i use my degree to write fics on the internet, and i won't apologise for it. i have many obsessions and hyperfixations, so expect nothing and everything.
this is an 18+ blog: that means absolutely EVERYTHING I write is 18+ content and is not suitable for minors.
Gator Tillman x Reader Series List
Beautiful Broken Things : Six Part Series
Memories of You : Sixteen Part Series
Four Winds : Ten Part Series
At The Heart Of It : Twelve Part Series & Under The Skin : Twelve Part Series [In Progress]
Gator Tillman x Reader One Shot List
Quietly
Graveyard Shift
Name Game
Eddie Munson x Reader One Shot List
Morning Glory
I do not list content warnings on my posts however, if you would like to have a list of content warnings before reading any of my fics then feel free to message me and I will send one.
I also upload to Wattpad, I'm @thoroughlymimi there too!
I have a Steve Harrington x OC! fic that is Wattpad only, if you want to read Close To You.
Omg the end of that last chapter got me 🥺🥺🥺 just thinking about about gator and baby having a little girl in the future all in the big house together 🥺
He just needs to be wrapped up in love, Josie is our therapy baby 😂
There is something about when babies choose people that is such a green flag, I can't explain it.... It's like they're simple, little minds, just know
I feel like this reveals so much about me as a person 😂 My All Time Favourites that I rewatch all the time would have to be:
Schitt's Creek (just the most wholesome fun time, I interact almost entirely in Schitt's Creek Memes too)
Fleabag (undoubtedly some of the best screenwriting ever and I sob uncontrollably every single time, I watch it every time I need a good cry and Andrew Scott's Hot Priest inspired my first ever smut piece I wrote which was unhinged priest smut that will never see the light of say but had my best friend threatening to section me)
Normal People (I'm a huge reader and I loved the book, but I actually think the series is better which is MAD for me! Again, never fails to make me cry and sometimes you just need a good cry)
I always kept it in the back of my head that Roy might be sketchy simply because he was so evil in the actual Fargo series!!!
-🍵
I always play with Roy when I'm writing, sometimes I like him being sketchy, sometimes I have him a little forgiveable.
Mostly I play him in the middle, I like the idea that he THINKS he's the bad guy, he THINKS he's all big and clever but really he's just big for his boots.
But I agree in the series he is a top tier asshole!!!
Summary: New beginnings, quiet acts of kindness, and another reminder that Maggie never gives up on people everyone else has forgotten.
Note: Actually can't believe there is only two chapters left- wtaf?! You'll be glad to know I have another Gator fic in the planning stages ALSO I have a Steve One Shot in the line-up [heavy on the smut] and a Keys (wth? new character unlocked Mimi?!) mini-series in the brainstorming stages.... So, essentially, things to look forward to. Also, I'm always opens to chats and suggestions or asks or prompts, any little ideas that might get a ball rolling. Anyway, here is todays chapter, enjoy my lovelies... Mimi <3
Masterlist
Fascia Superficialis
Translation: Superficial Fascia
From fascia, meaning ‘a bandage’ and superficialis, meaning ‘belonging to the surface’. A continuous sheet of connective tissue that connects the skin to underlying structures.
Tuesday morning found you back in Bug's apartment. His living room barely looked like the same room you'd left only a few days earlier. The whiteboard that had already been crowded with names, dates and arrows had surrendered entirely beneath fresh layers of paper. Print-outs covered one whole wall now, overlapping photographs, handwritten notes and maps pinned together beneath brightly coloured Post-it notes. Somewhere along the way Bug had crossed the invisible line between organised investigation and something that would probably concern a therapist.
You leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded, facing the expanding chaos while Bug occupied the chair in front of his monitors. Maggie stood just behind his shoulder, one hand resting lightly against the back of the chair as she studied everything appearing across the screens.
You were certain Bug hadn’t slept. At some point he'd apparently decided sleep was an unnecessary biological inconvenience. His hair was sticking out in every direction. Empty energy drink cans stood in uneven towers around the desk beside abandoned coffee mugs, crisp packets and the remains of what might once have been an apple. The room smelled faintly of stale coffee, overheated electronics and the unmistakable atmosphere of someone who had become completely consumed by a problem.
