounds - Neil Crosby x oc
Chapter 2
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Wilmington, North Carolina, is a sight for sore eyes as Josie rides the Greyhound bus, the long windows framing trees that sweep across the summer countryside in blurred strokes of green. Her acoustic guitar—its surface littered with stickers peeling at the edges—rests faithfully on the seat beside her. Headphones cover her ears, but even with music pouring in, she can hear the steady hum of the road beneath the wheels, the gentle rattle of loose change in her pocket, the occasional sigh of a fellow passenger dozing against the glass.
By the time the bus hisses to a stop, the streets are hushed and nearly empty. The air outside is cool, touched with the salt-breeze that drifts in from the river. Josie swings her bag and the guitar over her shoulder, the straps biting into her skin as she steps down onto the sidewalk. Neon signs flicker halfheartedly in the distance, shop windows darkened for the night. Her eyes drift over the storefronts as she walks, until she reaches the familiar brick building—her grandfather’s old shop, worn with time but steady, now kept alive by her uncle.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Catesby’s voice booms through the shop, playful and theatrical, followed by a slow, exaggerated clap as Josie pushes through the door, the bell jangling behind her.
She pauses in the doorway. The air smells faintly of wood polish and old strings. Guitars line the walls in neat rows, their lacquered bodies catching what little light spills from the overhead bulbs. A pang of grief catches her off guard, sharp and unyielding, as her eyes settle on the space that once belonged to her grandfather.
Though she can’t yet see her uncle, his voice carries from upstairs, threaded with the pulse of live music: an electric guitar weaving its melody, drums rolling underneath, and over it all—an angelic voice, clear and raw.
“Do, do, do, do, do, doooo,” the singer vocalises, stretching notes in a way that sends shivers along Josie’s skin.
Something in his tone cuts straight through her, a sound both haunting and strangely familiar. She closes her eyes, letting the music wash over her.
“And then it starts kinda building…” the voice says, and the music swells just as promised. Layers of guitar press into one another, building a wall of sound that seems too large for the small practice space above.
“Da, da, da, duh, do, do, do, do, doooo—”
The music cuts off abruptly, leaving only silence. A moment later, a smooth D chord rings out, clear and deliberate, then fades again into quiet.
“Keep working on that bridge, boys. Might find yourselves with a song. Enjoy the space,” her uncle’s voice calls out, his tone carrying the kind of easy authority of a man who has spent his life around music. His footsteps begin to descend the wooden stairs, heavy enough to stir the air as noise fills the top floor again.
“Josie!” His grin breaks wide when he finally spots her at the bottom of the steps.
“Hi, Uncle Cate,” she says, smiling back as she lets her bags slump from her shoulders onto the worn floorboards.
“Good to see you.” He pulls her into a hug, crushing her against his chest with a strength that makes her groan.
“There a party upstairs?” she asks, her voice muffled against his shirt.
“Oh, just some kids using the space for practicing,” he says as he releases her, still smiling. “How was your trip down?”
“Good… good,” she answers, trying to shake the stiffness of travel from her shoulders.
“Hungry?”
“Starving.”
He chuckles, draping an arm across her shoulders in that easy, familiar way as they turn toward the door. Together they step out into the night, the old bell above the shop clanging one last note as it swings shut behind them.
-
Josie woke with a groan the next morning, stretching her arms above her head until her joints cracked. She had tossed and turned through most of the night, that voice—smooth, raw, unforgettable—looping in her mind like a song she couldn’t turn off.
She shuffled down the stairs in her crumpled T-shirt and found her uncle already in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee.
“Thank you,” she muttered as she snatched the mug straight from his hand, taking a reckless gulp. The hot liquid burned her tongue, but she didn’t care.
Catesby groaned in exaggerated annoyance, shaking his head as he poured himself another cup.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked, eyeing her over the rim of his mug.
Josie only shrugged and let out a sigh. “Can I have a ride downtown?”
“Sure. I’m heading to the shop now anyway,” he said, setting his cup down on the counter.
“Great,” she replied, draining the last of her coffee and placing the empty mug beside his with a small, sheepish smile.
The familiar scent of sawdust and varnish hit her the moment they arrived at the shop. It stirred something deep in her bones, a mix of nostalgia and ache. She could almost see herself as a child again—her grandfather crouched low beside her, showing her how to tighten a string or smooth a fret, letting her pluck at instruments she was far too small to hold properly.
Her mother had never joined her. She didn’t like coming to Wilmington, didn’t like being under the same roof as her father. Sending Josie here had always been easier. The only time her mother had ever returned was for her father’s funeral, a day still heavy in Josie’s memory, when grief and tension had thickened the air until she could hardly breathe. Her uncle and mother—siblings bound by blood but severed by resentment—had barely looked at one another.
The faint stir of noise upstairs pulled Josie from her thoughts. She set her bag down and climbed the dusty staircase. At the top, the space opened into a vast loft that took her breath away. Instruments were scattered across the floor and a makeshift stage filled the centre, surrounded by sagging couches and empty cans.
It was nothing like the cluttered attic her grandfather had forbidden her from exploring. Back then, cobwebs had ruled the corners and dust had choked the air. She used to sneak up here anyway, slipping through rubble to sit by the cracked windowsill, strumming her guitar and dreaming of another life.
“Hello.”
The voice startled her. She looked up to the balcony above, where a boy around her age leaned casually over the railing, watching her with curious eyes.
“Oh—uh, hi,” she stammered, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“I’m Wyatt,” he said with a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck as though suddenly aware of how awkward introductions could be.
“I’m Josie,” she replied, returning the smile. “Catesby is my uncle.”
“Oh, cool.” He descended the stairs, moving toward her with easy steps. “I work here,” he explained.
She glanced around at the instruments littering the space. “Are you in that band that was playing here last night?”
“Yeah, uh, yeah, I am,” he admitted, stumbling over the words as though he wasn’t used to being asked.
“Awesome.” Josie’s eyes caught on a white guitar resting on a stand nearby. She picked it up reverently, her fingertips tracing the delicate, intricate design carved into its body. “Wow,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“That’s my friend Neil’s,” Wyatt explained, though his gaze lingered on Josie instead of the guitar.
“Well, Neil has an amazing guitar,” she said with a smile, glancing up at him.
“Thank you,” a voice said from behind them.
Josie spun around. Several boys, all around her age, were climbing through the fire escape window one after another, a burst of energy spilling into the loft.
At the centre was Neil. He approached slowly, a smooth confidence in the way he carried himself, his light eyes steady on hers. The air between them tightened when his smile broke—gentle, unhurried, the kind of smile that felt like a secret meant only for her.
“I’m Josie,” she managed, her voice a little thinner than she meant it to be, her gaze still caught on his.
“Catesby’s niece,” Wyatt explained from beside Neil.
“Hey, I’m Charlie,” a tall blonde boy said, striding forward with easy swagger. He reached for her hand before she’d even thought to offer it. His grin was wide, dazzling, but there was a flicker of distraction in his eyes, like he was already half elsewhere.
“Hi,” she breathed, letting him shake her hand.
