dying to know how reader reacted to finding out she was pregnant in the boyfriend experience uni 😫 likeeee ik she wasn’t ready for kids in uncle brooster but bradley was so were there mixed feelings abt it? especially since there was no telling when he’d be deployed again
Hi nonny, I don’t know where you are in the cosmos. But this is for you x
A/N I forgot I had this. I don't have the time this close to Xmas/at all to proof/improve so for those of you still in the TGM, I hope you enjoy and merry merry, happy happy xx
“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”
“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered, the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes.
You knew he was on Team Baby. He wasn't pressing it; he couldn’t. That wasn’t fair to you… to him or anyone else. You’d said your piece well before you got engaged, and well before today.
The day you married him.
But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he still wanted to try for a baby. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley agreed. You didn’t want to be thinking about periods and not drinking and having the time of your lives. Bradley was busier with work now than ever before, and with the work extensions complete, new staffing, and more small business to take care of, even though you were together every night? You were still doing your own things, barely getting into bed at the same time.
Thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley. And even babies. You loved your niece and nephew and Uncle Brooster was fantastic with them - it always left a pang in your heart that he would be such a good father. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly an example of patriarchal learning.
You didn’t want to add the stress of calculating ovulation even if an app would do it for you, the disappointment of periods coming… you just wanted to have fun fucking, and pleasing each other as you moved into the next phase of your lives. The stress Annie went through and the lengths she was going to with IVF therapies - overwhelming hormones, nausea, mood swings, sore boobs, abdominal discomfort. God, when you had a difficult period, you could assume similarly but as Annie went through her treatments, at a fairly young age, it was eye-opening at best.
You remembered one sentence so vividly that it scared you to your bones, “When your biological clock starts… it’s all that your brain hears. You can’t undo it and it messes with your head.”
See? Terrifying. Fair for all involved.
But when your period was late after about two periods since going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens.
But there was something different as you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the (motherfucking, finally renovated) kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you pressed against the pulsating pressure and made a face. Sighing, you unfolded yourself from the couch and moved to your handsome husband. You tenderly kissed between his shoulder blades and he gave an over the top shudder, as you giggled into his skin. He put his utensil down and turned to you, holding your chin in his calloused bug hand and giving you a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself, but not yet willing to admit to him it was to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.
“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished, his eyes glued to the digital reading before him.
“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley’s honey eyes flicked to regard you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, but not disappointed, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head.
“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Love…” his fingers light as they sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “My sweet girl,” he called to you.
“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch.
“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”
“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt too warm and he protected you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there.
“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly.
“I saw how hard it was for Annie and just expected we’d be on our own a bit longer. Genetics and shit."
He bit back his smile and your inadvertent joke, or necessary sarcasm. Bradley hummed. “I think your genetics are pretty fine, if you ask me.”
Eyes rolling in corny, you muttered his name as a warning that jokes were unnecessary at this time.
“Okay, okay,” he answered, palms up, teasing off. He knew you were withholding and he knew he was holding everything back in his body not to go over the top with the excitement bubbling in his entire being. “Love, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”
I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to…” your voice trailed.
Bradley nodded. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak and as the facial one between the pair of you? Well. So he just continued to hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided, a lot or not he wasn’t sure. He thought you were on the same page. He thought you both wanted this -
Like you, his insides were much and could feel himself lightheaded. He grounded himself and carefully reminded himself this wasn’t about him for now. It was getting your beautifully convoluted brain and heart to the same place his was:
Ready.
“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - “ you shut your mouth and the guilt of situation started to overwhelm you. Bradley only hummed, still choosing to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”
He remained reflective a moment, choosing his words carefully his best option.
“No, love. But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes, his large palm resting gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have and it didn’t go unnoticed by you.
His baby in your protective, strong body.
He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow as you snuck under the cold sheets, thinking maybe you could sleep a year. He climbed in after you, the warm skin of his chest against your back under the slowly spinning ceiling fan. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay.”
