Feel The Burn: Chapter 22 (Final)
Lance Tucker x Reader | Destroyer!Chris x Reader
Series Masterlist
Your casual situationship with notorious flirt Lance Tucker comes to a shocking head at a party, fortunately the mysterious stranger you meet that same night is more than happy to help take your mind off it.
Wordcount: Approx 7.2k (oops)
Here we have it - the final part! This story has been such a ride, it's the longest I've ever taken to write a fic and it's really pushed me. I'm so glad I kept going with it. Thanks again to all of you who have read, reblogged, commented and supported me. It means so much, thank you. I hope you like how it ends.
Chris arranges for the cab to take you both to your place rather than his. Mercifully, Lance had remembered to bring the bags in from his car to the hospital waiting room and thank God, because you definitely forgot about them. After you pull up and slump out of the car, Chris drags them inside and leaves them neatly by your front door.
You find yourself moving into the kitchen almost on instinct, like some sort of muscle memory. It’s very late now and your body sags with exhaustion, but your mind is firing at a mile per minute – you feel wired, slightly crazed. You make yourself a mug of chamomile tea without even really thinking about it, Chris follows behind and you wordlessly make him a cup too – even though you both know he doesn’t really like it.
The Uber ride from the hospital had been in silence. You’d both stared straight ahead, no sound or movement apart from a fleeting instant when he’d held your hand – then dropped it again like he’d been caught doing something wrong. You neither corrected him or reprimanded him because, frankly, you weren’t sure which you should be doing.
You’d endlessly played through what you wanted to say to him in your mind, but you couldn’t keep much of a coherent thread. You kept dramatically oscillating through what you thought you should do. Part of you knew it was best to just cut ties now, unable to forgive him for what he’d done and the gaslighting leading up to it, but you also knew now that he was clearly struggling and had been for some time. Would it be right to just abandon someone you care about during the hardest time of their life? To have your actions suggest that addiction is shameful and so that person should be ostracised? That didn’t feel right. You weren’t sure if you were able to let him go, but you couldn’t just carry on like nothing had happened, either. Your relationship with Chris would never be the same again.
So…what should you do?
Each time you thought you had made your choice, those niggling doubts from the other side would seep in and cloud your judgement. It felt like you were seeing this all through a thick haze, unable to grasp the whole picture and find the clear path.
And what about Lance? The two of you had shared some sort of ‘moment’ at the hospital, whatever that was. Was it a fleeting need for comfort in someone else, or something else entirely? You couldn’t deny that he’d consistently showed up for you when you needed him, both when asked and not asked. Was it possible that some old feelings for him were stirring up again?
But he’d also hurt you badly, throwing you away at the drop of a hat. Even if you broke up with Chris and did allow yourself to feel that way about Lance again, who’s to say it wouldn’t implode the next time his own feelings wobbled? Could you really put yourself through all of that again?
You look at Chris as you sip your tea, he looks back at you expectantly as he swallows from his own mug. Despite it all, your heart aches looking at his face in this moment. The fatigue, the weariness, the uncertainty about what was going to happen next. Not just with you, but with everything. You wonder if you mirror the same in your own expression.
“Shall we go sit?” you ask. It’s awkward, like you’re a tour guide directing a stranger rather than talking to the man you’re in an intimate relationship with.
He nods and follows you into the living room. You seem to move painfully slowly, as if your body is trying to postpone a conversation that you’re still not ready for. You reluctantly sit on the couch, and he drops down next to you.
Now or never.
You decide to just start. Just go for it. Hope that your heart will take the lead while your gut and brain fill in the gaps.
“Chris, I…” you croak.
“We should break up,” he says quietly as he stares into your eyes. His tone is firm, but kind.
You recoil from him in shock, blinking for a moment as you check you definitely heard what you thought you did. That was the last thing you ever expected him to say.
“No, wait, I wasn’t necessarily, I didn’t…I wasn’t definitely going to-” you splutter as you try and get your words out. It was hard before, now it’s impossible.
“I could see you battling with what you should do,” he rubs his hand comfortingly up your back. “Could see you all torn up trying to make a decision. Your thinking face is never discreet,” he chuckles thinly. “So, I’m making it for you. We should split”.
