What Are Friends For? - Chapter 38
Word Count: 4.7k
Masterlist
We landed in Phoenix late morning, the kind of winter sun that promised warmth even if the air was still sharp. Austin was nearly bouncing on his toes by the time we reached the Arrivals hall — trying and failing to play it cool, but the smile kept breaking through. His dad was meeting us at arrivals and driving us out to the ranch.
I wasn’t nervous, not really. Just keyed up, that flicker of anticipation you get before seeing someone you know but haven’t met in person. David and I had spoken on video calls — he’d made me laugh, put me at ease — but the real thing was always different.
We didn’t even have to look for him. He spotted us first, waving from across the barrier, exactly as open and unmistakable as I’d expected. When we came through, Austin dropped his bag and grinned wide, letting his dad pull him into a fierce hug, arms wrapped tight around him, a laugh breaking out somewhere between relief and pure joy.
“About time kid,” he said, voice thick with feeling. “Missed you.”
Austin’s arms locked around him, that boyish smile coming out in full force. “Missed you too, Dad.”
David pulled back, holding him at arm’s length for a second, just to see him, before his attention swung to me and his face lit up even more. “And finally, Angie — properly in the same room!”
I grinned, breath easing out. “Hi, Mr Butler.”
He laughed, tension breaking. “None of that. David’s fine.” He folded me into a hug as well — no hesitation, just warm and real. I felt something in me settle, nerves easing as quickly as they’d come.
“Come on,” he said, his grin bright. “Your grandparents are getting everything ready at the ranch, Ashley and Anthony are already there and the rest of the crew are arriving later.”
Austin shot me a look as we followed David out to the car, a silent, excited little can you believe this? that made my heart flip over.
The drive out of Phoenix gave us time to settle. David chatted most of the way, catching Austin up on family news — who was coming in, who was bringing which dish, who might have to sleep in the room with the creaky bed. He peppered me with questions too: Did my family get together like this? Was this anything like a London Christmas, or was it all rain and Christmas sweaters there? Austin reached for my hand, fingers lacing through mine. Every so often he’d squeeze gently in silent encouragement.
I watched the landscape shift outside the window — cacti rising from sun-bleached ground, low scrub giving way to the distant blue-grey line of mountains. Everything felt wide open, the air clear and dry, a world away from home. But the anticipation in the car felt oddly familiar, like a big family gathering was the same no matter the continent.
When we finally turned down the long drive to the ranch, the house appeared ahead. A big, sprawling, porch wrapped around it, trimmed with strings of warm white lights, a wreath on the front door woven with desert greenery and bright red ribbon. Even from here, you could see a handful of people moving inside and a flag of smoke curling up from somewhere behind the barn.
As soon as David parked, the front door opened and Austin’s grandparents came out — his grandmother a little ahead, his grandfather behind, both with the kind of careful excitement that said they’d been waiting all morning. Tracy, Austin’s stepmother, followed them out, a little more composed but smiling, linking her arm casually with David’s as she came to stand beside him.
Austin barely managed to get out of the car before his grandmother pulled him into a hug, her voice thick with emotion. “Look at you, sweetheart — two years, and still the same boy.” His grandfather’s handshake was a little firmer, but there was no mistaking the relief and pride in his eyes. Tracy gave Austin a squeeze too — quieter, but warm — and then turned to me with a smile.
Austin hugged them all tight, grinning wide, and then glanced back at me, drawing me forward. “This is Angie,” he said, pride and affection in every word. “You finally get to meet her in person.”
His grandmother smiled at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’re so glad you’re here, honey. Welcome to the madness.” His grandfather shook my hand, warm and steady. “We hope you like a full house.” Tracy greeted me too — pulling me into a brief, slightly self-conscious hug, her welcome softer but no less genuine. “It’s lovely to have you here, Angie. Honestly.”
Then, from inside, Ashley called out, “Is that them?” and suddenly she and Anthony were there too, arms flung round Austin in a jumble of laughter and bright hellos, before Ashley swept me up in a hug like we’d been friends for years.