There was your voice of reason.
“But it's still something you'll need to consider pretty quick..."
Always offering you both sides.
It was silent a while and while Bradley’s excitement was guarded carefully, even he knew this conversation was not the light and excited one he thought you’d share instead.
"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck.
"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. "I won't let you do this alone."
The fateful night you told your family and the Dagger Squad was when it really started to feel real. Your pregnancy to that point has been pretty good. You only turned green as food cooked around you so it was easy to excuse yourself and the extreme exhaustion that overwhelmed you the first trimester slinked away entering the second. You weren’t horribly unwell but things were definitely changing within you.
Boobs sore and off limits to Bradley even though he’d playfully volunteered his palms but your personal support system. It went about as well as expected.
“Just ginger ale tonight?” Bob smiled a while later. You’d been chatting quietly together while Bradley’s squad played pool and generally one-upped each other around you.
“What do you mean?” God, you hated lying to such a delight as Bob. He was so sweet, and although Bradley had alluded to his well-guarded playboy-like ways, he was always darling to you.
“I have four sisters,” he sipped his water. “She pretended she was drinking bourbon and ginger ale to throw everyone off the scent she was…” he chuckled quietly and you’d be damned if you’d figured him out. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “I understand if you’re just not drinking tonight.”
And while your family was aware of your news, Bradley had sworn not to tell his friends just yet. You weren’t ready to be looked in on 24/7 by overzealous Navy pilots.
“Nearly four months,” you said quietly.
“Phoenix guessed a little less,” he winked. “I won’t tell, but I’m very happy for you both. This baby will be so loved. Or smothered,” he shrugged playfully. “One of the two.”
“Bob?”
“Yes, ma’am?” He responded as you rolled your eyes playfully.
“This is how you do it, isn’t it?”
“Do what?” He played dumb.
“Find women. Because you watch and listen.” And suddenly it all made such sense as he blushed, toying with his glass.
“I can’t reveal all my trade secrets, but showing a little interest helps,” he admitted.
“I wanna know all your tricks. You’re absolutely fascinating to me.”
And for the first time, you heard Bob Floyd cackle as he nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s never gonna happen.”
"You're getting deployed?" you look at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly between you. His head fell back.
"I know."
"You know?" you screeched, spoiled for months of your husband home and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter."
"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick.
"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"
"Of course I did. Baby, this classification is my first real role as team leader. As command.”
"Who's going with you?"
"Payback, Fanboy," he confirmed softly.
“Will you be home for Christmas?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. “Even if I have to jump overboard and swim back myself, I will be here for Christmas. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise a baby in my own,” you said, the fear in your evident.
“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair.
"If you see one ounce of action, I swear to you, don't dare come home."
He nodded. Dear God, he knew. The most danger Bradley Bradshaw had ever been in was at this moment. And as his baby girl kicked him from her little cocoon in retaliation for making her Mama wild, he knew that nothing g else mattered anymore and that someway, somehow he was going to find a way to be home for his girls.
Warnings: Hospital Visit, Self Doubt, Stress, Light Angst, Sick Baby, Baby OC is Referred to as 'Dove,' Rooster Thinks He's a Bad Dad
This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.
Summary: It's Rooster's first time alone with his baby daughter. But when she comes down with a fever under his watch, Rooster seriously doubts his abilities as a father.
Master List
It was Rooster’s first extended time alone with his daughter without his wife around.
He was very much a hands-on dad, but his wife was their daughter’s primary caregiver for the first four months of their daughter’s life because of maternity leave and then her gradual return to work. Rooster was always quick to look after their daughter, who they nicknamed Dove, when he got home, but he openly acknowledged that his wife cared for Dove most often.
So, with his wife’s college friend’s child-free wedding coming up, Rooster had a three-day weekend to care for his daughter all on his own. And, well, this was a test for himself. His wife didn’t put excessive expectations onto him. That was all Rooster.