His voice is so gentle, so kind, but it doesn’t soften the blow. It’s a strange feeling, there is a sense of relief - but at the same time you fear that your heart might simply split in two.
“Chris…let’s not be hasty,” you choke out, “you’re gonna need support, help to get through this. I know it’s hard and we can’t just go back to how it was…but, I don’t know if I can just leave you,” you squeeze his hand tightly, like there’s a chance you might be able to pause all of this if you touch the right spot, the right combination to open the safe. But looking into his eyes you just know it’s all futile, they’re the eyes of someone who has made up their mind.
“I know, Princess,” he sighs and runs a calming finger along your chin and jawline, “that’s because you’re a good person. But this is the right thing, for both of us”.
“Don’t…don’t you want me anymore?” you ask, cringing at how pathetic you sound but unable to hold it back.
He chuckles lightly but it’s not cruel, not malicious. It’s warm, reassuring.
“Of course I do, Princess. Of course I do. But I need space to work on myself, to really beat this thing. I can only do it alone, it has to be for me – not for anybody else. And you need space too, you need time. You shouldn’t be in a relationship with someone who put you at risk like I did. And I shouldn’t be in a relationship with anyone, at least not right now.”
You know he’s right, as painful as this all is. You’re in awe of how mature and emotionally intelligent he’s managing to be. He has his demons, but you know deep down that he’s a good man. A good man who needs help, who made mistakes and is doing his best to atone for them. But the only person who can help him is himself. You already knew that, but you needed him to show you. You look at him, and he looks back. You seem to silently communicate this between the two of you. He nods with melancholy as if confirming it.
It’s really over.
“I’m sorry that this ended the way it did,” you smile sadly at him, leaning your face into his hand.
He hums, rubbing a thumb across your cheek and collecting your tears. You see the mist in his own eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry, for everything. Maybe it’s cowardly, but I just don’t know if I can look into your eyes again and not think about what I did. The guilt would eat me alive”.
You nod, swallowing painfully, “I understand”.
The two of you sit in silence for a while, knowing that this is likely the last time you will ever see each other. You soak up the moment the best you can, thinking about the better days. You lean your head onto his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you.
“Thank-you,” you tell him softly.
“For what?” he asks, he looks genuinely surprised.
“For helping me pick myself up. Helping me find my confidence,” you swallow. “I guess it’s too late to be candid but it’s still better than never. I know this didn’t end the way we wanted, but you’ve supported me so much. You’ve…allowed me to find myself, to not doubt myself and my potential. You’ll always have had that impact, no matter what. I suppose if I’m honest with myself, I had a sort of idealised version of you in my head, so I only saw what I wanted to see.”
He smiles wistfully, tugging you closer and kissing your crown. “You did all that, not me. You just needed a little push, that’s all. But yeah, in the spirit of honesty…I think I maybe I had a similar problem. I liked the way you looked at me, liked how it made me feel. I felt like a better man through your eyes. So, I suppose the ugly truth is that I was too scared to tell you about my drinking in case that all changed. But real relationships are meant to be about managing the good and the bad, not just the fluffy highlights. It’s much easier to see that now. I guess hindsight is 20/20, like they say”.
You take a beat to absorb what he’s saying. He’s right, it all seems so obvious now. It was staring you both in the face this whole time. You had both found what you needed in the other, but it was an image, an idea – you can’t gloss over the ugly parts and expect it to feel whole. Love can be beautiful, but it can also be messy, can be awkward and unpalatable. It means navigating life’s challenges together, allowing them to see all of you – your flaws, your failures. Being with someone should mean being with them entirely, not just cherry picking the parts that make you feel good.
“I do love you, you know,” you tell him in a small voice.
“I know. I love you too”, he replies quietly.
The two of you sit on your couch together long after your tea runs cold. You hold his hand, and he holds yours. There’s nothing more to say, no new words – you’d only be circling the already covered ground. Maybe it’s for the best. You don’t know if your heart could take any more.