Through it all, Austin kept close, his hand finding mine or brushing the small of my back, both of us caught up in the chaotic welcome and grinning like idiots. And standing there, surrounded by all of them, I knew this — this noisy, affectionate welcome — was exactly where I was supposed to be.
We stepped through the front door in a knot, laughter and hellos trailing after us. Austin’s grandma shooed us in with brisk efficiency, cheeks flushed from the sun and the excitement of having her family home. The house was bright, the faintest scent of pine in the air, garlands dotted with tiny red berries wound up the banister, a thread of colour against the wood.
David showed us to a guest room at the end of the hall upstairs — homey, the bed already made up with a quilt in faded desert colours. “Angie, if you need anything, just holler. Bathroom’s just down there,” he waved toward a nearby door.
“Thank you,” I managed, a little overwhelmed but genuinely grateful.
“Wait until you see the morning light in here — it’s something else.” He lingered in the doorway just a moment, offering a reassuring grin, then headed back downstairs, calling over his shoulder about coffee in the kitchen if we wanted it.
I set my bag at the foot of the bed and gave Austin a half-smile. He leaned in for a quick, unselfconscious kiss; he looked so content, so at home here, it made something in me settle.
“You good?” he asked, brushing my hair back with one hand.
“Yeah,” I said. “You?”
He nodded, grinning so wide I could see the dimple above his lip. “Best I’ve been in ages.”
We regrouped in the living room — the Christmas tree was beside the window, branches heavy with generations of mismatched ornaments. Everything gleamed just enough to feel festive, but never fussy. The house tour started without any official announcement — just a gentle tug from Austin’s grandma, who slipped her arm through mine with a conspiratorial smile. “C’mon, honey, let’s give you the grand tour before the circus starts.”
The house was bigger than I’d imagined, long and low and rambling, all polished wood floors and family photos — snapshots from decades of summers and holidays: grinning kids holding up fish, a row of cousins squinting in the sun, horses with braided manes. She led us through every room: the front parlour, the den where someone had already set up a jigsaw puzzle in one corner and a cluster of board games in another, the kitchen with its battered farmhouse table. Austin’s dad stuck close, hands in his pockets but never straying too far, like he wanted to make up for lost time just by being near. Tracy hung back a little at first — quick with a smile, checking that we had everything we needed, but content to let David do the fussing.
The whole time voices overlapped — everyone talking at once. Austin fielded it all with easy familiarity, teasing his sister, ducking a good-natured jab from his granddad about city kids as he gestured us all toward the back porch. “Alright, city folk, come see the real view.” We stepped outside together, the porch boards warm underfoot, a gentle wind stirring the distant shrub and the blue sky stretching forever.
His granddad pointed out the barn, the stables, the paddock where a few horses grazed, then tipped his hat at me. “You ride?”
“No. I’ve only been on a horse a couple of times, and always with someone leading me around,” I admitted, glancing at Austin, who looked ready to make some kind of crack.
His granddad just winked. “Well, you’re welcome to give it a try before the weekend’s out. Don’t let him tell you he was a natural, neither. We put him on bareback, let the mare do the teaching.”
Austin groaned, good-natured. “I survived.”
“Every year he’d come down here and play cowboy,” Ashley laughed, nudging him. “You could barely get him out of his boots by the end of summer.”
There was a ripple of laughter, David’s hand squeezing Tracy’s shoulder, Anthony chiming in with a crack about who looked best in a hat. The conversation ebbed for a moment as everyone gazed out at the horses, and I felt the full warmth of this place — not just from the sun, but from the way the whole family wrapped you in, no questions asked.
Austin’s grandma paused, “Why don’t you two take a minute out here?” she said quietly. “Take it all in. It’s a bit much when everyone gets talking at once.”
David nodded, arm around Tracy’s waist now. “We’ll get the rest of your stuff inside.” They peeled away with a promise to come fetch us before the rest of the family arrived.
We made our way to the fence, where a chestnut mare ambled over, nostrils flaring as she inspected my outstretched hand. Austin rested his arm along the rail, shoulders relaxing more by the second.