Behind him, another boy gave a short wave, his tone clipped but kind. “Bez.” He dropped onto the drum stool with the comfort of someone who belonged there, his posture straight, movements precise. Even at rest, he seemed coiled tight, as though waiting for someone to judge him.
“Topher,” said the next, adjusting the strap of his guitar like it was second nature. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and his smile was thoughtful, almost cautious. He carried himself like someone who had been raised on expectation but was stubbornly carving his own path.
Neil stepped forward then, close enough that Josie could smell the faintest trace of cologne, and gently lifted the white guitar from her hands. His fingers brushed hers—just for a second—but it was enough to send a spark jolting straight through her chest.
“Pete,” the last boy declared as he swooped in, not bothering with handshakes. He threw his arms around Josie, lifting her straight off her feet with a laugh. “I’m the band manager.”
Josie squealed with laughter, breathless by the time he set her down again. “Nice to meet you all,” she wheezed, earning chuckles from the group.
From the edge, Wyatt hovered quietly, watching the exchange with a soft smile. He didn’t speak, but Josie could sense there was more behind his silence than shyness.
“What are you guys practicing for?” she asked once her feet were steady, glancing at the stage setup.
“We’re playing a wedding tomorrow night,” Charlie said, his blue eyes bright, a spark of mischief in them as though the word wedding were a dare.
“A wedding?” Josie repeated, raising her brows.
“Uh, I told you guys,” Bez muttered, tapping a drumstick idly against his knee.
“Shut up,” Charlie groaned, throwing him a glare. “It’s an industry wedding.”
“No, it’s cool,” Josie said quickly, lifting her hands in reassurance. “Have fun practicing—and good luck tomorrow.” Her eyes flicked back to Neil, who was still watching her, his smile light but intent.
She turned toward the stairs.
“How long are you here for?” Neil’s voice called after her, calm and steady as if he’d been saving the question.
Josie paused, glancing back at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on her like he was waiting for something more than just an answer.
“The summer,” she said with a smile before turning and walking down the stairs, her pulse quickening with every step.
-
“So, you moved in, huh?” Catesby’s voice broke through the quiet, startling Wyatt awake.
Josie blinked around the rehearsal space. It was empty now, stripped of the storm of music that had filled it the night before, instruments resting delicately on their stands as if they were catching their breath too. Her gaze drifted to the where Wyatt lay sprawled on the balcony landing, his hoodie pulled tight around him. At Catesby’s words, he stirred, rolling over and then jerking upright, as if caught.
“Oh,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face before meeting their eyes. “Sorry… if it’s a problem, I’m just trying to save some money.” His voice was low, carrying an edge of embarrassment, like he was waiting for the ground to drop out beneath him.
Josie offered a soft smile, holding out the coffee cup she’d picked up from the café down the street. The steam curled between them. “Here.”
Wyatt hesitated for a second, then took it carefully, like it might burn him.
“Here’s the key to the bathroom downstairs,” Catesby said as he tossed a tarnished key in Wyatt’s direction. His tone was gruff, but there was no anger in it. “You can shower in there as long as you keep it clean.”
Josie watched Wyatt catch the key. He turned it over in his palm, the metal clinking softly against his ring, his expression flickering between relief and disbelief.
“Thanks,” he said finally, looking up at Catesby with a small smile. His eyes shifted almost immediately to Josie, as if to check whether she’d seen too much.
“How was the gig?” she asked once her uncle disappeared down the stairs, leaving the two of them in the airy quiet.
“It was good,” Wyatt answered quickly, standing to stretch, though the clipped edge of his tone betrayed him.
“You don’t sound so sure,” she said, her voice gentler now, coaxing rather than prying.
He let out a short, dark chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, uh, I guess I wasn’t… I did something kinda stupid.”
“Okay?” Josie tilted her head, giving him a small, encouraging smile that invited him to go on.
Wyatt shifted from foot to foot before lifting his gaze to hers. “Yeah, I get stage fright a bit,” he admitted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I got a bit too high and missed a few notes.”
The confession hung between them. Josie held his eyes, steady and quiet, until he squirmed under the weight of her attention.
“I saw you guys the other night,” she said at last, her voice light but threaded with sincerity. “That bond you have… it’s something special.” Her smile softened. “You’re lucky to have friends like that. I can bet they’re not mad at you, so you shouldn’t be mad at yourself.”
Something in his shoulders loosened. Wyatt’s lips curled into a smile that reached his eyes this time. “Thanks.”
Josie grinned, stepping back toward the stairs. “Okay, I’ll leave you to your rockstar lifestyle,” she teased, her laugh warm enough to fill the room. “Invite me to your next gig—I’d love to hear you play.”
“Yeah, definitely,” he said, still smiling as she disappeared down the stairs. The smile lingered even after she was gone, stretching across his face as though her words had carved a light into him he didn’t quite know how to put out.
Later that day, Josie found herself climbing the narrow stairs again, drawn by the faint hum of voices and shuffling from above. The closer she got, the warmer it felt, as if the air itself carried their laughter.
When she reached the landing, she saw the group scattered across the room, balancing on chairs and ladders, looping strings of lights across the beams. It looked less like a rehearsal space and more like a home in the making, lived-in and claimed by music. She smiled without meaning to, her chest tugging with something she couldn’t quite name. Something about these guys was just… warm.
“Hey,” Neil said as he stepped forward to meet her at the top of the stairs, his smile bright enough to tilt the floor beneath her. “You’re back.”
“Hi,” she answered, her heart clambering in her chest, messy and insistent. “It looks great up here.” She forced her gaze away from him, scanning the lights instead of his eyes.
“Yeah, we thought it needed a little love,” he chuckled, glancing around at the strings of bulbs like he was seeing them new through her eyes.
“Don’t we all,” she murmured, brushing past him, her shoulder grazing his for just a second longer than necessary.
“Josie, hey!” Pete’s voice rang out before he barreled into her, arms wrapping tight. She laughed into his shoulder, muffled by his energy, and a chorus of heys followed from the rest of the room.
From across the space, a tall girl with sharp eyes lingered on Josie, her stare steady, assessing.
“That’s Bender,” Pete whispered like it was a warning.
“Hi,” Josie said quickly, stepping toward her. “I’m Josie.”
“Hey… Catesby’s niece?” Bender asked, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.
“Uh, yeah.” Josie scratched the back of her neck, nerves prickling.
“I’m Bender.” The girl turned back, climbing the ladder with purposeful grace, resuming her work as though Josie were just another string of lights to hang.
“Awesome,” Josie muttered under her breath, turning back around, cheeks hot.
“Wyatt, hey,” she said more brightly, pulling him into a small hug. He looked like he needed it.
“What can I do for help?” she asked, glancing at the others.
“Here.” Neil tossed her a broom with a grin. She caught it against her chest, smiling as she moved to sweep beside him.
“Are you a musician too? Like your uncle?” he asked, watching her from the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, uh, I guess so,” she said, lips curling into a shy smile. “I actually just got signed by a label.”
Neil froze mid-sweep, his broom scraping the floor before stilling. “No fucking way,” he said, staring at her like she’d just confessed to being royalty.
“Guys!” he called out, voice cutting through the noise, pulling everyone’s attention to her. “Josie here has been holding out on us. She’s a signed artist!”