Eventually, and it’s hard to pinpoint when exactly, he will kiss you one last time and slip out into the night. You’ll stay on the couch and sit there for a long time just reflecting, before you finally drag yourself into bed and collapse into your sheets. There will still be a faint smell of his cologne lingering in your home, a cruel reminder that he was here once – but won’t be again. It’s right then that you’ll begin to grieve as everything starts to sink in. Start to mourn the loss of Chris, mourn the loss of the illusion you once shared with him, and mourn what your relationship could’ve been. You’ll think of how unfair it all is that you didn’t meet a few years later, after Chris gets clean and is in a better place. But fate doesn’t always work on your timeline. Maybe you needed to have met him at this point in your life, maybe this was a lesson you needed to learn.
You’ll know that in time you will be okay, you’ll know that you will come back stronger and that this chapter in your life will change you forever.
But for now, you’ll grieve your loss, the tears will flow until you finally fall asleep.
🌎
Chris always follows through and does what he says he will, and this is no exception. He checks himself into a rehab facility upstate the very next day, leaving Curtis in charge of the auto shop while he completes his treatment. He sends you a text to let you know, explaining that he must hand his phone in as part of the program. ‘Gotta unplug. Focus on only existing in the moment, apparently. So no Candy Crush’, he jokes in the message and you crack an unexpected smile. He tells you that he’s not expecting to hear from you, but wanted to let you know in case you try and get in touch and think he’s ignoring you. You thank him for letting you know and wish him well, but you’re not sure if he’ll even see it - maybe he’s already turned his phone in. You hope he knows either way.
As for you, you initially exist in a strange, in-between daze. You sleep most of the next day and drift into the next, grateful that you at least have the weekend booked off from work. You don’t really want to talk to anyone, dreading the reaction from your friends when you break the news about Chris. You know they’ll only mean well, but the thought of navigating their shock and concern feels overwhelming. You don’t want them to pity you, especially after how it ended with Lance. Logically, you know they’re your friends and won’t judge you – but you can’t help the spiral. The break-up seems to reveal the edges of old habits.
You eventually bite the bullet and send a message to the group chat explaining what happened. Almost immediately your phone begins to blow up with notifications from them all contacting you directly, worrying about you, wanting to come by. Kat even threatens to cut her trip short and to come back to see you. You refuse, of course, but are moved by her commitment. You have a strong urge to turn your phone off and hide back under the blankets, but you push through. One by one you respond to them, grateful for the support even if it all makes you feel a little woozy. You’re proud of yourself for not just hiding away. Baby steps.
You consider getting in touch with Lance, but don’t really know what to say. The moment with him at the hospital feels simultaneously big enough that it should be addressed, but also so big that you aren’t really sure how to manage it. What do you want from Lance exactly? Do you want anything? You know you need to establish that before you speak to him again. There are so many tangled threads in your life at the moment and he’s just one of them.
You know you should know better after seeing Chris’ self-destruction up close, but you have a few glasses of wine that evening to self soothe. It feels nice to numb the pain somewhat. You just know you can’t go too far, and that this can’t become a nightly ritual. That’s probably how Chris started, a few beers after work to unwind…becoming five beers. Then seven. Then ten. Then not being able to sleep without them…Maybe a shot of whisky after a bad day, then three after his next bad day. A glass of wine out at dinner becoming a full bottle. And so forth.
You pour a final glass and dump out the rest of your bottle in the sink before it becomes too tempting.
The drink puts you in a pensive mood. What exactly do you want? What are you looking for? You don’t know. Have you ever, really? No. That’s not true. You wanted to start your business, and you did it. Fought tooth and nail for it. Worked dizzying hours for a meagre wage, missing out on social activities and fun while you slaved away to turn a profit. But you’d done it. You’d wanted it and you’d got it.
You’d wanted to meet someone. Wanted more than Lance could give you, although apparently that had changed (but who really knew with Lance?) Had wanted someone to really see you. Not just as a fun fling to warm a bed, but to be with you fully. No wonder you had grasped onto Chris’ attention with both hands, he’d caught you at your lowest – picked you up and dusted you off. Helped you to remember that you had something to offer, that you were always worth more than a situationship and a late-night text. Obviously, you’d never in a million years have wanted it to end the way it did, but at the very least your time with Chris had shown you that you were worthy. That you didn’t have to settle. And you never would again. Now, you knew that if you met someone you liked and they enhanced your life, you’d happily pursue it. But you didn’t need to seek it out right now. Didn’t need anyone else to be the best version of yourself. Another person could complement you but never complete you.