For a moment it was just us, sunlight slanting across the paddock, the horse nudging his sleeve. He looked around — at the house, the hills, the distant haze of heat rising from the earth. Then he just grinned, a little sheepish, and slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me close, voice soft for just me. “I know it’s overwhelming.”
I pressed my shoulder into his, smiling up at him. “It’s a bit full-on. But I think I get why you love it here.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple, and for a moment, everything else fell away.
We made our way back across the yard, boots soft on packed earth, the ranch growing louder with every step. The sound of new voices drifted out across the porch — laughter, greetings, the shuffle and slam of car doors. At the bottom step, Austin caught my eye — just a flicker of reassurance.
“You ready?” he murmured.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear.
We barely got two steps inside before he was intercepted. A man I didn’t recognise pulled him into a bear hug so hard Austin let out a surprised laugh, arms wrapping back automatically.
“Look at you,” the man said, clapping him on the shoulder when he finally let go. “You’ve been gone forever.”
Austin grinned, breathless. “Feels like it.”
Someone else was already stepping in, hand on his back, another quick hug, another shoulder squeeze. His grandmother appeared again as if she’d materialised out of thin air, kissing his cheek and smoothing a hand over his jaw like she needed to confirm he was real, and vanished again into the moving crowd.
Through it all, he kept me close — his hand finding mine, his arm slipping around my shoulders whenever the tide of bodies threatened to separate us. He answered every greeting with easy familiarity, his smile bright and constant, but I could feel the way he anchored himself to me anyway, like a quiet reminder that I was part of this now.
Then a voice cut through the room. “Well, damn.”
Austin turned toward it with a grin already forming.
“There he is.” The man who spoke stepped forward, older than Austin but younger than his dad — sun-weathered, baseball cap in his hand. He pulled Austin into a hug that lasted a beat longer than the others.
“Good to see you, kid,” he said, voice rough with genuine feeling. “Been a long time.”
Austin’s grin softened. “Yeah. It has.”
The man pulled back, still holding his shoulder, then glanced at me. “And who’s this?”
Austin’s hand tightened around mine. He stepped half a pace closer. “This is Angie,” he said, clear and steady. “My girlfriend.”
Something fluttered in my chest at the simplicity of it. The way he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
The man smiled. “Well, alright then. Welcome.”
Before I could answer, a woman behind him leaned forward with a grin full of mischief.
“Angie?” she repeated, drawing it out.
I felt Austin’s fingers flex, like he knew exactly what was coming.
She tilted her head and, without warning, began to sing. “Aaaaangie…” she crooned, dramatic and slightly off-key, eyes sparkling. “Aaaaangie…”
Austin’s head tipped back as he laughed, cheeks going pink in the most endearing way.
“Stop,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Please —”
“Oh, don’t pretend you hate it.”
I covered my mouth, laughing too, because of course. Of course this was happening.
"It's okay, I'm used to it.” I brushed a hand lightly against Austin’s chest as I spoke, a silent reassurance. “But I’m actually named after a different song.”
That caught them.
“You are?” she asked.
Austin turned toward me, brows lifting, interest sharpening.
I nodded. “Yeah. Stevie Wonder. ‘Angie Girl.’”
There was a brief pause — just enough for the laughter to shift into something warmer.
“Stevie Wonder?” someone echoed, delighted. “That’s even better.”
“My dad was a huge fan,” I said. “He always told my mum that if they ever had a girl, that’s what he’d call her.”
Austin’s thumb traced slowly across my knuckles. Subtle but intentional. Something flickered across his face. Recognition. Understanding. He leaned closer. “That’s really sweet,” he murmured.
The woman closest to me reached out and squeezed my arm. “That’s a beautiful reason to have the name.”
“Thank you,” I managed, voice lighter than my chest felt.
Austin’s arm slid fully around my waist then, drawing me in just slightly. Protective without making a show of it.
Then someone else spoke up, steering the room back into motion.