You had known something significant had happened the second Maggie's phone rang that morning. Bug had been almost incomprehensible. Somewhere beneath frantic breathing and words tripping over one another you'd managed to catch found something and you need to come now, but very little else. Maggie hadn't even attempted to make sense of it over the phone. She'd simply told him to stay exactly where he was while the two of you drove over.
Now, seeing him practically vibrating in his chair, you understood why. He looked positively electric.
"This guy is like big bad. Movie villain bad." His fingers barely stopped moving as he spoke, bouncing between keyboard and mouse with impossible speed. "He's hiding it good, took me a while and this doesn't normally take me any time because, well, like, I'm kinda good at this stuff. But I did it. Anyway, Marshall Beaumont, so he owns a bunch of cattle ranches and the 'Field Marshall's' store chain, still hate the pun name. The ranching stuff is generational, Beaumont's have been big ranchers since the 1800s, like grainy brown photos of his great-great-great-great-granddaddy in a Stetson type stuff. That's the good stuff."
Maggie remained characteristically still despite the whirlwind unfolding in front of her.
"And the bad?"
Bug's face lit up with the peculiar enthusiasm that only somebody deeply fascinated by financial crime could manage.
"He uses different alias's to open these debt companies, they feed into land acquisitions; basically you miss a payment and he doubles it, miss another he triples it until you're drowning and then he takes your house to 'settle it', the land is then sold through those property companies like Vallard. But all the companies, they're shells, obviously, they switch and change it's just layers and layers of LLCs. The bit you really won't like, is you're right, about him targeting the Grace Foundation, well not him, he is never actually there, but his 'people', 'henchmen', is henchmen too comic book?"
You caught Maggie's eyes for the briefest second, she didn't answer his question, mostly because neither of you were particularly concerned with what he chose to call them; although henchmen felt strangely appropriate.
Bug was already somewhere else entirely, talking almost as quickly as he was thinking. Windows opened and disappeared across his monitors before you could properly register what you were looking at. One click became another. A dozen security feeds replaced spreadsheets and company records. Feeds of places you knew; The Hawthorne, The Willow, The Outreach Centre.
"So I hacked into all the cameras from the Grace projects."
Maggie's eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly.
"Ok, well when I got you to fit the cameras you told me no-one could hack them."
"Oh, yeah, no-one else can, no-one else is as good as me, and it's my system, like only I can." He waved one hand dismissively without taking his eyes off the screen. "But um, yeah, I don't do it, usually, this was just like, extraneous circumstances, um, but like, here, look."
He pressed play and black-and-white footage flickered into motion.
The camera overlooked the entrance to the Willow. Residents wandered in and out carrying shopping bags and laundry hampers, entirely ordinary moments that suddenly felt significant simply because Bug had chosen them. After several seconds, a sharply dressed man entered the frame. Suit. Tie. Polished shoes that looked completely out of place. He stopped beside a woman carrying groceries, spoke to her for a minute or two, then handed her a small card before she disappeared inside the building.
Bug clicked again. Another camera, this time at the Outreach Centre. The very same man appeared outside the entrance speaking to different people waiting to go inside.
"They give out cards and talk to residents everywhere. But mostly the Outreach Centre; they're there a few times a week. And like, it ain't illegal for them to hand out leaflets, right? But, I went to the outreach the other day, they also have those leaflets on the counter inside, I took them all, like stole them or whatever because Katie, behind the desk, she makes me kind of nervous and I didn't want to try to explain like 'oh you shouldn't have these, the guy is a creep.' So, I just took them."
Maggie blinked.
"You went to the Outreach Centre?"
For the first time since arriving, Bug actually seemed to lose his momentum. His fingers hesitated above the keyboard before immediately starting to fidget again.
"Well... yeah." He shrugged one shoulder awkwardly. "I found this and then I got this, like... itchy feeling? Like my brain wouldn't stop thinking about it and I needed to see if I was right. Which I was. So I just... went. I didn't stay long or anything. I just sort of... looked around. Then I saw the leaflets and I was like, 'knew it’ so I took them. Then I left."
You looked at Maggie. She wasn't looking at the security footage anymore; she was looking at Bug.
There was genuine surprise on her face, the kind she rarely allowed herself to show. You remembered, with perfect clarity, the way he'd reacted only a few weeks ago when she'd asked him to go somewhere with her. The suggestion alone had been enough to make him visibly uncomfortable. Bug didn't leave his apartment unless he absolutely had to. Given the choice, his entire world comfortably existed within these four walls, his monitors and an internet connection.