He always tried to check-in with his wife to make sure that he was pulling his weight with Dove. Rooster didn’t want to become one of those complacent dads who just relied on their wife for everything and couldn’t take care of their own child by themselves. He didn’t want his wife to be one of those women who said that she had two kids at home—her actual baby and her husband.
Maybe that was just the fear creeping up from his conversations with Penny about her divorce and what the older guys at work said, but Rooster wanted to prove to himself that he could do it. He could take care of his daughter by himself without any hiccups.
Rooster’s wife left Thursday night and Rooster handled Thursday night and Friday morning perfectly well. Dove stayed on her nap and feeding schedule, he got some projects done around the house, and they even went to see Grandpa Mav. But then a few hours after they got home, Dove came down with a fever and started crying like nothing Rooster had ever heard before.
And, well, maybe he panicked just a little bit.
The lights of the ER were bright and blinding and Rooster did his best to shield Dove’s eyes from the excessive light. Holding her against his chest as she cried, Rooster tried to console her as he waited for a medical professional to come and collect them.
Since it was a Friday night, the pediatrician and Urgent Care centers were all closed. And his wife wasn’t answering her phone, probably because she was at the rehearsal dinner. And the lady giving him the side eye for the last hour combined with his daughter’s continuous cries were really starting to push Rooster over the edge.
“It’s okay,” Rooster tried to console his daughter, his voice breaking a bit. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of his daughter’s little head, praying for some advice from his mom. She would know what to do in this situation. But Bradley didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he wasn’t as good of a father or as good of a husband as he wanted to be. As he thought he was.
“Bradshaw,” a nurse called, causing Bradley to hurry to his feet.
The nurse led him back to one of the smaller hospital rooms. Bradley listed off the timeline of events to the nurse, who nodded, typed them up, and walked off to grab a doctor. Rooster tried setting his daughter back into her carrier, but that only made her cry louder. He picked her back up and cradled her to his chest, feeling a few tears leak out.
“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’re in pain,” he whimpered, resting his head on top of her smaller one.
There was a light knock on the door before a man dressed in a pair of turquoise scrubs and round glasses stepped into the room. The doctor seemed to quickly assess the situation before striding further into the room.
“I’m Dr. Greene,” he stated, causing Rooster to nod. “What seems to be the problem?”
“She has a fever and she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what’s wrong. Nothing that I try seems to work,” Rooster replied shakily, hugging his daughter just a little tighter as she continued to cry. “And I don’t know what to do.”
“Alright, let me take a look at her.”
Rooster set his daughter on her back on the examination table. She wiggled around, still whimpering and crying. Dr. Greene started with his stethoscope and listened to her heart and lungs. He quickly checked her ears and her throat and looked over her vitals again. Rooster stood to the side, trying to comfort his daughter as well as he could while subtly wiping his tears away.
He must have done something wrong. He was a terrible father. He screwed up his daughter.
“It’s an ear infection. Nothing too serious,” Dr. Greene deduced, straightening up. “I’ll prescribe some antibiotics. That should clear it up in a few days.”
“But her screams . . . she sounds like she’s in a lot of pain.”
“Ear infections hurt. And this seems to be her first one and she’s only about four months old. Every little bit of pain to a baby can easily be the worst pain that they’ve ever experienced before,” Dr. Greene explained calmly, typing away at the chart. “Her heart rate is normal and her lungs are clear. And an ear infection can cause the fever.”
“And the ear infection, what caused it?” Rooster asked nervously, rubbing his daughter’s head.
“Well, does she spend any time around other kids? Is she in daycare or does she have any siblings?” Dr. Greene suggested, turning back to Rooster.
“She’s at daycare twice a week,” Rooster breathed out, causing Dr. Greene to nod.
“Exactly. Those places are a breeding ground for disease. Especially with babies and young children who haven’t really built up an immunity to anything.”