“So,” one of the uncles said, pointing at Austin, “how long are you actually home for?”
Austin laughed. “Long enough to get interrogated, apparently.”
“Damn right. We don’t get you in person very often.”
“And are we getting Elvis at the dinner table,” someone added, “or is he officially retired?”
Austin rolled his eyes. “He’s off-duty.”
There was a low rumble of laughter. The kind that comes from knowing someone for years and being comfortable enough to poke at them without it ever landing wrong.
Anthony nudged him. “Seriously though. What was it like? All of it.”
Austin ran a hand over the back of his neck, considering. “It was bigger than I expected. Longer too. There were days it felt like the only thing that existed was the set.”
“Did it ever stop feeling surreal?” Ashley asked.
He shook his head. “Not really.”
One of the younger cousins leaned forward. “Did you have to wear the jumpsuits?”
Austin laughed, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. There were a lot of jumpsuits. More makeup than I’ve ever worn. And I listened to so much music I thought my brain would melt.” He caught my eye, grinning.
“I got a bit lost in it for a while,” he admitted. “But it was the good kind of lost. Standing on stage with the band behind me — it felt real. Sometimes too real.”
David, leaning against the arm of the sofa, watched him with quiet pride. “You always did that,” he said. “When you got your mind on something.”
Austin gave a small smile. “You don’t really switch off,” he added after a moment. “Even when you’re not working.”
Ashley’s gaze sharpened. “You’re better at that now.”
He didn’t answer.
“He’s trying,” I said.
A few heads turned toward me — not sharply. Just folding me in.
His grandfather smiled. “That right?”
Austin laced his fingers through mine. “Yeah. That’s right.”
Ashley bumped his knee. “Grandma’s already planning a watch party.”
“No pressure,” Austin muttered.
“And London?” someone asked. “That’s where you are now?”
Austin nodded. “Yeah — Masters of the Air. It’s about the American bomber crews in World War II. Different kind of intense. Freezing half the time. Long days. But it’s good.”
His eyes flicked to me instinctively. “I like it there.”
I felt my cheeks warm and looked down before anyone could catch it.
“Do you say ‘cheers’ now?” someone teased.
“I do not.”
“Do you drink tea all day?”
“She does,” he said, nodding toward me.
I raised an eyebrow. “Traitor.”
David, catching Austin’s eye, grinned. “Bet you're not missing English food though.”
Austin laughed, the sound bright. “You’d be surprised. Angie’s converted me to roast dinners and mince pies.”
"Don't put that on me, mince pies are disgusting."
The room laughed again, and Austin’s arm tightened briefly around my waist, like he couldn’t resist.
Ashley smirked. “Is he still as dramatic at home as he is at work?”
“Oh, worse,” I said, smiling into Austin’s shoulder. “He once read a whole shopping list in character.”
Austin groaned.
“You always did love to put on a show,” his grandma said fondly.
“Guess some things don’t change,” he replied.
Then his grandma looked at me.
“And you,” she said gently. “You’ve been keeping him level?”
“I’m trying.”
“He doesn’t need keeping level,” David said. “He just needs feeding.”
“That too.”
“She’s bossy about it,” Austin added.
“Lies.”
“Documented facts.”
David studied him, then smiled. “You look good, son. Happy.” His gaze shifted to me, warm.
I felt my cheeks warm. Austin squeezed my hand again.
Tracy tilted her head. “Going to get used to the sunshine again?”
“He secretly loves the rain,” I said.
“I might be a convert,” he replied.
The room gradually softened into smaller pockets of conversation, the welcome-back frenzy settling into the steady rhythm of family. Someone headed toward the kitchen. A younger cousin disappeared upstairs. Chairs scraped softly as people shifted positions.
Austin leaned closer. “You need anything?” he asked quietly. “Another drink?”
I shook my head. “I’ll grab it.”
He caught my wrist lightly before I stood. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Stay here. Be interrogated.”
He laughed under his breath and let me go.