“What?”
“That’s awesome.”
“Holy shit.”
The voices tumbled over each other in surprise and delight. Josie ducked her head, cheeks warming as her eyes flicked to the floor.
“It’s no big deal really,” she mumbled, wishing the ground might swallow her whole.
“No big deal?” Charlie said with a laugh, his tone incredulous. “Only our main goal.” His grin made it clear he meant it as praise, but her stomach still twisted.
She gave a helpless shrug, not knowing what else to say. Just then, her phone buzzed, a burst of The Who’s Pinball Wizard pulling her from the spotlight.
“Oh—actually, I know this is kinda lame…” She crossed the room to the old radio tucked in the corner. Her hands trembled as she turned the dial, static pouring out until she found the right channel. “But they’re about to play my song on the radio for the first time…” She looked over her shoulder, sheepish. “I know radio’s not important anymore…”
“Stop. No, it’s awesome,” Neil said, dropping onto the couch. His certainty steadied her pulse. The others followed, smiles lighting up their faces as they crowded together in anticipation.
Josie sank onto the lounge, her knee bouncing so hard the cushions shook.
The radio crackled to life. “Okay, next up, a new artist, Josie James from Strafford, Vermont… here’s Stick Season.”
A hush fell. The air itself seemed to hold its breath as the opening chords bled from the speakers.
As you promised me that I was more than all the miles combined
You must have had yourself a change of heart like halfway through the drive
'Cause your voice trailed off exactly as you passed my exit sign
You kept on drivin' straight and left our future to the right
Charlie let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Josie’s heart stuttered. Hearing her voice bounce off the walls was surreal, disorienting—like someone else had stepped into her body and stolen her lungs.
Now I am stuck between my anger and the blame that I can't face
And memories are somethin' even smoking weed does not replace
And I am terrified of weather 'cause I see you when it rains
Doc told me to travel, but there's Covid on the planes
Wyatt pressed a fist to his mouth, eyes wide with something like awe.
Josie swallowed hard. She remembered writing that line hunched over her notebook, rain streaking her window, pain clawing her ribs. Now it belonged to the world.
And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks
And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed
And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim
I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas
Pete let out a loud, “Holy shit!” before clapping Bez on the shoulder. Bez only shook his head, his grin tight, impressed.
Josie hugged her arms to her chest, trying to hold herself together as the words kept spilling out.
And I'll dream each night of some version of you
That I might not have, but I did not lose
Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes
And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do
Neil’s hand flexed on his knee. He didn’t take his eyes off her, not once, as though trying to memorize the way she looked in this moment.
So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad
That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad
No, I am no longer funny, 'cause I miss the way you laugh
You once called me forever, now you still can't call me back
Something in Josie cracked. Hearing her own recorded voice sing about her life made the room tilt. She dug her nails into her palms, steadying herself.
The rest of the song played on, every lyric unraveling her and binding the others closer. No one spoke, no one shifted. When the final chorus rang out, the silence it left was just as loud as the song itself.
The final line bled out into static, then faded into a bright-voiced DJ cutting back in, but no one moved to touch the dial. The radio buzzed faintly, forgotten.
Josie sat frozen, her knee still bouncing, though the song was over. Her chest felt tight, like her ribs couldn’t contain what was inside. That was her voice. Out there. On the airwaves. Real. Permanent.
No one spoke at first. The silence pressed heavy around her, like the whole room was afraid to break it.
“Jesus Christ,” Charlie finally whispered, his head shaking slowly, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “That’s… that’s not just good. That’s—” He broke off, letting out a low laugh. “That’s the real thing.”
Pete shot upright, fists pumping. “That was insane! Like—you’re actually on the radio. I know you said it, but hearing it…” He laughed loudly, almost giddy, then looked at the others for backup.
“Yeah,” Bez said simply, his voice low but firm, his eyes fixed on Josie with something like respect.
Wyatt leaned forward on his knees, beer forgotten on the floor by his feet. “You sound… raw,” he said carefully, like he was still testing the words. “Like it’s ripping something open but in the best way.”
Josie blinked fast, heat pricking behind her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms to them, laughing a little shakily. “God, I can’t believe you all just had to sit through that.”
“Sit through it?” Neil’s voice cut in, quiet but clear. When she looked up, his eyes were locked on hers, steady, unwavering. “Josie, that wasn’t something to sit through. That was—” He shook his head, searching for the word. “—something to feel.”
Her breath caught. The sincerity in his tone, the weight of it, almost tipped her over.
“I mean, come on.” Charlie leaned back against the couch, his grin wide. “First time hearing yourself on the radio? You should be throwing confetti. You killed it.”
Josie tucked her hair behind her ear, her cheeks warm. “I don’t know… it’s weird. It feels like it’s not even me. Like someone else sang it and I just… hijacked their voice.”
Neil leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving hers. “No. That was you. Every word of it.”
The quiet returned for a beat, softer this time, filled with shared understanding. Around her, the boys shifted—Charlie humming a bit under his breath, Bez tapping his sticks against his leg, Wyatt staring into the floor with a ghost of a smile. Pete flopped back dramatically onto the cushions, sighing like he’d just seen the best movie of his life.
And Josie—Josie sat in the middle of them all, her heart hammering, her throat raw, the ghost of her own voice still echoing inside her head.
“Well I am feeling inspired now,” Charlie exclaims, standing to his feet. “Let’s practice.”
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Chapter 2
Okay part of a larger story I’ll be posting on wattpad (and here if you’d like)
I love the runarounds and I’m so excited for these characters.
Also an ode to Noah Kahan and his lyrics, sorry I can’t write my own songs for this!!
Summary: Lily’s bad habits have consumed her, becoming the only way she knows to escape her pain. Cole Walter is more than willing to help her keep her mind off it. Danny Walter, on the other hand, is an unexpected comfort — one that makes her wish she could break free from the habits that are breaking her.
On Wattpad: Complicated by @youngp7069
She lost everything. Now she's trying not to lose herself
After losing her family, Lily Howard spirals into self-destruction. A move to Colo
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Chapter 1 - How many are there?
The Welcome to Colorado sign mocks Lily as she steps off the plane, Jackie following not far behind with her mountain of bags. Lily rolls her eyes as Jackie calls Uncle Richard the second they’re out of the gate.
“Girls! Hi!” Katherine’s voice carries over the bustling airport.
Lily internally groans as she prepares herself to make pleasantries. She lingers behind Jackie and lets her do the talking—her specialty. Lily’s tight-lipped smile is enough to warn Katherine and George off going in for a hug.
Lily’s ears start to ache as she turns up the volume on her headphones again, trying to block out the voices of Jackie, Katherine, and George. The plane ride had been similar—drowning out Jackie’s voice is something Lily finds herself doing a lot these days. Her eyes scan over the rolling mountains as they drive to the Walters’ ranch. Her new home.
As the car comes to a stop, Lily reluctantly takes off her headphones and follows Jackie into the crisp country air. The house is huge. Jackie and Lily stay silent.
“You okay?” Katherine asks.
“Fine,” Jackie replies with a smile, while Lily gives a small nod before scanning the house with her eyes.