So, what else did you want?
One final glass of wine later, feeling emboldened by the alcohol, you found yourself logging into your online banking account and moving money from your savings. Those amounts that you never liked to touch, the numbers on screen serving as a security blanket, bringing you assurance you’d be fine financially if everything went downhill.
But if the car crash and break-up had taught you anything, it was that life can change in the blink of an eye. And what good would security blanket money be then?
How often did you ever really spend money on yourself?
And what was something you’d always wanted to do, but had been too scared to try? Always finding a reason for why it wasn’t the right time, or why it was better to hold off. But what if there was no right time? What if you could make it right?
You didn’t move it all of course. You weren’t reckless. But you moved enough. And before you could stop yourself – the flights were booked. London. Eurostar to Paris. A stopover in Barcelona, then Lisbon. Through Italy, up to Germany and then the Netherlands. Copenhagen. Stockholm. Oslo. Then over to China. Nepal. Thailand. Cambodia…Vietnam…
Some hostels booked. Some hotels. Some you’d figure out while you were there.
You sat back and gawped at the long list of confirmations in your inbox, your hands shaking. Your head span, anxiety bubbled. You, the solo traveller. The thing you’d been wanting to do since college, planning the whole trip on your phone during down time at the café. Endlessly googling landmarks and drafting fantasy itineraries.
You smile.
🌎
Marina and your team were excited for you. Practically blasé that they had been left in charge of Filter & Foam while you went on your trip. They frequently told you that you should take more time off, they knew (and loved) the place just as much as you did. They could handle it, they’d stay in touch, you could dial into some of the meetings remotely if required. You felt like the worst boss in the world suddenly disappearing like this, but they had been almost aggrieved when you dared suggest you could cancel or postpone. This was your time. Maybe they wanted to prove they could do it, too.
Your friends were also excited for you. They threw you a surprise goodbye party with a cake and a homemade Bon Voyage banner in your favourite colours, they’d even got foods from the places you were going to with their home country’s flags on toothpicks. Your heart had been so full, you were surprised that it hadn’t burst. You had wiped away your tears as Kat held you and told you how proud of you she was. You wondered how Chris was getting on, hoping that he was engaging with the treatment plan.
There had been a noticeable absence at the party.
The National Gymnastics tournament had been that same week, so Lance was needed there to back his girls. You were surprised that you felt his absence, pulling your phone out a few times at the party to text him – but slipping it back into your pocket again, not really knowing what to say.
You’d finally sent something after a few dozen drafts, basking in the afterglow from the party as you sat back at home on your couch, recharging your social battery after a beautiful but somewhat tiring evening.
Go Team!
Maybe a little cheesy, but casual and informal. You hadn’t expected a reply, knowing how busy he was likely to be at the competition. But you saw those familiar typing dots float onto the screen almost right away, his response following a few seconds later.
Thanks. And Go Cupcake! ✈️ Heard about your trip, sorry I missed your party. Have fun. Don’t miss me too much.
You laughed and rolled your eyes. Your fingers hovered over the screen as you got stuck on a reply. Nothing felt right. It would be weird to start talking about that night, but weirder to act like nothing had happened at all. You didn’t really have the bandwidth for it, and he probably didn’t either – most likely trying to get his competitors in the right headspace for their events. Nothing you wanted to say was right for a text message, anyway. Let alone a few days before you started travelling the world…
You put the phone down.
At the airport later that week, you lazily watch a muted TV screen at the bustling sports bar as you nurse your lunch. The food isn’t exactly gourmet, but it was one of the few terminal venues with available tables. You’re surprised to see a brief highlights clip from the USA Gymnastics Championships, a group of young women clutching their trophies excitedly as they embrace each other, bright eyeshadow shimmering under the stadium lights. Their red lipstick frames their wide smiles as the text below them reads NEXT STOP: TEAM USA – OLYMPICS!
Lance Tucker moves into frame, fist pumping and jostling the girls as he high-fives each of them. You see his mouth shape expletives as he flings a water bottle into the air in excitement. You beam to yourself as you pull out your phone and cash for the bill.
🌎
It had been everything you thought it would be and more.