“So . . . I didn’t do anything wrong?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Dr. Greene stated, finishing up with the chart. He turned back to Rooster, studied his tired and frazzled expression, and offered him a small smile. “First time dad?”
“Is it that obvious?” Rooster returned, wincing a bit.
“I assure you that we’ve seen and heard plenty of stories far stranger than an ear infection from first time parents,” Dr. Greene chuckled, gathering his things. “Kids get sick. It happens. And you did the right thing in getting her to a medical professional. The antibiotics should be ready at the pharmacy and they should clear it up. But if she’s still sick in three days, go to your primary care physician.”
Dr. Greene turned to leave the room before pausing and turning back to Rooster one last time.
“And to be perfectly honest with you, I would highly prefer a parent who was overly concerned with their child’s health than one who wasn’t concerned at all. You’re doing fine,” Dr. Greene assured Rooster with a small smile before opening the door. “Have a good night.”
“Thanks, you too,” Rooster called back, finally able to breathe a bit again.
It was just an ear infection. He didn’t screw up. He did the right thing.
“Let’s get you some medicine, Dove,” Rooster sighed, setting his daughter back into her carrier.
The Dr. Greene that I may or may not have had in mind:
and the songbirds are singing like they know the score - sneak peek
"Because doing what’s best for her is hard, and he realizes that when he can feel his friend wanting to put him through a wall over the phone." or Jake calls the landline at 11 PM on a Thursday because his goddaughter is wasted and Bradley is less than thrilled.
A/N: in light of me finishing my second to last semester of undergrad and my undying love for Bradley's precocious daughter from the halloween fic, i thought i would post a little preview of what i'm working on for them! love these characters more than life and def so excited for y'all to get to know them better soon.
No one ever calls the landline. Very few people even have the phone number for the landline outside of Maverick and a few close family friends. Besides, anyone who would need to reach you had your cell phone numbers anyway.
So who the actual fuck is calling your landline at 11 PM on a Thursday night?
You hear Bradley yank the phone from its place on the wall and exhale with a huff. After sixteen years of being together, you know that huff is his tell of being annoyed.
“Hello?” he gruffly answers. His irritation makes the questions sound more like a monotonous statement.
“Bradshaw –”
Jake Seresin is on the other end of the line. You can recognize his voice from the other room with his cadence even though you’re not the one on the phone with him. Having “mom ears” does that to a person, you suppose.
“Why the fuck are you calling my house at 11 PM?” Bradley snaps.
You’re wondering the same thing, but you’ll have to talk to him about being so rude and huffy. Jake may actually need something, after all.
“Well you weren’t answering your fucking cell and neither was your wife so I had to do something.”
Bradley rolls his eyes and looks back into the darkened living room. He’s been more on edge about you lately.
“You can’t miss me that fucking much to be spamming my phone with calls,” he sighs and leans his back up agaisnt the wall. He notices the open blinds on the back door and starts to walk to close them before he’s yanked back by the phone cord.
“Don’t cream your pants. I don’t like you that much.”
Bradley lets out a soft snort in amusement before he remembers that he’s supposed to be annoyed. He opens his mouth to ask Jake what exactly it is that’s so damn important and can’t wait until tomorrow morning when he’s beaten to it.
“I have Quincy here in the passenger seat and she’s beyond unwell.”
The statement sends Bradley into panic mode instantly. His voice catches in his throat and he can’t recall a moment he’s had where he’s felt like he’s had to force the breath out of himself like this.
He lets out something between a huff, a cough, and a wheeze before remembering he can’t make a huge show of himself right now because it’ll also throw you into panic mode.
“What the fuck do you mean she’s not well? Jake, where the fuck are you?” he whispers into the phone, trying to cover his mouth as much as possible so you can’t even read his lips if you tried. “Is she okay? What’s –”
It doesn’t take a genius to know that Bradley is panicking. Even Bradley’s beyond intoxicated and passed out seventeen-year-old daughter sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck could piece together that her father is nothing but a raging ball of anxiety at the moment, and Jake is positive that his friend is growing another patch of gray hair as the seconds pass.