“Let’s get you inside. We’ll introduce you to everyone,” Katherine says, gesturing to the steps behind her. Katherine’s phone rings as they step onto the veranda, and Lily already contemplates putting her headphones back on to avoid any more voices.
Jackie’s backpack collides with Lily as she jumps back to avoid being hit by a skateboard—a rude “Move” being the only warning.
“Watch out,” Lily snaps, pushing Jackie’s backpack out of the way.
“Not my fault,” Jackie mutters in response.
Lily rolls her eyes. Her gaze follows the skateboarder and lands on another teenage boy lying down, reading a book.
“They’re everywhere,” she thinks to herself, turning and walking to the other end of the porch.
She hears Jackie introduce herself to the lounging boy before gesturing toward her, prompting Lily to do the same. Lily just rolls her eyes and opens her phone, sending a quick text to the group chat:
I hate this country shit already.
“That’s Lily,” Jackie says. “She’s anti-social,” she adds, earning a laugh from the boy.
Lily glances at him before following Jackie and Katherine inside. A little boy whips past as his dad tells him to slow down. The front door opens into a hallway that leads to the kitchen. The wall ahead is lined with coats and hats—too many to count.
“How many fucking people live here?” Lily mumbles under her breath as they stop in front of a small loungeroom, where two more teen boys sit playing video games. George introduces them as Alex and Isaac. Lily isn’t really paying attention, so she’s not overly sure which one is which, but she’s certain Jackie has retained every piece of information.
One of the boys stands and can’t keep his eyes off them as George asks him to grab some of their bags from the car. Lily looks around, hoping she’ll be shown her room soon so this can end, as the boy shakes Jackie’s hand. He looks to Lily, but she backs away, walking down the hallway to have a further look at the house.
Whatever George is saying falls on deaf ears as Lily falls back into step behind Jackie. Katherine hands them each a glass of water. Lily takes a sip and places hers down on the kitchen bench. She grumbles about the “millions of children” that live here as she notices all the clutter—shoes, toys, and random belongings strewn everywhere.
“Hey, look at this,” Jackie calls from in front of the staircase. “It’s Mum.”
Lily joins her sister, glances at the framed photo, and mutters, “Great,” before her phone vibrates in her pocket. She walks away to check it.
Girl just get you a cowboy and you’ll be fine, her friend Thea has texted. Lily scoffs as she reads it.
“Come on, Lily, Will is giving us a tour,” Jackie calls out.
“Who?” Lily mumbles, following slowly behind.
After meeting several more siblings—Nathan, Lee, Jordan, Benny, Parker—Lily has lost count and honestly doesn’t give a fuck about the whole situation. Jackie and Will are already back outside as Lily takes a deep breath and follows. She catches the end of a conversation between Jackie and yet another teenage boy by the pool.
“Wanna introduce yourselves?” Will asks.
“She’ll figure it out,” the blonde boy replies, stretching out on the pool chair.
As Lily wanders over, the boy sits up a little straighter, eyeing her up and down.
“And who are you?” he asks.
“You’ll figure it out,” she shoots back, continuing after Jackie, who is now being filmed by another teen boy. His mouth tilts into a smirk as he watches her walk away.
After Jackie is sprayed by a dog jumping out of the pool, they are finally shown to their room. Lily suddenly has a little more pep in her step as she trudges upstairs. Family portraits and dog photos line the walls. Lily is already realising peace and quiet will be hard to come by here.
The room Will opens for them is cramped with art supplies and two beds, one on either side. Lily heads straight for the bed by the windows, which open onto the lower level of the roof.
“Perfect,” she thinks to herself, eyeing the windowsill.
A loud bang makes both girls spin around to see the blonde boy standing at the door, now wearing a shirt and holding a box.
“Will, are you gonna help? There’s a ton of stuff to bring up,” he says flatly.
“I can do it,” Jackie offers, but even though Will declines, she follows him out anyway.
“Thank fuck,” Lily mutters, closing the door behind them.
Desperate for relief from the chaos, she pulls out a small metal box and a lighter from her jeans pocket. The window squeals as she opens it and makes herself comfortable, her feet resting on the roof outside. She feels her mind instantly relax as she takes her first inhale. Today has been emotionally draining, and she needs something to take her mind off it all if she’s going to finish the day without exploding.
“Wow, I did not expect this,” a voice says from behind her, the door opening and closing softly. She can hear the smile in it.
“My mum will kill you if she catches you,” he adds, the bed squeaking under his weight as he climbs onto the windowsill beside her.
Lily finally looks at his smirking face and rolls her eyes.
“I honestly could not give a fuck. What’s she going to do? Send me back to New York?” she says, glancing at him.
He chuckles. “I’m Cole, by the way.”
After a moment of silence, he adds, “And you’re Lily.”
“Good work, Cowboy, you figured it out,” she replies, passing him the blunt.
“Cowboy?” he repeats, the grin still plastered on his face.
She turns her head to meet his green eyes, observing him for a second. Dimples, soft pink lips, damp hair parting in the middle to frame his face. He is handsome—she’ll give him that.
He takes the opportunity to observe her back. Honey-brown eyes, tan skin, loose ringlets framing her face, freckles across her nose. She is breathtaking.
Those gorgeous eyes roll again as she takes the blunt back, inhaling deeply and looking out over the horizon.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Cole muses.
“Mmm,” she hums in response.
“Well, I better go grab more of your stuff,” Cole says, stepping back onto her bed. “I think I’m going to like you, Trouble.” He opens the door and slips out.
Lily exhales one last stream of smoke before tapping the blunt out on the sill and tucking it safely back into the metal box inside her bedside table.
Jackie then walks in with a box in her arms. “Are you going to help or what?” she asks.
“Yeah, no thanks,” Lily replies.
Jackie rolls her eyes. “Can you just try and make this work? Be nice to them. Your bad attitude is embarrassing me.”
“Yeah, fuck this,” Lily mutters, pushing past Jackie, straight out the front door. She begins walking down past the shed. She needs to get away—from her sister, the Walters, that house, her pain.
Lily shivers as a cool breeze hits her shoulders, the sun now setting. She glances at her phone: twelve missed calls from Jackie and several angry messages. She doesn’t bother opening them—she already knows what they’ll say.
As she approaches the house, she hesitates, not quite ready to go back inside. Then she notices the shed light on. She wanders over, shuts the wooden door behind her, and finds Cole leaning over the engine of an old truck.
He looks up as she approaches, stepping away from the hood of the truck. He shifts to stand in front of the passenger seat, smirk already in place, like he’s been waiting for her.
“Nice truck,” Lily says coolly, not bothering to look him in the eye as her gaze slides past him.
“I was hoping to have it up and running by the start of school,” he says with a shrug, “but it doesn’t look like that’s happening.”
She tilts her head, watching him for a beat. There’s a certain restlessness in him—one she recognises. It’s not enough to make her care, but it’s enough to confirm what she needs to know: he gets it. He’s restless too. That’s all the validation she was looking for.
Her eyes finally meet his, unwavering. “What’s on your mind, Trouble?” he asks, clearly intrigued.