Yet he'd walked to the Outreach Centre. Not because somebody had asked him to, because he'd found something that didn't sit right and couldn't ignore it. Bug probably didn't even realise what he'd done. To him, it had simply been the next logical step in solving the puzzle. To everyone else in the room, it was something considerably bigger.
“So, yeah, this is how they are picking people.” Bug continued. “I mean, not the only way, they also hangout by like the church and the job centre. But, he definitely has his eye on the Grace Foundation. I mean, it makes sense, right? Like, they come to you for help, he knows they need help… just like, he’s a bad guy and you’re a good guy.”
Maggie’s gaze returned to the paused image of the suited man. You could practically see her mind moving beyond him, past the cameras, past the evidence and straight towards every vulnerable person living inside the Grace Foundation's projects. Her jaw tightened.
"I knew it." The words were quiet enough that they almost disappeared beneath the hum of Bug's computers. "I painted a target on those people's backs. I should have known better."
The guilt landed with surprising force. You recognised it because it was so distinctly Maggie. Faced with somebody else's cruelty, she instinctively searched for her own responsibility first. Not because it truly belonged to her, but because if some part of it did, then perhaps she could prevent it happening again.
"Mags," you said gently, "this isn't on you. You are helping people, while this man circles them like a predator. No point in blaming yourself, let's just fix it, right? That's what you do. You fix things."
She looked at you. For a second you caught everything she refused to say aloud. Anger. Worry. Guilt. Then, almost as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared again beneath the calm mask she wore better than anybody you'd ever known. Determination.
"I'm going to call around, make sure no-one else is handing out Beaumont's cards."
Her voice was steady again, if a little weaker than usual. Without another word she turned, already pulling her phone from her pocket as she crossed the apartment. A moment later the front door closed quietly behind her, leaving her pacing the hallway outside while she began making calls. Bug stared towards the closed door, chewing absent-mindedly at the inside of his cheek.
"I didn't mean to upset her; did I do something wrong?" His eyes flicked towards you. "I thought she'd want to know, like to stop it?"
"You didn't do anything wrong." You smiled reassuringly. "Give her a moment. Once she has a plan, she'll be fine."
That had always been Maggie's way, she could survive almost anything provided there was something practical to do about it.
"In the meantime," you continued, glancing around the apartment, "why don't you go get a shower and I'll clean this place up a bit."
Bug looked around as though noticing the state of the room for the first time. Then he lifted one arm and cautiously sniffed beneath it.
"You don't have to, I can sort it, just been working on this and I don't really know the time when I'm doing it, like sometimes I'll get lost in a rabbit hole and when I come up I think I've been gone like an hour and turns out it's been eight hours and I forgot to like, pee, or something."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
"It's ok, I live in a house with two teenage boys and three small children. This is nothing."
"You have kids?" Bug frowned.
"What?" You laughed again. "Oh, no, cousins. Big family."
"Oh, yeah, right, Maggie told me. Um, Ford, is it? Or Brett?"
"Brooks. Yeah, Brooks lives with his sons in The Cabin, which is like another house on the ranch, then the rest of us live in the Big House; Maggie, me, Ford and the kids."
"Sounds nice, busy, but nice. I had a foster house once where there was like four of us kids and I didn't really like the place, but the other kids were cool."
You had started gathering empty energy drink cans from around the desk, stacking them against one another before carrying them towards the overflowing kitchen bin. You found yourself smiling quietly, not because of what he'd said, but because he'd said it at all. Every conversation with Bug seemed to contain a thousand words but rarely did it reveal a piece of him, so when it did, it took you by surprise. As you reached for another abandoned coffee mug, curiosity finally got the better of you.
"I've been wanting to ask, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but why 'Bug'?"
"My name?" He scratched awkwardly at the side of his neck. "Oh, um, it's stupid really, everyone thinks it's like a computer thing. But it's actually, like before everything messed up and I got taken to foster care, I lived with my Gramma for a bit, she was like super old, she died that's why I got taken away, I was like four and I didn't really know she was dead, I thought she was just sleeping and they found me in the house with her, I'd just been like playing by myself for a couple days waiting for her to wake up."
He said it with exactly the same tone he'd used to explain octopuses and cattle ratios and shell companies. No self-pity, no visible sadness, just another fact.