A pint overlooking the Thames as Big Ben chimes. The best damn hot chocolate you’d ever had at a small café in Montmartre while you watched an artist paint. Paella and sangria on the beach in Barcelona. Dancing with the locals in Lisbon, more pastéis de nata than you could count. Beautiful Italian waiters recommending pasta so good that you briefly thought you’d died and gone to heaven. Museums. Art galleries. Walking tours, bus tours. Beach walks. Hillside treks. Sleeping in tiny bunk beds with snoring roommates. A horrific but memorable twelve-hour bus worth it after you finally arrived in Mutianyu.A long-tailed macaque that nearly gets away with your phone. The most generous and fascinating people from all walks of life, transcending language barriers with laughter and gestures. Delayed flights and confusing directions. Seasoned travellers showing you the way, entitled tourists giving you second-hand embarrassment. Your translator app working overtime. One stolen purse by skilled pick pocketers, many shed tears, many belly laughs. History so rich and tragic it makes you openly weep. The relentless resilience of humanity, the horror of our cruelty and the violence. Oceans so vast that it almost makes you nihilistic. Beaches so beautiful that you could fall to your knees. You are just one of many, but you have so much to give, so much life to enjoy.
You think of Lance more than you expect to. Wonder what he’s doing, picture him rolling his eyes with his hands on his hips as he coaches and pushes his students. You wonder if he’s at the bar with your friends, ignoring the stink eye from the next table when he’s too loud at trivia night. Sometimes, you see something you think he’d find funny and chuckle to yourself, snapping a photo and moving them all into a separate folder. You’re not really sure why you do that but find yourself unable to stop.
Throughout the trip, you send long, handwritten letters to Chris after looking up the address of his facility. Some are surface level reports describing what you’ve seen; others help you feel less lonely and homesick on your difficult days. You also tell him you hope that he’s doing well, that you’re thinking of him and rooting for him. Sometimes you just mail a novelty postcard that you think he’d enjoy. He can’t reply, you don’t stay in one place long enough for him to write back. But that’s okay. It’s better this way, the one-sided nature of the letters means that it’s easy for you to be candid, to be honest. It becomes therapeutic to put your thoughts to paper like a journal. There’s something very redeeming about finally being the authentic version of yourself you previously didn’t fully allow him to see.
A few nights before your final return flight, you put pen to paper one last time. The hostel is noisy and crowded, a few guests enjoying the complimentary beers a little too enthusiastically. But it’s alright. It doesn’t stop you. You tell him that you forgive him for the crash, for hiding his addiction from you. There will be parts of you that can never fully let it go, but you no longer feel the anger you once did. He did a terrible thing, but you understand. You won’t allow yourself to hold onto it any longer, and you hope he doesn’t, either. Life moves on, so will you. You thank him for setting you free, hoping he will give himself permission to do the same.
🌎
And so, you come home.
Months have passed. Much has changed, but much has stayed the same. You aren’t naïve, you know that travelling doesn’t magically change everything. But you now have a perspective that you didn’t before. You’ve seen things you never thought you’d see, witnessed many ways to live life, to play the cards you’re dealt. You chased a dream and lived it. And you’ve got so much more living to do.
On the long flight home, you begin a business loan application. Nothing fancy, some bullet points hastily typed into your Notes app. It doesn’t need to be polished yet, that’ll come later. Progress over perfection. You lay out your rationale for expanding the business, pull some of the numbers from your emails and leave gaps to fill in the rest later. Profits, gains. Your suggested location for the new premises, up and coming – an opportunity for growth, getting in on the ground floor. You have a great staff member, Marina, who you are confident will lead a team to success. You’ll tweak and finesse it after you get home, coming back to it once you’re over your jetlag. You start researching suppliers to expand your tea stock after developing your palate on the trip. You ask one of your old college buddies to look it all over, and he tells you that you’re onto something good. You submit it.
Back home, all is well. Filter & Foam is thriving and you’re excited to hear about Marnia’s ideas to grow the business, even more excited to tell her your own plans. Your apartment is untouched, everything how you left it. You have a newfound appreciation for your beloved bed, and for not sharing a bathroom with strangers.