“Yeah, talking about that is exactly what I’m trying to avoid,” she answers, stepping closer, owning the space between them.
His smile falters into something more uncertain as her hand presses against his chest. When her lips meet his, she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t soften—it’s firm, deliberate. She’s the one steering.
A low laugh escapes him, but she pushes him back into the seat without missing a beat, climbing in after him. She straddles his lap, her grip on his jaw guiding his mouth back to hers. For her, it’s not romance. It’s control. It’s quieting the chaos.
Her fingers slide under his shirt, trailing over skin with a purpose. When she pulls her own shirt over her head, her bra falling to the floor, she smirks at the way his eyes darken. “Like what you see, Cowboy?” she teases, not waiting for an answer before kissing him again, harder this time.
He tries to match her energy, but she never lets him take over. When she tugs his shirt off, she leans back and eyes him critically, a smirk tugging at her lips as if she already knows what he’s about to say.
“Like what you see, Trouble?” he offers, half-grinning.
She just rolls her eyes, dismissing the line entirely. He’s predictable. She isn’t.
The awkward shuffle of jeans and shoes is clumsy, but she makes it feel intentional, her laugh sharp, commanding the moment. When he retrieves a foil packet from the glove box, she chuckles, voice low. “Mhm. I like a man who comes prepared.” It’s not praise—it’s approval, like he’s passed a test she set without warning.
The cab fills with heat, with gasps and laughter, but for Lily it’s exactly what she wanted: distraction, release, control. She lets herself get lost in the physicality, nothing more. No thoughts of tomorrow, no thoughts of him—just silence in her head for the first time all day.
When she’s finished, she doesn’t linger. She pulls her shirt back on with brisk efficiency, sliding off his lap and onto solid ground. She fixes her hair in the reflection of the truck window, smirking at her own image before turning back to him.
She fluffs her hair, tilts her head, and flashes Cole a cheeky grin.
“What?” he asks, smiling helplessly back at her.
“Thanks for the ride, Cowboy,” she quips, winking before hopping down from the cab.
As she walks out of the shed, her footsteps light despite everything, Cole finds himself leaning back in the passenger seat, still grinning like an idiot.
Who is that girl? is all he can think. Cole spots her black lace bra, still sitting on the floor of the truck. He goes to call out to her but she’s already gone, already onto the next thing—because for her, this was never about him. He opens the glove box and slides it in there for safe keeping.
The house is still bustling as Lily steps through the threshold—more so than earlier, now that everyone is inside.
“Oh good, dinner is almost ready,” Katherine calls from the kitchen.
Lily gives her a tight-lipped smile and takes a seat at the far-too-long dinner table. Soon, everyone crowds in, chatting and laughing, the noise almost unbearable. Jackie sits on one side of her, Alex on the other. Across the table, Cole’s green eyes flicker her way, never staying off her for long.
Dinner is served, and it’s absolute mayhem, but Lily manages to grab herself a full plate. She can tell Jackie is struggling with this free-for-all chaos. After a few minutes, Jackie leans in, whisper-shouting.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone before? Where did you go?”
“Nowhere, Jackie. It’s fine.”
“Fine? You just walked out and left for hours!” Jackie snaps, louder this time.
The table around them quiets slightly, everyone pretending not to listen.
“Jackie, leave it. It’s none of your business,” Lily fires back, venom coating her words.
“God, you are so selfish!” Jackie bursts, the room falling completely silent now. “There was no reason for you to make me worried—or Katherine and George. It’s not fair of you.”
Lily stares down at her plate, unable to reply.
“It’s fine, Jackie,” Katherine says gently from across the table.
“No, I’m sorry, but it’s not fine! She always does this and has no care for anyone but herself,” Jackie pushes on, her voice cracking with frustration.
The words hang heavy. Lily lifts her eyes, meeting too many staring faces at once. The heat in her chest builds until she shoves her chair back, the scrape loud in the silence, and storms upstairs. Nobody follows.
Steam still clings to her skin by the time she settles into bed after a scalding shower, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. When Jackie finally comes in, Lily can practically feel her holding back another lecture.
“I just don’t get it, Lily…” Jackie exhales, long and heavy.
Before she can say more, Lily throws back the covers, slips out the door, and pads quietly downstairs. The house is silent—eerily so. She didn’t think that was possible here.
Her feet glide across the timber floor until she notices the faint glow of the TV coming from the loungeroom. Standing in the doorway, she finds the boy she’d seen reading earlier, sprawled across the couch.
“Everything okay?” he asks, looking over at her.
She sits down beside him, ignoring the question. “Oh—you’re watching Fight Club?” she asks, nodding toward the paused screen.
“You can tell that’s Fight Club just from one frame?” he says, half impressed.
His gaze lingers, and she drops her eyes to her hands, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, yeah—it’s a pretty famous movie,” she muses. “Can I watch with you?”
“Absolutely,” he says warmly, shifting over and pulling the blanket across both their legs.
“Are you sure you’re okay? With what happened at dinner and everything?” His voice is quieter now, careful.
She lets out a small laugh. “Yeah. I just wish I’d eaten a little more before storming off. I’m starving now.”
“I’ll get you something,” he says, already standing.
She blinks, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”
“Cereal okay?” he calls from the kitchen.
She nods, unable to stop the small smile tugging at her lips.
When he returns, she eats without protest, her hunger outweighing her pride. Afterward, she curls back into the couch—and into him. It feels natural, though a little unnerving. She finds herself leaning against his shoulder, his arm slipping easily around her.
As the movie plays on, she forgets herself. The thoughts that usually claw at her go quiet without her realising. She doesn’t need to fill the silence. She doesn’t need to be sharp or guarded. For once, she just is.
By the time the credits roll, her head is nestled against his chest, her breath rising and falling in sync with his. She doesn’t even notice she’s relaxed until the tension in her body has already slipped away.
Danny lies still, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, her coconut shampoo soft in the air. He feels her weight against him, warm and unguarded, and tightens his arm just slightly, as if afraid she might vanish.
Lily doesn’t notice. For the first time in a long time, she feels safe.
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Please read the rest of wattpad!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 I’ve written 10 long chapters. Love you all xoxxo
Summary: One cruel comment, one protective boyfriend, and a reminder that the Broncos boys don’t play when it comes to family.
Masterlist
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The first half had been a blur of tackles, line breaks, and the deafening roar of the crowd. As the halftime siren echoed, Jordan Riki jogged towards the tunnel, sweat glistening on his brow, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The Broncos were holding their own, and Jordan's performance had been solid, showcasing the aggression and athleticism that had become his trademark over his five seasons with the team .
As he approached the tunnel entrance, the usual chorus of cheers and jeers from the crowd intensified. But one voice cut through the noise with a venom that made Jordan's blood run cold.
"Oi, Riki! How's it feel knowing your missus is just hopping from one Bronco to another? First Carrigan, now you? She's making her way through the team!"
Jordan's steps faltered. The words hit him like a high tackle, unexpected and jarring. He turned sharply, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on a man with a smug grin, clearly pleased with himself.
"Say that again!" Jordan shouted, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief.
The man laughed, repeating his taunt louder, drawing the attention of nearby spectators and players.