"But she always used to tuck me in at night and she always used to say, 'Snug as a Bug' and I thought my name was Bug, like she was saying I was the bug, I am snug. So when the child services people asked me my name, I said Bug, because that's what Gramma called me. All the families I stayed with, they always called me by my proper name, and it felt weird, like that wasn't a person I knew. But I knew Bug, I am Bug, like he makes sense."
Your hands stopped moving. For a moment you simply stood there holding a stack of empty cans, completely winded by how casually he'd described what was, quite possibly, one of the saddest childhood stories you'd ever heard.
"I'm sorry," you said quietly. "About your Gramma."
"Oh, yeah." He gave a small shrug. "I mean, people die. She was super old."
The simplicity of the answer somehow made it hurt even more.
"Can I ask..." You smiled softly. "What is your other name?"
Bug pushed himself up from the chair, stretching stiffly before absent-mindedly scratching at the back of his head. He untangled the wired headphones hanging around his neck, laying them carefully on the desk beside the keyboard. Even then he didn't quite look at you.
"Um... Miles."
You rolled the name around your head for a second, then smiled.
"Yeah. I prefer Bug."
That finally made him look up, a crooked smile spread slowly across his face, small but completely genuine.
"Me too."
Bug disappeared into the bedroom a few minutes later the shower started running behind the closed door. Left to yourself, you began restoring some sort of order to the apartment. Coffee mugs collected beside keyboards and monitors found their way into the sink. A surprising number of cereal bowls emerged from places cereal bowls had absolutely no business being. You wiped down the kitchen counters, rinsed the dishes and finally opened the refrigerator to see what Bug actually had to eat.
The fridge was remarkably well stocked considering everything else you'd seen. Eggs. Bacon. Cheese. Fresh tomatoes. Avocados that were somehow perfectly ripe. A packet of bagels. Enough food to make an actual meal rather than Bug's apparent diet of caffeine and good intentions. You smiled to yourself, knowing that Maggie had a hand in it.
You set everything out on the counter and slipped naturally into the familiar rhythm of making food. Bacon crackled gently in the pan while bagels toasted. Coffee filled the apartment with a far more welcoming smell than stale energy drinks ever had. Before long you were slicing avocado over toasted bagels, layering bacon, eggs, cheese and tomato before pouring three fresh coffees.
You'd just finished arranging everything onto a plate when the bedroom door opened, Bug wandered back into the apartment looking like an entirely different person. His damp hair had surrendered into soft curls around the edges, falling untidily across his forehead, and he'd exchanged yesterday's clothes for a clean t-shirt and joggers. He still looked tired, dark circles lingering beneath his eyes, but at least now he looked like somebody who belonged in daylight rather than somebody who'd been surviving exclusively beneath the glow of computer monitors. He stopped dead when he spotted the food waiting on the counter.
"You are a mini-Maggie." His eyes moved between the plates and the now considerably tidier apartment. "She always comes in and cleans up and feeds me and makes me drink water. She's like my mom, but like not like my mom because my mom was like, I don't even know, but not here or there or whatever. Maggie is like a good mom."
"Yeah, she is." You smiled as you slid one of the plates towards him. "Guess I kind of got used to it, there's always someone in our house who needs something."
Bug accepted the plate and began to eat like someone whose body had finally remembered it required actual food to function. Within seconds half the bagel had disappeared. You suspected if you'd placed the entire frying pan in front of him, he'd probably have considered it.
The front door opened just as he reached for his coffee. Maggie stepped back inside, slipping her phone into her handbag as though the previous twenty minutes had simply been another ordinary item on her morning schedule. The guilt had disappeared from her expression; purpose had replaced it.
"I've reached out to all the Foundation projects, they are all aware of the situation and thankfully, no one else has been displaying Marshall's leaflets. I also have them reaching out to residents, to see if anyone else is involved with the loans or needs help."
"Good." You handed her the remaining mug of coffee. "So you have a plan?"
One corner of Maggie's mouth lifted.
"The starts of one."
Then her attention drift around the apartment. Her eyes took in the cleared counters, the empty cans now gone, the washed dishes drying neatly beside the sink before finally settling on Bug, who was leaning over the breakfast bar enthusiastically demolishing the remains of his bagel.
"Well," she said with quiet amusement, "looks like you took one job off my list."