Amongst the small mountain of accumulated mail is a letter, the handwriting on the envelope you recognise immediately. You tentatively tear it open.
Princess,
Thank-you for your letters. They helped keep me sane for my stay, it was great to hear about your trip – and to feel like I had a friend with me throughout.
I know that no number of apologies will ever be enough, but again I’m sorry for what I did. It was inexcusable, and I’m doing everything I can to never put anyone in that position ever again. Not even myself. I feel good, strong. I know I can beat this thing. One day at a time.
I don’t deserve your forgiveness but receiving that letter from you helped to begin healing me in ways you’ll never fully understand. So, thank-you. I hope you know how special you are, and I want you to be happy – however and whoever that might be with.
Until we meet again,
Chris
You wipe away your tears, holding the letter close to your chest.
🌎
On a whim, the day after you get back, you head over to the Barrel & Horn to join your friends at trivia night. You are still jetlagged and reorienting yourself, but you missed them! You want to see them! You don’t tell them you’re coming; it’ll be a fun surprise.
That’s the only reason you’re going.
Right?
And it is a fun surprise, when Kat spots you she screams and rushes over – practically jumping into your arms as the others follow and excitedly ask questions about your trip. A drink is thrust into your hand and a small circle gathers as they usher you over to their table and practically interrogate you about how it all was. As lovely as it all is, you suddenly feel the weight of your jetlag. But you’re back and have never been more grateful to be here with them.
Your eyes dart around the room as the discussion slowly evolves into other topics and smaller conversations break off. You don’t see him. Which is fine, because you didn’t come here to see him, anyway. Even if you feel strangely sad about it. You sip your drink and smile in the right places at your friends’ anecdotes, offering your own when appropriate. He’s probably out on a date anyway, there’s no point dwelling on it.
But then a booming voice, a door slamming open cuts through the bar’s buzz followed by a dramatic sigh.
“Sorry I’m late, damn cab wouldn’t fuckin-”
Your head whips around, your mouth falls open. Lance Tucker stops in his tracks at the exact same second you do, and you stare at each other for a moment before your faces both break out into twin smiles. His blue eyes sparkle despite the dim bar lighting, his grin so big that his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches. He’s wearing the damn red Team USA jacket again, but you barely register that. There’s a warmth in you that blooms when you see him again, something unnameable but powerful. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed him.
You’re home.
“Cupcake,” he struts up to you, his smile never faltering.
“Tuck,” you beam back.
“So, you’re back. Buy you a drink?”
“I already have one,” you shrug, holding up your almost-full glass as your finger taps on the rim.
He frowns, then snatches it out of your hands and dumps the contents into Matt’s glass on the table. “No, you don’t…” he winks.
“Hey…” Matt protests weakly as he stares down as his now-ruined beer.
“Jesus Christ,” you laugh in spite of yourself. “You’re such a dick”.
He shrugs, unbothered. “A dick that’s buying you a drink. I’ll get Matt a new one too. C’mon, get that cute ass up and tell me about your trip. What did you bring me?”
You chuckle, shaking your head as you allow him to pull you out of your seat and accompany him to the bar. Your friends exchange pointed looks, Kat smirks at Matt.
You head towards the bar with him. “I didn’t get you anything, sorry”.
“Nothing?” he mock-gasps as he leans on the granite. “Well…I’m rethinking the drink…”
“What did you want? A souvenir? A little Eiffel tower statue or something?” you giggle.
“Yes. Exactly. Since when did you get so rude?” he sighs dramatically as he signals to the bartender.
“I learn from the best,” you shrug.
He shoots you a wink and you begin to tell him about your trip. He smiles as he listens, asking questions and making occasional comments and teasing you gently, like he always does. It’s all so…easy. Like you haven’t even been away. Like you do this every week. You don’t feel overwhelmed or tired like you did holding court with the larger group. If anything, you feel like you have more energy.
You really missed this.
He carries on asking questions even after you’re sitting back down and the first round has started, ignoring the chastising from the staff member who can barely get the trivia questions out without being distracted by Lance asking you about Thailand.
“We’re gonna get kicked out!” you nudge him, whispering through your teeth as you shoot the Quizmaster an apologetic smile.