The kitchen was only a few steps away, separated by a wide archway. His grandma was already there, moving between counter and stove with brisk efficiency. Tracy stood beside her, sleeves rolled up, checking something in the oven.
“Can I help?” I asked, stepping fully inside.
His grandma turned, brightening immediately. “Oh, sweetheart, yes — come here.”
She slid a bowl of green beans toward me and passed over a knife without ceremony. “Just these, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
I settled at the end of the kitchen table, tucking one foot under my chair as I started trimming the stems. Tracy moved past with a stack of plates and paused long enough to give my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re fitting in just fine,” she murmured.
I smiled. “It’s not hard.”
From the living room, laughter flared again — Austin’s voice in the middle of it, animated, answering something I couldn’t quite hear. I glanced up instinctively.
He was leaning against the back of the sofa, half-turned toward whoever was talking — but his eyes found me almost immediately. I raised my eyebrows slightly, lifting a green bean like evidence.
He smirked.
He was pulled back into the conversation and the room swelled again, the noise carrying easily through the open space between us.
I went back to trimming, the rhythm settling into my hands, the kitchen filling slowly with movement and warmth. Tracy told me about her first Christmas here — how chaotic it had felt, how quickly it became home. Austin’s grandfather poked his head in to inspect progress before disappearing again. From the living room, laughter rolled in waves. Someone put music on. The tree lights glowed softly in the corner.
Austin appeared at my side a few minutes later, topping up my coffee without asking. He bent to press a quick kiss to my cheek, his palm warm at the small of my back — lingering just long enough to be felt before he was claimed again by the noise next door.
By the time the last dish went into the oven, the kitchen was full of easy chatter. The sun angled lower through the windows, turning everything honey-soft. I felt more at home here than I’d dared hope — wrapped in the thrum of Austin’s family, his voice somewhere close, the hum of Christmas spinning up around us.
Dinner stretched long and loud — plates passed back and forth, second helpings negotiated, Austin pulled into the centre of it more than once while I watched him slip easily between versions of himself: grandson, brother, son. I stayed close, knee brushing his under the table, his hand finding mine without looking.
Eventually the table thinned. Dishes were stacked, leftovers wrapped without ceremony, his granddad disappearing outside for a minute to check on something in the yard. The house shifted into that loose, satisfied quiet that comes after everyone’s eaten.
Austin stayed where he was beside me, elbow hooked over the back of my chair, listening more than talking now, relaxed in a way that felt deeper than just being home.
His grandma wiped her hands on a tea towel. “We’ll need to start getting ready soon,” she said lightly, not to anyone in particular. “Don’t want to walk in after the first hymn.”
I glanced at Austin. Something must have shown on my face, because he leaned closer. “Christmas Eve service,” he said quietly. “We go every year.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Okay.”
“You good?” he asked softly.
I nodded again. “Yeah.”
He studied me for a second longer than necessary, then stood, offering me his hand. “Come on.”
The door clicked shut behind us, and the noise downstairs dropped to a low, steady hum. Austin crossed to the dresser and pulled open a drawer, glancing over his shoulder at me. “You sure you’re okay with it?”
I sat on the edge of the bed, untying my boots. “Yeah.”
He waited.
I hesitated, then said, “I’ve never really done church.”
That got his full attention, curious. “Never?”
I shook my head. “Mum’s technically Church of England. Dad was Jewish. But neither of them were religious. It just… wasn’t a thing in our house.”
He nodded slowly, absorbing it. “So this is your first Christmas Eve service?” he asked.
“Unless you count the school nativity,” I said.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “It’s not intense,” he said. “No one’s going to test you. It’s the same people every year. Same songs. Same pews.”
I looked up at him. “Why do you go?” I asked.
He didn’t answer straight away. He pulled on a fresh shirt and leaned back against the dresser. “My mom liked it,” he said finally. “She wasn’t strict about anything. But she liked the big services. Christmas. Easter. That kind of thing.” A beat. “She used to help out sometimes. Choir stuff. Decorations. She liked being part of it.”
He shrugged, but there was something deliberate in the way he said it. “I guess when I’m there,” he said carefully, “it feels close to her.”