You glanced towards Bug, who was too busy eating to notice he'd become the subject of conversation.
"I think he might need your scary mom voice to tell him to get some sleep."
A warm chuckle escaped Maggie. She crossed the apartment and stopped beside Bug, resting one hand lightly against his shoulder until he finally looked up from his breakfast.
"Me and Baby are going to take care of some stuff." Her voice carried the same calm certainty it always did. "You did a good job with all this, Bug. I'm proud of you, thank you."
Bug froze; you weren't entirely sure he'd even swallowed. Praise seemed to hit him with almost as much force as criticism hit most other people.
"Now," Maggie continued gently, "you are going to turn off those screens and get some sleep. I will call you later."
Bug nodded enthusiastically around a mouthful of bagel that made any attempt at speaking completely impossible. You laughed; it might have been the first time since meeting him that silence had been achieved simply because his mouth was too full to ramble.
・❥・
By the time you pulled into the Iron Pit's parking lot that afternoon, the place barely resembled the first time you'd visited.
The Yukon rolled to a stop beneath the familiar line of motorcycles, but everything beyond them had changed. Construction had spread across almost the entire courtyard, transforming what had once been an open expanse of cracked concrete into something halfway between a building site and a functioning clubhouse. The old garages had disappeared completely, reduced to memory and piles of rubble. In their place, fresh timber frames stretched along one side of the yard where the new garages were steadily taking shape. Towards the rear, steel beams marked out the footprint of the much larger two-storey workshop that would eventually dominate the compound. For now it existed only as skeleton framing and concrete foundations, but it was easy enough to imagine what it would become.
Only the clubhouse itself remained untouched. Everything else buzzed with the organised chaos that always seemed to accompany Ford's crews. Compressors hummed somewhere behind stacks of timber. Nail guns cracked rhythmically across the site while forklifts shuffled pallets of materials between half-finished structures. Men in hard hats moved confidently between one another, each apparently knowing exactly where they needed to be without anyone raising their voice.
The moment you climbed out of the Yukon, a couple of familiar faces looked up. One of Ford's foremen gave you an easy wave before disappearing back into conversation with another builder. Further across the yard, one of the younger lads from the construction company tipped his hard hat in your direction with a grin. You smiled and waved back. There was something oddly comforting about seeing little pieces of home scattered wherever Ford's projects happened to be.
Behind you, Maggie climbed out more slowly, her phone already pressed against her ear. She fell into step a pace behind while finishing whatever conversation she'd been having since leaving Bug's apartment. Even now, with Beaumont occupying both your minds, she seemed incapable of wasting a single journey. Every spare minute became another phone call. Another problem quietly dealt with before anybody else even realised it existed.
You crossed the courtyard together, weaving around neatly stacked materials until you reached the clubhouse. Unlike your last visit, the front door already stood open. Still, habit won out and you rapped your knuckles against the metal frame before leaning your head inside.
"Cal? You in here?"
Cal appeared from the back office wiping his hands on an old rag, his expression brightening almost immediately when he spotted the pair of you.
"My favourite ladies," he smiled. "Weren't expecting you today."
"Yeah, sorry about the drop in." You stepped inside, glancing back towards the construction noise drifting through the open doorway. "Building's coming on though."
Cal followed your gaze towards the courtyard with obvious satisfaction.
"Your boys work quick. You just drop by to check on them?"
"No," you smiled, stepping aside slightly as Maggie joined you. "Actually, Maggie wanted to speak to you about something."
Maggie ended her call behind you, slipping her phone into her pocket and motioned fully into the conversation with the same effortless confidence she seemed to carry into every room.
"Cal, sorry, how you getting on?"
"Ain't got no complaints." He folded the rag into one hand. "What did you need me for?"
"I've got another business proposition for you."
That earned a laugh. Cal rubbed one hand thoughtfully across his neatly trimmed beard, eyeing Maggie with the cautious amusement of a man who already knew her business propositions tended to become rather larger than they first sounded.
"This gonna be a coffee kind of chat," he asked, "or do I need to get the whiskey?"
Maggie chuckled as she claimed one of the chairs around the battered wooden table that occupied the centre of the clubhouse. Cal followed her lead, dragging another chair backwards with one boot before sitting opposite while you settled beside Maggie.
"I wanted to ask if you and your boys would be interested in a security gig."