Lance rolls his eyes. “Fine, let’s play. God…what a goody two-shoes…”
And you do. The dream team back together. The two of you quickly find your groove with the quiz, flying through the questions as Matt struggles to keep up scribing your answers at the speed you give them.
“The Treaty of Versailles!”
“April 14th 1865!”
“Bruce Springsteen!”
“Matisse!”
“You two are scarily good at this,” Matt scoffs as he hands the scoresheet to staff during a break between rounds.
“I’m scarily good,” Lance shrugs and sips his drink. “Cupcake is okay too, I guess”.
“Hey!” you jab him in the ribs with your elbow. “I saved our asses in the music round. And I’m jetlagged here…doing very well considering.”
“Excuses, excuses,” he sighs as you titter.
This is nice. Being home again, being with people you love and who love you. Doing the silly trivia night like you’ve never being away. Even being with Lance, it’s all familiar and comfortable. But not dull. You were worried it might be awkward with him after time had passed, but it’s not. Not at all. It appears you’re picking up exactly where you left off, ignoring the elephant in the room of course. But you know you can’t ignore it forever.
The group dissipates during the break as people go for bathroom breaks and the bar to replenish their drinks. It’s warm in here, the many bodies in the room making it stuffy and close. The bar’s humidity feels heavy. You take the opportunity to slip outside for a second just to get some air, relishing the cool breeze as you feel instant relief. You stand against the brick wall of the building, grateful for the fresh air and moment to yourself.
You suddenly feel anxious about Lance. What does it all mean? Is this just your normal schtick, or something more? You know you came here looking for him. You know that you thought about him a lot while you were away. But what does he think? Is this just a bit of fun, a way to kill time at trivia night and stroke his ego? Yes, he’d confessed his feelings to you once, but it was never really clear if that was only spurred on by your relationship with Chris. And so much time has passed since then…
“Hey,” Lance suddenly appears from around the corner, making you jump.
“Whoa,” you clutch your chest after the surprise subsides. “Creepy much?!”
“I can be,” he smiles. “Saw you disappeared. Thought I’d check it out. What you doin’ out here? Studying for the next round?”
Of course he was paying attention and saw you leave…
“Just needed some air. Kinda hot…” you sigh, your cheeks warming at more than just the heat of the bar.
“Yeah, you are,” he grins as he stands next to you and leans his own head back on the wall.
You chuckle, but it’s followed by an exasperated exhale. “What are we doing here, Lance?”
“Trivia night. Remember? Jet lag that bad?”
You turn your head to look at him, your body language immediately telling him you’re no longer playing.
“Ah,” he smiles as he looks back at you. “Gotcha. What are we doing here…”.
A beat of silence between you seems to stretch endlessly. All the jovial teasing and silliness from a short while ago has suddenly evaporated, leaving you both exposed and without your armour. You can’t hide behind the dumb jokes and banter anymore.
“He went to rehab,” you whisper. “Completed the program. He’s doing well, apparently”.
“Well. That’s good,” Lance nods. “You spoken to him?”
“Only in letters. I forgave him, though.”
Lance nods again. Another never-ending beat.
“I thought about you a lot when I was away,” you find yourself telling him, maybe just to break the silence.
That grabs his attention, he straightens up, his brows furrow. You look away but feel his eyes on you like heat-seeking missiles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah”.
“You could’ve texted, called. Sent a postcard,” he shrugs. You can tell it’s meant to be light-hearted but there’s none of the usual humour is in his tone, he almost seems…hurt.
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if…”
“Yeah,” he finishes for you. “I get that. I felt the same. Look, if you don’t want me to be here…”
I want you to be happy – however and whoever that might be with. Chris words flash through your mind.
You think for a second and pull out your phone, thrusting your photo albums under Lance’s nose.
“Weird time for a selfie, Cupcake…”
“No. Shut up. Look…”
You pull up the album you made on your trip. The one where you kept photos of all the things that made you think of him.
“I took this after seeing you on TV at the airport,” you tap the first blurry photo that you took at the airport bar. A vague red outline of a person that could be Lance Tucker is framed by a large TV.
He doesn’t say anything, and you can’t bear to look up, but you hear the tiniest intake of breath from him.