“Oh. . . fuck, I guess I should’ve phrased that better,” Jake admits. His truck comes to a halt at a spotlight and he glances over at his goddaughter. “She’s fine. She’s definitely drunk as shit right now, but I’m on the way to drop her at yours.”
Bradley can feel the obnoxious orange ball of anxiety inside of him shift to a tumultuous rage induced scarlett. His hand tightens around the cord of the phone and he has to stop himself before he yanks it out of the wall. He’s gotten angry like this before, but it never was angled toward his daughter.
Never toward his sweet, precious girl. Never toward his amazing Quincy.
But she knows the rules (and she chose to break them) and she knows what was told to her (and she snuck out anyway) and she knows that it’s dangerous to be that drunk (but yet she’s passed out in Jake’s truck).
And if that isn’t both nerve-wracking and frustrating, Bradley doesn’t know what is.
“Put her on the phone,” he speaks lowly.
Jake gulps, knowing that he’s in one of those moods. Bradley doesn’t express anger as often as he expresses annoyance, but an angry Bradley is never someone he wants to be around. And from the way that Quincy made it sound when she called him to come get her from some random party in the middle of nowhere thirty five minutes away from her house at 11 PM on a school night, he knows her ass is being had tomorrow morning by both you and Bradley.
There’s absolutely no way his goddaughter is coming out of this unscathed.
“Dude, she’s obliterated right now and I think you talking to her is just gonna make it worse.”
“And I don’t give a fuck. I said, put her on the fucking phone now.”
Jake shakes his head and rolls his eyes as Quincy begins to stir next to him in her seat. He’s always been the person she’s called whenever she was in trouble. He always got the first hug whenever she was brought around. He’s always been her source of comfort outside of her parents and he’s never minded it because being around her is easy.
It was easy to carry her around whenever she asked when she was little. It was easy to give in and let her sit in the cockpit of his grounded aircraft with him and let her play with the buttons when her dad and Papa Mav refused. It was easy to pick her up from school mid-day and take her to lunch. It was easy to bring her back gifts from whenever he was deployed and even easier picking them out because she’s a sucker for meaningless trinkets.
It was easy to be her godfather and she’s a smart and relatively easy kid, but Jake has never been prepared for this part.
Because doing what’s best for her is hard, and he realizes that when he can feel his friend wanting to put him through a wall over the phone.
“No,” he speaks and he can hear Bradley let out a small gasp at the denial of his request, “She fucked up bad, Bradley. I’m sure she knows and you can have it out with her tomorrow morning, but right now, she’s not in any place to be screamed at and made to feel worse. You’re her dad and m’not tryin’ to take that away from you –”
Bradley scoffs, “What exactly do you fuckin’ know about raising kids, Jake? Huh?”
Jake grimaces and decides to take the brute of Bradley’s anger. Better him than Quincy, he figures. Besides, he knows Bradley doesn’t mean any of it. . . At least he hopes he doesn’t.
“You obviously can’t be a dad because you just wanna have fun and dick around all the fucking time. Buying them fuckin’ candy and letting them off scott-free doesn’t do shit. You don’t have what it takes to raise a fucking person.”
Jake doesn’t know why, but part of him starts to get that prickly feeling in his chest. Usually, every insult rolls off his shoulders into oblivion and he gets off on making people angry and being able to put on the facade that he really couldn’t give a damn if he tried.
But this one hurts because he knows that Bradley is right in some regard.
He’s a runner and he lets people down. He’s nearing fifty (and God, he never thought he ever would) and has never even bothered to settle down. And he’s made the peace with himself a long time ago that he doesn’t deserve a wife or a family or kids because he would never be able to love them more than he loves himself; more than he loves his career.
To hear one of your closest friends admit that to you openly, to know that someone outside of you sees it too, makes his heart stop momentarily and forces him to feel the ache of the words meant to stab him in the chest.