That made my chest tighten in a way I hadn’t prepared for. I stood and stepped into him without thinking about it, my hands sliding lightly around his waist. “That makes sense.”
He rested his chin briefly against the top of my head.
“I’m not… super religious,” he added after a second. “It’s more about being together.”
I leaned back enough to look at him. “I’m not against it. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
He smiled faintly. “Stand when everyone stands. Sit when they sit. That’s about it.”
“Very technical.”
“I’ll nudge you.”
That felt better than any reassurance speech could have.
Downstairs, a door closed. Laughter carried up the stairwell.
I crossed to my bag, digging for something a little less travel-worn. “Is there a dress code I should know about? I don’t want to accidentally offend anyone,” I said, half-teasing.
“You won’t,” he replied. “It’s Arizona. Not the Vatican.”
That earned a small laugh from me.
“You’re fine,” he added, softer. “No one’s looking for perfection.”
I swapped my top for something smarter, ran my fingers through my hair and tried to smooth it into something that looked intentional. I caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching me with that quiet, assessing look he got when he was thinking about something but not saying it yet.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. Then, after a second, “You look good.”
I rolled my eyes lightly. “Very helpful.”
He stepped closer, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. I reached up and fixed the collar where it had folded slightly at the back of his neck. When I lowered my hands, he didn’t move away. His eyes held mine — warm, intent, a quiet flicker of something I couldn’t quite name. His thumb pressed lightly at my waist.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He brushed his mouth briefly against my temple, then reached for my hand and opened the door, the noise of the house swelling around us again.
The church wasn’t what I’d pictured.
It was bright and open, white beams arching overhead. Rows of padded chairs faced a low stage where a simple wooden cross hung against a wash of blue light, Christmas trees glowing softly on either side. It felt contemporary. More community hall than cathedral. The room filled quickly, people brushing past us with warm smiles and murmured greetings as they found their seats.
Austin’s family slid into a row together, greeting people as they passed. He guided me in beside him, his hand resting briefly at the small of my back before we sat. His fingers found mine without looking.
The band began almost casually — a piano line threading through the room, a guitar following it. People rose around us in an easy ripple. Austin stood, pulling me gently with him.
He sang quietly, his voice low and easy, eyes on the stage. I watched the line of his mouth as he followed the lyrics on the screen, the way he leaned slightly toward his grandma when she reached for a higher note and laughed at herself under her breath. He squeezed her hand once, steadying her, and she smiled up at him.
The song wound down, voices softening into silence, people lowering back into their chairs. The pastor stepped forward, his tone conversational, speaking about Christmas as something people return to. About traditions gathering meaning because of who you share them with. About showing up for each other year after year, even when life has taken you far from where you started.
Austin listened with his hands resting loosely in his lap, head angled slightly. As the pastor spoke about returning to the same room, about the faces that shape you, I saw a flicker pass through him. A tightening around his eyes. His gaze dropped, then lifted. A breath held for half a second too long before easing again. It was subtle, gone almost as soon as it appeared, like he was somewhere else for a moment. I felt it as surely as if he’d said something out loud.
I lifted his hand from his lap, easing his palm upward in mine. My fingers traced across his wrist, following the familiar curve of the number tattooed there. His breath changed slightly when I touched it. He looked down at our hands, then up at me. Something in his expression softened — not a smile exactly, but a warmth that reached his eyes. A shared understanding that didn’t need explaining. His fingers folded around mine more firmly, and he leaned in until his shoulder rested against mine.
The pastor’s voice continued, the room wrapped in stillness.
Austin’s hand stayed in mine. I let my head tip gently against his shoulder. And I understood, completely, how much it mattered to him that I was there.
Song inspo:
Taglist:
@slowsweetlove @thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @myradiaz @butlerrizz @chocolatetree222 @richardslady121 @ilovereadingfanfics @faegoddessog @lucianegm @butlers-angels @jjubilee-fluff @idontknowcantthink @feb28th @adashofpurple @suzysface