The smile on Cal's face faltered, only slightly but you saw it all the same. His shoulders stiffened for a fraction of a second before he leaned back in his chair, and you knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. The last security job he'd accepted had been with Blackridge. That decision had very nearly ended in the loss of all his businesses and a position right at the top of Maggie Heaton’s shit list. Maggie noticed it too.
"Let me clarify," she said before he could answer. "All of it is entirely above board. I would register a company, anyone who chooses to work for that company would have benefits, regular pay check and proper training. I can't have men with records; I don't want them posted up in their leathers. This is a real gig, a proper job."
The tension eased almost immediately. Cal rubbed both palms slowly down the fronts of his jeans, considering it properly now rather than reacting to old mistakes.
"I got a couple guys I know would be interested, sure." He looked across at Maggie. "What they protecting?"
"My charity." Maggie folded her hands neatly on the table. "I've got a couple projects that protect vulnerable people and they are being targeted. A loan shark, trying to take advantage, we've had guys hanging out the front. I'm hoping a proper security detail presence will help ward them off and help my residents feel safe. Depending on how many of your men are interested, I also have opportunities at my bars. I have other contacts, so you don't have to say yes, I just wanted to give you the opportunity first."
You watched something shift behind Cal's expression. When you'd first met him, he had carried himself like a man who expected every conversation with somebody like Maggie Heaton to end with suspicion or refusal. It was difficult to blame him.
"You did say you were a good friend to have." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know a few of guys would be interested."
"Good." Maggie returned the smile. "I can come back tomorrow, speak to them all together. But make sure they know I want legitimate interest; job contracts, uniform, health insurance. I don't want violent men looking to puff chests. This is about making my vulnerable residents feel safer, not more scared."
"Understood."
"With that in mind," Maggie continued matter-of-factly, "my offer does not stretch to your Vice President. His attitude is not something I want to monetise."
You bit the inside of your cheek as Cal's eyes flicked briefly towards you before returning to Maggie, amusement already creeping back into his expression.
"Briggs can be cocky and he likes to feel powerful, but he ain't trouble."
"Maybe not." Maggie's tone remained pleasant, but entirely unmoved. "But the women that I protect, they have already had their fair share of cocky, entitled toxic men. I'm not adding to their burden. No records, no leathers, no Briggs. Gather who else you think will be interested and I'll come by tomorrow morning for a chat."
"Fair enough," Cal nodded.
Before anyone could say anything else, Maggie's phone buzzed across the tabletop. She glanced at the screen, frowned almost imperceptibly, then stood.
"Sorry."
Already answering the call, she stepped outside into the courtyard, her voice disappearing beneath the steady rhythm of hammers and nail guns. Cal watched the doorway for a second before looking back at you.
"She always been like this?"
"Maggie?" You laughed softly. "Yeah. She's a force to be reckoned with. But she means well."
"Oh, I don't doubt it." He rested his forearms on the table. "She don't have to be offering me nothing, men like me ain't usually getting offers for much more than a one-time job as muscle."
There wasn't any bitterness in his voice, just experience. You found yourself thinking about Bug. About Jack. About how often Maggie seemed to gather people the rest of the world had quietly decided not to bother with anymore.
"Maggie sees the worth in everyone," you said. "People think because she has money, that she's like every other rich business man, greedy. But that's not Maggie. If she's eating, she wants everyone else at the table to be eating too."
"Glad I took a seat at that table," Cal smiled.
You laughed as you pushed your chair back.
"Me too." Looking around the clubhouse, your attention drifted instinctively towards the ongoing work outside. "Is there anything you need while I'm here? You've got all the plans? Timetables? Clear on everything? Have you looked over those designs I sent you?"
"Yeah, I'm all good." Cal stood with you. "Your guy, Tripp, he keeps me updated with the building." He rubbed the back of his neck with an amused grin. "As for those designs, you sent me them yesterday, I ain't looked yet."
You opened your mouth to protest before catching yourself and he laughed.
"Promise I'll take a look today."
"I'll hold you to it."
Still smiling, he walked you to the open doorway. Outside, Maggie had finished her phone call and was waiting near the Yukon, the afternoon sun catching the lenses of her sunglasses as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. Cal nodded to both of you.
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
"You will," Maggie replied.
You both said your goodbyes before crossing the busy courtyard together, weaving once more through Ford's builders as you headed back towards the car, leaving the steady rhythm of construction carrying on behind you.