“I understand,” he swallows. He knows arguing with Bradley isn’t the right thing to do at the moment and never will be. “I’m still not putting her on the phone. We will be at your house shortly.”
The line goes dead and Bradley is overcome with a wave of anger that drowns him like a tsunami. He knows what he said was shitty and that he has no right to do that to someone who he considers a close friend, but he just can’t help himself.
May I request some New Dad Bradley? I just know that man would melt as soon as he sees his tiny baby.
Nonny—thank you! Bradley's dying for a child of his own. He's also scared shitless, but you're right—the minute he sees his tiny human, he's smitten (and less scared).
Dadley Dadshaw | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw | requested by anonymous
We can all agree this is Roo's birthday dessert for his 37th, right?? I even think Baby Girl might serve that with company over just to make him blush.
about: Bradley comes to terms with growing up without a father to guide him while quickly adapting to become one himself… to a child who wants nothing more than not to have him in her life.
You slipped your phone carefully into your backpack, cursing low. It hadn't stopped blowing up since you took the opportunity to unwind a little with a few after-work drinks. You were generally an automatic no, so giving the affirmative to a question perennially asked just to be polite was met with more confusion than excitement - you weren't sure how it made you feel. Your social skills felt like they were severely lacking (not to mention the pop culture references you were behind on unless it was, of course, Taylor Swift)... You simply weren't social anymore.
You mostly tolerated your work associates, they were all friendly, smart, and considerate, but come Friday, you were on your time and couldn't wait to get home to start your weekend. You had wine, pizza and TV to catch up on and it would be perfect. Basic in its simplicity and you didn't care what anyone else thought.
"One more drink," your co-workers begged.
"Let loose, we never get to hang out aside from work," they added.
And while you were having a pretty good night, you had other reasons to be home -
But the revelry was about to end as hoots and hollers of patrons in the bar overcame a raucous Friday night crew as a group of sailors walked in. Grand in their whites, gleaming, broad grins, covers and sunglasses in the dim, overcrowded room. Your eyes scanned each one like they always did when moments like this materialised.
Your heart rate elevated, and the hairs on your arm pricked up. Hands clammy -
The warning signals in your brain were firing louder than an air raid siren. That face you never expected to see again among that crowd, and it was more handsome than you could even recall.
Bradley Bradshaw. Your first... everything. Young and dumb, you fell head over heels for that boy with his head in the clouds and that impish grin. He who dreamed big, much bigger than you ever could imagine.
Tall, broad, tanned, unassuming. He was surreal, it felt like a dream how he’d just returned your life without warning. This wasn’t his hometown, so you knew he was here for work. A nightmare occurred even as you rose from your place at the small cocktail table and started making your apologies for the drink just placed before you, reaching eagerly for your bag and other random belongings you’d whipped out.
That you had to get home, "Oh, look at the time - " that you had to go -
You had to just get the hell out of The Hard Deck. You knew better, even if the time to now had been on your side in previous ventures to the joint.
The crowd swarmed them, and you took your opportunity to try and get out without being noticed. You knew Bradley had no idea you would be there. The beautiful man was immediately surrounded by striking women all vying for his attention, and although he appeared to enjoy it, he was keeping them all at bay. You could see that from your safe distance.
But that last tequila had done you in and you had to get to the bathroom before you got into the Uber - while you weren't feeling the effects of the alcohol, you felt could be ill at any moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hissed to yourself, slamming the cubicle door after you, the safety of the bathroom gave you small comfort but it relieved the feeling of someone standing on your chest in any way.
Sitting, you had no choice but to overhear the gossip of the sudden arrival of the newly decorated squad who had just entered the place, sending the bar into a tizzy.
“ - Hangman is blonder - "
" - suave Coyote was - "
"I don't know how Natasha can be around such sexy men all the time."