Before anyone could react, Jordan lunged towards the barrier separating the players from the crowd. His teammates, still making their way off the field, froze in shock.
"Jordan, no!" Pat Carrigan shouted, sprinting forward.
Reece Walsh, ever the quick one, reached Jordan first, grabbing his arm. "Mate, it's not worth it!"
Pat joined them, placing a firm hand on Jordan's shoulder. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Let it go."
Jordan's chest heaved, his fists clenched, but he allowed his teammates to guide him down the tunnel, the jeers fading behind them.
The game had ended in a hard-fought victory for the Broncos. The team was elated, but Jordan's earlier confrontation lingered in his mind.
As he exited the locker room, freshly showered and dressed, he spotted Y/N waiting nearby. Her eyes met his, concern evident in her gaze.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hey," he replied, pulling her into a tight embrace.
They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the stadium fading into the background.
"I'm sorry about earlier," Jordan began. "That guy... what he said..."
Y/N pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. "You don't have to apologise. People will talk, make assumptions. But we know the truth."
He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I just hate that they dragged you into it."
She smiled gently. "It comes with the territory. Dating an NRL player isn't exactly low-profile."
Jordan chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Still, I want to protect you from all that."
"And you do," she assured him. "Every day."
They stood together, the night air cool around them, finding solace in each other's presence amidst the chaos of the world they navigated together.
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The apartment was quiet, the city noise muted behind double-glazed windows. The post-game high had given way to a different kind of energy—slower, softer. Familiar.
Y/N padded barefoot across the living room, wearing one of Jordan’s oversized training shirts that hung mid-thigh. Her makeup was long gone, and her hair was piled in a messy bun, but he looked at her like she’d walked off a runway.
He was curled on the lounge, damp curls still wild from the shower, legs stretched out, TV remote in one hand. When she sat beside him, he automatically opened his arms, and she melted into his side like she was made to fit there.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her temple.
“You okay?” she asked, voice gentle. She didn’t need to clarify. They both knew what she meant.
Jordan sighed, his fingers tracing slow circles into her thigh. “Yeah. Now I am.”
There was something unshakably grounding about home. About her. About the way her cheek pressed against his chest like she could hear every beat of his heart and know exactly what it meant.
“I hated seeing you like that,” she admitted after a pause. “So angry. So... not you.”
He nodded. “I was just so mad. Not about what he said about me—I’ve heard worse. But dragging you into it? Making you seem like—like you’re some groupie or a pass-around?” He scoffed. “You’re my everything.”
She looked up at him, eyes glassy but steady. “I know. And I know it’s just noise. But thank you. For caring so much.”
Jordan leaned down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to her lips. “I’d fight the whole stadium if I had to.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring,” she teased, smiling into his mouth.
He grinned, pulling her fully into his lap. “Okay, not the whole stadium. Maybe just that one muppet in the third row.”
They both laughed, and the tension of the night cracked and softened like sugar in hot tea.
“I don’t want to share you with the media or the rumours,” he admitted quietly. “But I’d rather go through all of that if it means I get to have nights like this. Us. Here.”
Her fingers found the chain around his neck—simple, silver, always tucked under his jersey. She tugged it gently, just enough to make him meet her eyes.
“Then let’s just stay right here a bit longer,” she whispered.
Jordan wrapped his arms tighter around her, one hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her again—longer this time, slower. Everything he couldn’t say with words lived in that kiss. His gratitude. His love. His vow.
The TV hummed in the background, but neither of them paid it any mind. Wrapped in each other, tangled in warmth and quiet promises, it felt like the world had finally stilled.
And for once, being Jordan Riki didn’t mean being the forward with a highlight reel or a headline.
It just meant being hers.
—————
The sun cast a golden hue over the backyard, where the aroma of sizzling sausages mingled with the laughter of close friends. Reece Walsh stood at the grill, tongs in hand, flipping steaks with practiced ease. His three-year-old daughter, Leila, darted around the yard in a mini Broncos jersey, her giggles echoing as she chased bubbles blown by Y/N.
Jordan Riki lounged on a deck chair, a content smile on his face as he watched Y/N and Leila play. Pat Carrigan sat nearby, sipping a cold drink, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
"Auntie Y/N! Look at this!" Leila exclaimed, holding up a dandelion she had found.
Y/N knelt down, examining the flower with exaggerated interest. "Wow, that's beautiful, Leila! You're quite the explorer."
Leila beamed, then turned to Jordan. "Uncle Jordy, can you help me make a flower crown for Auntie Y/N?"
Jordan chuckled, rising from his seat. "Of course, princess. Let's find some more flowers."
As Jordan and Leila scoured the yard for blossoms, Reece glanced over his shoulder, a grin on his face. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger, mate."
Jordan shrugged, smiling. "Can't say no to that face."
Pat leaned back, watching the scene unfold. "It's like our own little family here."
Reece nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, it is. Leila adores you all. She talks about Auntie Y/N and Uncle Jordy all the time."
Y/N joined them, brushing grass from her knees. "She's a sweetheart. It's easy to love her."
Leila returned, a makeshift crown of daisies and dandelions in her hands. "Auntie Y/N, for you!"
Y/N took the crown, placing it on her head with a laugh. "Thank you, darling. I feel like a queen."
Jordan scooped Leila up, spinning her around as she squealed with delight. "You're the best, Leila."
As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the yard, the group settled around the outdoor table, sharing food, stories, and laughter. In that moment, amidst the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversation, they found comfort in their chosen family, bound not by blood, but by love and shared experiences.
———-
Jordan Riki (@jordanriki)
@jordanriki:
Blood doesn’t make a family. Loyalty does. Don’t play with ours 🤝🖤 #NoOneTouchesHer #BBQAtWalshys
📍Brisbane 🧡 liked by @walshyy07, @ppaattyycarrigan and 68,203 others
Reece Walsh (@walshyy07)
@walshyy07:
Family first. Always. Say what you want. But if you’re loud enough to say it near our people, just know—we hear it. #AuntieY/N #LeilaApproved #Don’tMessWithOurCircle
📍Backyard therapy 💛 liked by @jordanriki, @y.n.username and 82,771 others
Pat Carrigan (@ppaattyycarrigan)
@ppaattyycarrigan:
Day ones only. Keep the noise out. BBQ, beers, and real ones. #ProtectOurOwn #SheWasThereBeforeThe Hype
📍Home 🔥 liked by @walshyy07, @nrlonnine and 75,114 others
Comments:
@brisbroncosfan: “The subtle shade is not so subtle 😂💅 Protect Y/N at all costs!!”
@nrlteaqueen: “We all know what this is about 👀 and they’re 1000% right for it.”
@lilwalshyfan: “Leila calling her Auntie Y/N 😭 the cutest. I love this friend group sm.”
@nrlgossipcentral: “So... Pat wasn’t her boyfriend?? 👀”
Guys I’m writing a long ass mlwtwb fanfic on Wattpad and it’s the first time I’ve put so much time into a story but I’ve never used Wattpad to publish before - how do you get interest up on your story???