The drive back across town passed more quietly than the journey there. Maggie spent most of it replying to messages on her phone, occasionally making a note in the leather notebook she insisted on carrying everywhere, already stitching together whatever plan had begun forming inside her head.
Your thoughts lingered somewhere else, on something Cal had said. Men like me ain't usually getting offers for much more than a one-time job as muscle. There hadn't been any self-pity in it. If anything, he'd sounded resigned, like someone simply stating how the world worked.
It made you realise just how easily Maggie could have solved today's problem another way. She had contacts everywhere. If she wanted experienced security staff, she could have picked up the phone to Jack and had recommendations from former military personnel before dinner. She had more than enough money to hire one of the country's biggest private security firms if she'd wanted polished uniforms and decades of experience.
Instead she'd driven out to the Iron Pit. It wasn’t the easiest option, not by a long shot. But she’d seen another opportunity to hand people back a little dignity. That was what Maggie did better than anyone else you knew. She found the people everyone else quietly stepped around. The recovering addict. The ex-convict. The awkward hacker who forgot to eat when he got excited. She looked at them the way she looked at everyone else, searching first for what they could become instead of what they'd been.
Maggie didn’t conform to the way the world worked, she made her own. Maybe that was why people followed her so willingly. It wasn't her money, or her influence. It was because Maggie had an extraordinary habit of making people feel like they mattered.
Respect and loyalty weren't things she demanded, they grew naturally around her because she gave them first.
・❥・
On Wednesday morning the Big House was unusually quiet; Megan had come over and was waiting at the dining table with her laptop sat open in front of her, surrounded by a notebook, a handful of brightly coloured pens and an expression that suggested she was trying very hard not to look intimidated by the prospect of learning an entirely new job. You balanced two fresh coffees between your hands as you crossed from the kitchen island.
"I know it looks confusing at first," you said, sliding your own laptop around so both of you could see it, "but I swear it's really not and Sarah in finance is an angel, you can ask her anything, and me, obviously, I'm not just going to ditch you with it."
Megan peered suspiciously at the spreadsheets already covering your screen.
"But I don't need to know anything about actual construction, right?"
"God, no,” you laughed. “The closest thing you get to construction is if someone needs something ordered last minute, in which case you'll get an email or a text telling you exactly what and you just have to call, sound pretty, plead ignorance and flirt a little to make sure it arrives on time."
Megan burst into laughter.
"Well, that I can do."
"I'm sure you can."
She accepted the coffee with an appreciative smile.
"Thanks."
Then she shifted sideways in her chair, tucking one leg beneath herself before pulling the other up as well until she was facing you properly rather than the table. You settled back into your chair, wrapping both hands around your coffee as she spoke.
"I wanted to tell you that I followed your lead, left the group chat."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She gave a small shrug. "I'm so done with Paige and Brooke's bitterness. It feels so..."
"High school?"
"Exactly." Relief crossed her face at you finding the words for her. "I texted Hannah over the weekend too, and she did the same. She was a bit sad about it, but I told her she still had us."
That made you smile. You made a quiet mental note to message Hannah later. Properly this time. Not just react to something she'd sent three days ago before disappearing again. Sometimes you wondered how you'd managed to keep friends at all. Everyone around you seemed to understand that you vanished into family life for days at a time without meaning to.
Megan lifted one eyebrow over the rim of her mug.
"So, you going to tell me about your weekend away with Gator?"
A laugh escaped before you could stop it. You took a deliberately slow sip of coffee, mostly to hide the face-breaking grin that betrayed you.
"It was good."
"'Good?'” Megan stared at you. “That's what I'm getting?"
"I don't know what to tell you." You laughed again. "Yeah, it was great. It was nice to just be us with no interruptions and no audience."
"What did you do?"
"We just... existed. We got up late and ate breakfast in our room. We went for this long walk and went swimming in a lake. We rode horses and paddle boarded and it was just peaceful."
"Please tell me that Gator Tillman did not spend a weekend with you and all you did was swim in a lake?" Megan looked horrified.
"Oh my God." You covered your face with one hand, laughing and hoping you weren't turning an embarrassing shade of red at the memory of his body pressing you against the floor to ceiling windows of the lodge. "I'm not giving you all the details!"
"Why not?!" Megan protested through her own laughter. "I would, but I figured as Logan is your cousin, you probably..."