"Come on, she's as talented, and dear god, she as hot as them. Don't discount her rank because of some guys. I’m sure she deals with pissing contests 24/7.”
You silently cheered for the last person's comment, whoever this Natasha was. Good for her.
But no mention of Bradley.
"It's like the Navy put together the sexiest aviators they had - " this person was also right. They always grandstanded like they were in movies. And tonight, even Bradley.
Flushing, you pulled yourself together and made a hasty exit strategy in your brain as you furiously washed and dried your hands. The closest door from the bathroom was also the furthest from the pool table and you were in luck as you heard the roar and the familiar opening keys to Jerry Lee Lewis' Whole Lot of Shakin' Going On.
Come on over, baby, whole lotta shakin' goin' on,
Yes, I said come on over, baby, baby, you can't go wrong...
And abruptly, you were young, dumb and 21 again. Falling for this schtick then and, by God, his voice deeper than it was and you could swear, better. Sexier. Older. Bolder. Not your shy, quiet reserved college boy on his summer vacation in San Diego... but look at you now, falling for this schtick again. The way he could sway people on full display as the crowd and his friends/teammates, how were you to know, tumbled over each other at the grubby old piano you’d never seen touched to now to spread the revelry with him.
"My old man listened to this album so much when I was a kid," Bradley said quietly, delicately handing the cover to you as he wandered over to the old turntable he'd mentioned was also his father's and you watched him intently. He could make you listen to white noise or nails on a blackboard and you’d be enthralled with it. "I don't have too much of his stuff," he explained, considerate as he dropped the pin on the record tenderly. "But this song," he laughed quietly as Great Balls of Fire filled his small room of the share house he stayed at that school break. "We sang this song a lot as a family. Please don’t hold it against me, I’m very aware Lewis was a fuckin’ creep of a dude,” and you couldn’t resist your smile as he offered you his hand and danced with him.
And how often that summer that hand lead you down a garden path of trouble.
You probably hadn't listened to Jerry Lee Lewis since it reminded you too much of him. And of course, the artist was controversial at best, just like Bradley said but you’d never, ever forgotten the words.
And as you headed towards the door, the need to see Bradley Bradshaw just one more time overwhelmed you. His jacket stripped and sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled to his thick golden forearms, the collar on his shirt strained around the thick ropes of muscles of his neck and throat as his cheeks pinked in the hot room.
Aviators sliding down his strong nose in the exhilaration of being the centre of attention. He was thriving off it.
He was as handsome as the day you met him. The way he captured your attention as he retrieved the football that landed near your beach bag that fateful day. His soft voice of apology as his buddies teased him down play. He apologised on their behalf and asked if he could make it up to you The way he handled the room funny to you, your once shy, quiet boy now commanding the group at the bar, singing with him, vying for his attention... singing to just get that small piece of his time.
Home soon kiddo. Hope you had a good night with Amelia, you texted quickly.
As the song ended and the place erupted again in enraptured applause, you slinked out as more sailors slipped in and took in a deep breath, the humid beach air filling your lungs and you called for the quickest car to get you home safely... to safety.
"Hey," you heard the voice behind you. You were so fucking close to the car... so close to escaping without a trace... but just like the old days, his voice warming you to your bones. But you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, even as he gently took your wrist and guided your body towards his. "Holy shit," you heard the small flutter of laughter in a bubble against his lips. “It is you.” He was clearly as shocked as you were.
The softness in his rough rasp. It had haunted the better part of the last 14, 15 or so years. Dreams, nightmares.
You were so close to breaking free of the bar without him seeing you - but that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. In his quiet calm, he was always watching.
...bringing yourself to raise your eyes to him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. To his warm, humoured honey ones, his grin just melted you like it always had. So much about him had changed, the moustache you were perplexed about. Some faint scars marred his handsome face that you didn’t recall but they certainly didn’t look new (even if new to you). They gave him a light ruggedness, maturing him. But you could only compare him to the senior in college, eagerly awaiting his acceptance into the Naval Academy.