“And this tourist’s slogan cap, I thought you’d find it funny,” you swipe onto the next, “…this dog that I saw, his name was Tucker…” swiping again, “I know you would’ve mocked this little beer glass…”
You show all of them to him. You tell him every stupid anecdote, every funny little thought. You don’t let embarrassment hold you back. Because this is a man who is far from perfect, but he also carried you out of a ravine on his back (literally). He dropped everything to come rescue you after a car crash. He took you to the hospital and waited for you, even waited with you for the man he despised. He brought food for you unprompted because he knew you hadn’t eaten, and he consistently showed up. He has continued to be there for you, even after you turned him down. He has seen the ugliest, worst parts of you. The cruel parts of you.
But he still comes when you call.
So, you do what you always feared doing in front of Lance Tucker - expose your vulnerability to him. A piece of it captured in every single one of those pictures. It’s like you’ve made him his very own digital scrapbook of your heart. No matter what happens now, at least you’ll never again live in the purgatory of ‘what if’
You finally find the courage to look up at him. He stares back at you awestruck, mouth agape and eyes round. He looks at you as if you’d just turned water into wine. He tries to form words, but no sound leaves his mouth. You smile back at him, unable to resist.
“Wow…wait, are you speechless for the first time ever?” you tease.
That seems to wake something up in him. His eyes focus again and his jaw tenses. You feel a shiver at the intensity in his eyes.
“Shut up, Cupcake,” he chastises. “I really need to kiss you now…And when I start, I’m not stopping. I don’t care who the fuck sees. I don’t care if I get banned from trivia night. And I’m not letting you out of my sight after this. You’re stuck with me. That shit you just pulled? You’re not coming back from that, ever. I am locked the fuck in.”
You break out into a huge grin. “Sounds like you’re all talk and no actio-”
He cuts you off with a kiss. If you can call it a kiss. A ‘mphh’ escapes your mouth but he swallows it immediately, pressing you into the wall as his hands find your face and you melt into him. It’s messy and imperfect, lips and teeth bumping as urgency dominates the technical. Your eyes close and you hold him tightly, your fingers in his hair and your tongue against his. He kisses you so intensely that your knees wobble, grateful for the steadying arm that he pulls around your waist.
“Get a room, ew!” some girl mutters as she wanders by.
Lance flips her off without breaking the kiss.
You pull away from him briefly, your lips swollen, your breathing heavy.
“What? Oh fuck her, she’s jealous!” Lance exclaims as he attempts to pull you back in.
“No…no, not that” you manage, practically panting. Your eyes narrow as your tone becomes stern. “If we’re gonna do this…I mean really do it, you need to know that I’m not going to let you pull anything like the shit you did at the party…I want the whole deal, dates, romance – not just texts and late nights.”
He pauses, holding his hand over his heart like he’s about to pledge allegiance.
“Cupcake, you can get everything you want and more. I’ll bleed roses and candy if that’s what you want. I’ll put Shakespare to shame with my poems and bullshit. And if I pull anything like that shit at the party again – I will personally frogmarch myself into the fuckin’ ocean with concrete boots on. I’d be a complete moron to fumble you a second time, you got that? I will let you keep my dick and balls in a jar. I will shove my gold medal up my own ass. I will go the freeway and just lay down. I will-”
You bury your head into his shoulder, laughing. “Oh my god, stop, freak…”
“No, I will not stop. I need you to know I’m serious. Because I love you. Yeah,” he suddenly pulls back – looking back and forth as he bellows across the property. “I LOVE THIS WOMAN. I FUCKING LOVE THIS WOMAN, AND I’M THE LUCKIEST SON OF A BITCH IN THE GODDAMN WORLD!”
A group of smokers gawp at you and Lance in horror.
Your head drops into your hands, the mortification overwhelming. “Oh. My. God. What have I done?” you shriek, unable to stop your laughter. What a ridiculous human being.
But he’s yours. You don’t know what the future holds, but you know that you can’t hold back anymore. It’s time to live fully, and if you make a mistake? Well. You’ll survive. You’ll move on. But you can’t stay imprisoned in ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’.
“I love you too, Tuck,” you sigh as he proudly walks you back into the bar.
“That’s great, Cupcake. Still going to whoop your ass at trivia…”
“You’re on”.
THE END
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