Pls if you’re interested head over - https://www.wattpad.com/user/youngp7069?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_profile&utm_campaign=invitefriends&wp_page=home&wp_uname=youngp7069
im just out here trying 2 Works, 3 Reading Lists, 5 Followers
The lot was buzzing. Engines revved like beasts in cages, headlights sweeping through the dark as burnouts smoked the air. Marcel, Curtis, Caitlin, and Zac leaned back on Curtis’s bike, half-watching the contests, half-people-watching the crowd. Nothing too serious. Not yet.
Then they heard it—a low rumble, deep and smooth, too clean to be local. A car cut through the haze like a shark through water. A bright red Dodge Challenger, spotless, muscular, and proud. It rolled in slow, its engine purring with restrained menace.
Zac’s eyes widened. “Holy shit… who is that?”
The door opened. Out stepped a woman—all legs and attitude. She was dressed to stun: latex shorts, fishnets, and a zipped-down racing bodysuit that left little to imagination. She moved like the pavement owed her something.
Curtis stiffened beside him. “Oh shit…”
All eyes shifted to Ray across the lot. He’d been mid-conversation, half-smirking—until he saw her. Now, he was standing stone still, locked on target.
Caitlin noticed immediately. “Ray’s enemy?” she asked under her breath.
“Not quite,” Curtis replied, gaze fixed.
The woman didn’t stop. She walked directly toward Ray, cool and unflinching. Her voice rang out clear, controlled. “I just want to talk to you.”
Ray didn’t move, but his voice cut through the lot like a blade. “About two and a half fucking years late.”
A few racers turned to watch. The sound dropped just a notch.
“Ray, come on—” she tried again.
But he stepped forward now, his jaw clenched. “No. You just left. In the middle of the night. No note, no goodbye. Nothing. For three fucking years.”
The lot went silent.
Zac leaned toward Curtis. “Ex-girlfriend?”
Curtis didn’t look away. “Not quite.”
“You can’t just show up at my race and act like I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to talk to you,” Ray said, voice rising.
“You are such a stubborn prick,” she fired back without hesitation.
“Oh, please,” he scoffed, turning to walk away.
“Race me,” she said.
He stopped dead.
“No.”
“If I win, you let me talk.”
Ray glanced back over his shoulder. “And if I win?”
“I’ll go back to the city,” she said without flinching. “You don’t have to see me again.”
For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, without a word, he turned and climbed into his car. The message was clear.
She returned to hers.
Zac watched them both. “Love of his life?”
Curtis shifted forward slightly, his voice lower now. “Closer.”
Engines growled awake. Y/N gripped the leather steering wheel. In the rearview, she touched up her lip gloss with trembling fingers, stole one last glance at herself.
Ray sat motionless, but his eyes never left her. He couldn’t help it. He never could.
“Let’s get on with it,” he muttered, finally pulling his gaze away.
She gave him one last look—pleading, searching—but then locked in.
The flag dropped. Engines screamed, tires tore into asphalt, and they were off like bullets from a gun.
Ray pulled ahead, then she caught up. Side by side, the cars tore through the course. At the turnaround, she reached it first, tail-spinning slightly but controlling it like a pro. Ray slipped through the inside.
On the final stretch, they fought for inches. It was brutal. Fast. Relentless. But she nudged just ahead.
Curtis sat back, exhaling. “Soulmates.”
The crowd roared.
After the race, Y/N climbed out of her car, slow and steady. Ray followed, saying nothing. She walked toward Curtis and the others.
“Hey, Curt,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair. “Would you mind getting my car back to town?”
“No problem,” Curtis said with a faint smile. She kissed his cheek gently.
“It’s good to see you,” he added.
She smiled back, then looked to the others. “Hey, Marcel.”
He was too stunned to reply.
As she walked away, Zac turned, eyes wide. “Shotgun. I’m driving that thing.”
“No fucking way,” Curtis muttered. “She will actually kill you if anything happens to it.”
“Come on, I’m the best driver. Plus, it’s either that or I ride your bike home.”
Curtis didn’t argue. He just handed over the keys.
Zac peeled out down the road with Caitlin in the passenger seat. Curtis followed on his bike, Marcel trailing behind.
Not ten minutes later, Zac hit a massive pothole, lost control for half a second, and skidded off the road. The front end slammed into a tree. Not hard—but hard enough to leave a big, nasty dent on the front left side of the hood.
Curtis pulled up, his mouth dropping open. “Oh, we are so dead. She’s going to break our kneecaps and leave us out here to die.”
Zac rubbed the back of his neck. “Cait, can you fix this?”
Caitlin crouched down, inspecting the damage. “I think so… if Logan has the right shade of red.”
Zac glanced at her. “How long do we have?”
Curtis frowned. “Depends.”
“On what?” Caitlin asked, standing.
Curtis sighed. “On how many times they fight and make up before they get over themselves.”
They drove it back to the garage, quiet and tense.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Meanwhile, Ray and Y/N were sitting up on top of his car, parked under the bridge. The world felt far away up here, still and quiet.
“It’s beautiful,” Y/N whispered.
Ray stared out at the water, his voice cold. “Why are you here?”
She swallowed hard. “Straight to it, huh.”
“I missed you,” she admitted after a moment.
He scoffed bitterly. “Missed me? You left me.”
“I had to,” she said, her voice cracking. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it,” he snapped, standing now, pacing. “Don’t lie. Don’t sugarcoat. Just say it.”
Her eyes filled. “Ray, I—”
“No, Y/N. No more bullshit.”
“I can’t.” Her voice broke. “I had no choice.”
“You wanted to talk,” he said through gritted teeth, “so fucking talk.”
Tears started to fall as her hand went to her mouth. “I can’t…”
He stepped toward her, softer now, but still sharp. “Y/N. Talk to me.”
She looked up into his eyes, breath shaking. “I… I did something bad. And your dad—he found out. He had evidence. He said if I didn’t leave town… if I didn’t leave you… he’d turn me in.”
Ray froze. “What did you do?”
Her voice trembled. “I—” she stopped again, covering her mouth, trying to breathe.
He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “Shh, baby. I’m here. Please talk to me.”
“I killed them,” she whispered. “It’s my fault. I killed them.”
His voice cracked. “Killed who?”
“Melissa,” she sobbed, “and her little girl.”
Her words poured out now—stumbling, broken, jagged. “I was driving. I stopped at Saltwater Creek Crossing. It was empty—or I thought it was. Then everything flipped. My car spun. I woke up upside down. Head pounding. I heard tires, screaming…”
Ray stood, face pale, heart pounding.
“My vision was blurry. I heard the sirens. Your dad showed up. He said it was my fault. Said I was driving too fast. He had photos. Skid marks. Wreckage. He said if I stayed, I’d go to prison.”
She looked up, tears streaming. “Ray, it’s my fault.”
“No,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” she whispered. “I killed them.”
“No,” he repeated, kneeling down again. “It was her asshole husband.”
She blinked. “What? No. Your dad—”
“He lied to you,” Ray said. “Her drunk, abusive prick of a husband came into the bar bragging. He cut her brakes. Said he’d ‘teach her a lesson.’ My dad knew. He covered it up.”
“Why?” she choked.
“To keep you away from me,” Ray growled. “He wanted me to crawl back to him.”