And he was big. Taller, broader, stronger. BIG.
And white certainly was his shade. He chewed his lower lip, and you were reminded of the charming boy who left you all those years ago. The man now before you who didn’t even know he had changed the course of your life.
"Hello, Bradley," you finally said, and he stood to height, the recognition in your voice as you tried to keep his gaze. His tongue tracked his upper lip and he finally smiled, not the smug arrogance on display as he and his team ponied in earlier, but the sweet genuineness that was simply Bradley.
"Hi," he swallowed. "Been a long time," he reckoned.
"Yeah," you agreed.
"Looks like time has been good to you," he said, low, appreciatively.
And you laughed as he visibly relaxed, the flirt enough to break you. You weren't sure if he was trying anything, but the air was finally making it to your lungs.
"You still livin' around here?"
You gave a soft nod. "Yeah."
"I'm just in town a few days," he admitted as you nodded. "I - my team and I - were just promoted. Lieutenant Commander."
"This why you're all dressed up - or were?"
"My whites?" he asked.
"I saw you come in."
"And yet you tried to sneak out before you said hi," he teased.
"I'm sorry," you admitted. "But congrats on your promotion. Kind of a big deal?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "Kind of."
Hearing the knocks on the glass, his attention was demanded back inside. Relief swept through you as he shooed them away with a swift flick of the bird and they howled inside but left him to his devices.
"How about coffee this weekend? It would be great to catch up," Bradley pressed. "Find out what you've been up to. Husband, family, work. All that stuff."
"Ha," your voice faltered. "I'm pretty sure it's nowhere near as exciting as yours," you forced a laugh, and he really didn't seem to take the hint. His pout at your near rejection only seemed to spur him on further.
"One coffee and I'll get back on the boat and be out of your life forever," his lips quirked, and you remembered how you felt when he made that face without the moustache. He could get away with a lot then, just like he was getting away with it now. "Look... here's my number," he urged, holding out this hand as you sighed and unlocked your phone to enter the digits. You saw how he'd saved it.
Bradley Bradshaw (a big deal?). You had to laugh as he winked, relieved for the smile that crossed your features but you weren't sure if he was offended or not when you didn't offer yours in reply.
"Kind of a big deal," you confirmed with a giggle, those nerves bubbling under the surface rapidly now. He shrugged, the cheekiness of the boy you knew still evident in the man before you.
"Text me if you wanna catch up. I wanna hear about what you've been up to since graduation all those years ago. I fly back to Virginia Tuesday."
"Fleeting."
"Very much," he agreed. Sighing (with relief, but Bradley would never catch that), your Uber was right before you. He moved around you to open the passenger door. "Been a long time..."
"Longer than you know," you admitted, slipping into the car and he carefully closed the door behind you as the driver recalled your address and you left Bradley Bradshaw for what you hoped was the last time.
Your fingers itched to delete his number, but all you had to do was get through the next few days without the temptation to text him and it would be fine.
Life would go on and he's sail off into the sunset again like he promised.
Home ten or so minutes later, you made a beeline for upstairs. The bedroom door closed and silent from the other side. You pushed your way in quietly, the room dark, and you sat on the side of the bed, your hands drifting to the mess of dirty dark blonde curls splayed across your daughter's pillow as she read on her phone with her earphones on.
"Hi, sweetheart," you whispered, gently pushing back a tendril on your daughter's forehead. "Bedtime?" you suggested as she shrugged. Ahh, teens. You kissed her forehead before standing and leaving her room, your beautiful girl protected under the snuggly covers.
You didn't know how you were going to tell her that you saw her father tonight. After all these years and radio silence, doing what you could to protect her from the hurt you knew you'd caused by keeping this very real secret from Bradley.
"Shit," you muttered, wandering the hallway to your bedroom, your nerves shot, hot tears threatening and everything you'd done so well protecting to now... about to shatter into a million pieces with the return of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw.
masterlist.
A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x
