#brooklynxcarver

[coachmedina]

location: the swinging door with: @brooklynxcarver​

Tate didn’t come to The Swinging Door often. In fact, he had gone 365 days between visits, coming for last year’s Monster Mash and not stepping foot inside the bar again until this year’s party. And yet, somehow he’d managed to not only attend this year’s Monster Mash but he found himself standing at the bar again only one week later. He didn’t know what it was about seeing Brooklyn at éternité that had made him get in his truck and drive across town tonight, but here he was, standing in front of the very bar she was working behind at ten thirty on a Friday night. Tate didn’t even want to think about what he’d have done if she wasn’t working.

“Hey, stranger,” he said softly when Brooke appeared before him, eyes softening at the sight of her. It’d been a weird couple of months for Tate, and while the team had done well and had a short run in the playoffs, they hadn’t won the championship he’d been hoping for. Something about the end of football season always got him feeling more nostalgic than he liked to admit, and he chalked this night up to that. “When do you get off?” Tate asked before blushing just slightly. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t just assume you are free. Let me try again. Do you have plans tonight when you get off?” 

[coachmedina]

location: éternité with: @brooklynxcarver​ | closed

Tate’s parents enjoyed all forms of entertaining, but when they wanted to take him out to dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in town, he’d almost expected it to be some kind of intervention. He was stress-eating regularly and working out more than usual to balance it out. With his first season as head coach lingering, there was a lot to worry about. Thankfully, Tate was convinced that his team was ready. 

Dinner went well, his parents wanting to celebrate more than nag this time, and he was feeling pretty relaxed by the end of it. As he made his way to the front door behind his mom and dad, Tate smiled at the way his dad slipped his arm around his mom’s shoulders. The feeling in his heart was the familiar pang that he felt any time he saw such a gesture: a stab of hurt knowing he could never find such a love. Tate Medina was cursed to live a life incapable of feeling love. He’d grown to accept it, but that didn’t make it any easier. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he started scrolling through his contacts to find anyone to help take his mind off it, but his head jerked up as soon as he heard his mother say her name: “Brooklyn?” Tate cleared his throat and came to a stop, knowing better than to try and run now that she’d spotted him. “Hey, Brooke,” Tate offered a weak smile, tucking his phone away quickly. “You look good,” his dad was saying, Tate’s face showing every bit of what he was feeling as he let out a slow sigh.