Her whole body shook. “We lost so much time.”
Ray pulled her into him, holding her tightly. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to make up for it.”
……………………………………………………………………………………
Back at the garage, Logan stormed in, eyes narrowing at the dented Challenger.
“What the fuck is this?” he barked. “Whose car is this?”
No one answered.
He circled the car slowly, freezing when he spotted the lightning bolt embossed on the steering wheel.
“Oh no,” he muttered. “What have you done?”
“Okay, it might’ve clipped a tree,” Zac grimaced.
“That’s Y/N’s car. You idiots damaged her car?” Logan’s disbelief cut deep.
“We’re fixing it. Chill,” Caitlin said sharply.
“She will bury you alive in the woods if this isn’t perfect,” Logan warned.
“You know her?” Zac asked.
“Everyone who matters around here knows her. And knows not to mess with her car,” Logan murmured.
He stared at Curtis. “How could you let this happen?”
Curtis glanced at Zac, who shrugged nervously.
“Where is she?” Logan demanded.
“She’s with Ray,” Marcel said quietly.
Logan shook his head, pacing. “Great. So either she’s in a bad mood and we’re dead. Or in a good mood and we’re still dead.”
Caitlin cut in, “Do you have the right red paint?”
Logan muttered, fetching the cans. “Let’s fix this before she kills us.”
……………………………………………………………………………………
Meanwhile, Ray and Y/N drove back to his place in silence. His hand never left hers, squeezing tightly as if afraid she’d vanish again.
Inside his room, he slowly peeled off her clothes and replaced them with one of his worn NASCAR shirts—the one she always liked. They slid under the covers, her head resting on his chest, his arms circling her like a shield.
“I missed you, Ray,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I never stopped thinking about you. Loving you.”
Her lips brushed a small kiss onto his stomach.
“I was so scared,” she admitted softly, “but I never should have left. Especially not like that. Without saying goodbye.”
Ray said nothing, staring at the ceiling. Silent tears fell down his cheeks.
Finally, he pulled her tighter, vowing silently never to let go again.
Her breathing slowed, her body relaxed.
Ray lay awake, eyes open, already plotting how to deal with his father—how to finally put this nightmare behind them.
……………………………………………………………………………………
I had this sitting in my drafts for a long ass time and thought I better just post it! I love this TV series and i hope they make a million more seasons!! I also can’t remember if I edited this and can’t be bothered to now so I hope there is no mistakes!
Sorry I have been MIA, I’ll try and post some more uk YouTuber imagines soon xx
Please respect that this is my own work and that I've worked really hard on those imagines, don’t copy or edit stuff. However reblog, comment and like as much as you want. Enjoy my loves. xxx
Dad's best friend (smut)
Charlie is the best friend of reader's father, but even a cop like him eventually loses the fight against his emotions.
Touch Starved (smut)
The reader is doing her internship at the station, but all she can focus on is her touch starved boss, Chief Swan
Let the Rain Wash Away Our Secrets (smut)
The reader is one of Bella's best friends. But as she comes to Forks to visit her younger friend, Bella is too distracted by her boyfriend, giving (y/n) and Charlie the chance to get to know one another.
Stay for a while (smut)
The reader is new to Forks, on her first day she crosses paths with the handsome Chief that instantly catches her attention. How convenient that they meet around the same time Charlie needs a date to his daughter's wedding.
Take Care of Me (Charlie x Reader x Carlisle smut)
Reader got into a car crash, but she got away with only a few bruises - but that won’t stop her two lovers from taking what they’re desperate for.
Shattered Glass (smut)
She finally had enough. She snapped, she killed her abusive husband before her mind could pick up on what her body had done. Or: When Charlie Swan helps dispose of a body.
The Assistant (smut)
(Y/n) is hired as Charlie's assistant, and even though he doesn't want an assistant, it doesn't take long for them to give in.
A gentle man (smut)
A description of how Charlie experienced the night Bella suddenly left him and Forks behind, a night full of sadness, a sadness the reader tries to distract him from.
A Broken Down Car and Two Lost Souls (smut)
The reader's car breaks down and Chief Swan is right there to help her, she can't let him go without properly thanking him first.
you never thought jamie tartt could be anything but a prick.
𑣲 saved you a seat I @benedictscanvas
𑣲 gentlemen I @danistartt
secret dating because reader works for Richmond (as like pr or physio or something) but when they win a match one day Jamie is so overcome with joy he just has to kiss her
𑣲 bus ride I @axelsagewrites
𑣲 decide I @/axelsagewrites
they both like you and when they came to settle it once and for all neither of them expected this out come.
𑣲 practise mishap I @/axelsagewrites
𑣲 i’d be better armed if you agreed to take it I @pandorasprongs
higgins' new assistant happens to be an old friend of the reader's, and their reunion hits jamie with major feelings of jealousy. when the team thinks that the pair of them are going on a date soon, jamie decides enough is enough.
𑣲 comfort crowd, you can always count I @/pansorasprongs
reader gets cheated on and jamie, whose trying to be a better friend and person, decides to help her out by hiding her phone for the day.
𑣲 i can see you I @rqgnarok
you and jamie have been watching each other for ages, trying not to feel the pull between you. a moment in the hallway changes everything.
𑣲 delicate I @/rqgnarok
jamie hadn’t planned on dating. his reputation’s never been worse. but then he met you.
𑣲 music to my eyes I @/rqgnarok
jamie has a crush on the band’s bassist.
𑣲 untitled I @/rqgnarok
𑣲 three times ‘cause i’ve waited my whole life I @its-time-to-write
𑣲 coffee at midnight I @/its-time-to-write
𑣲 birds of a feather I @/its-time-to-write
𑣲 about you I @buckychristwrites
Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you’re publicly feuding with.
𑣲 could this be I @/buckychristwrites
One minute, you're single and working for AFC Richmond as the team's medic. The next minute, you're in a fake relationship with the team's handsome striker who you know next to nothing about…
𑣲 i can see you I @hopefulromances
Roy's sister comes back to town
𑣲 fuck I @wlntrsldler
𑣲 spring rolls and stocks I @veryberryjelly
𑣲 distractions I @illiterateaffairs
𑣲 you’re obsessed I @mllersjoel
he has a huge crush on an actress and sees her at a richmond event and she flirts w him he’s really shy bc he likes her
𑣲 tour de richmond I @ofstarsandvibranium
Jamie gives you a tour of Richmond as well as gets to know you better. When you tell your cousin of his teammates generosity, he suddenly becomes a big hostile towards Jamie.
𑣲 operation: tartts heart I @theowritesstuff
Jamie’s too scared to confess his (obvious) feelings for you, so when Richmond gets another clubhouse attendant who starts flirting with you, the team suddenly all become your guard dogs.
𑣲 other people I @/theowritesstuff
You and Jamie have a discussion about the exclusivity of your relationship
𑣲 in the stands I @cauliflowercounty
𑣲 this is me trying I @alloftheimagines
Reader who was crushing on Jamie overhears him insulting them or making fun of them
𑣲 if somebody hurts you, i wanna fight I @/alloftheimagines
kianamaiart
prguitarman
areudirty
izzy806
vaporwave
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