"Yeah, no." You pointed at her over the top of your mug. "Don't want to know a single thing about you and Logan's sex life."
That only made her laugh harder. Eventually the giggles settled into comfortable smiles, the sort that only ever happened between old friends who knew exactly where the line was. You looked down into your coffee.
"We're good." The words came more quietly this time. "I'm good. I'm happy."
"I know you are."
You looked back up.
"He's good for you." Megan smiled warmly. "Never thought I'd say those words about Gator, but he is. You smile different now."
"What do you mean?"
She tilted her head, studying you for a second as though trying to explain something she'd noticed long before you had.
"You used to smile like you were apologising and now you smile like you mean it."
The observation settled somewhere deep inside you. You found yourself thinking back over the last few weeks. None of it had been easy; Noah, Blackridge, the constant stream of crises that seemed determined to find your family.
Yet somehow you'd never felt steadier. You thought about phoning Gator when he was on the drive home simply because you couldn’t wait to tell him something funny Nicky had done. About falling asleep tucked against him without your brain still running through tomorrow's problems. About how ordinary it had become to reach for his hand without thinking.
Megan watched you quietly over the rim of her mug before a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"You know..." she said after a moment. "I don't think I realised it at the time, but I always thought there was something different between you two."
"You're only saying that because we're together now," you laughed.
"I'm serious." She smiled to herself. "There were just... little things."
"Like what?"
She rested her elbows on the table, thinking.
"I remember asking where you were all the time; lunch, after school, football games, wherever. Half the time I'd ask Gator if he'd seen you and before he even answered I'd already found you."
"What do you mean?" You frowned.
"He never had to answer." She shrugged. "I'd ask where you'd disappeared to and his eyes were already on you. I'd just follow where he was looking. I told myself it made sense; he drove you to school. He was Logan's best friend. Your family practically adopted him. Of course he knew where you were."
"Then there was that playoff game junior year,” Megan continued. “Coach had us cheerleaders setting up before everyone arrived, and I remember asking Logan if your family wanted me to save them seats near the fifty. Gator answered before Logan even had the chance."
Her voice slipped into an amused imitation.
"'Nah. Baby don't like sittin' by the speakers. Gives her a headache.'"
You hadn’t thought about it in years, but she was right. You hated sitting by the speakers, it was part of why, even now, Ford positioned the family by the thirty yard line.
"And I remember standing there thinking..." Megan smiled into her coffee. "'How does he know that?' I’ve known you since we were five and I didn’t know that. And then after your second surgery, when you were stuck at home. Me and Hannah were coming over to watch movies. We stopped at Peterson’s first for snacks and bumped into Logan and Gator. I’d grabbed one of those massive bags of sweet popcorn, but Gator swapped it for salty."
Her voice slipped back into her terrible imitation of Gator’s drawl.
“Baby don’t eat sweet, she likes salty. Mixes ‘em with M&M’s. Crunchy not peanut.”
You couldn’t help but grin; at Megan’s bad imitation, at the idea of him knowing that about you. Megan was grinning too.
"Then he picked up your peach iced tea because apparently that's what you'd been drinking after surgery. And before Hannah and I even realised what was happening, he’d paid for everything. I remember walking out of the store thinking, since when does Gator fucking Tillman know my best friend better than me?!”
Your fingers tightened a little around your coffee cup. It wasn't the stories themselves that caught somewhere behind your ribs. There was nothing particularly remarkable about salty popcorn or peach iced tea, no grand romantic gesture hidden inside them, and yet somehow they meant more than grandeur ever could. Gator had listened. He'd noticed. He'd remembered. All the little habits you didn't even notice about yourself. None of them were important on their own, but together they painted a picture of someone who had spent years quietly paying attention. It’s like he knew you better than you knew yourself. Perhaps that was what it really meant to be loved; to be known.
"You know what finally made me realise it?"
You looked up from your coffee.
"You."
"Me?"
She nodded, "you never looked for him."
You frowned, waiting for her to explain.
"Everybody else did," she said leaning back in her chair. "Girls were always trying to work out where Gator was. Teachers were looking for him. Logan was forever shouting his name across the parking lot. Even I looked for him sometimes. But never you."
She held your gaze where your eyebrows had furrowed, you tried to think back, to think of something to prove her wrong.
"You didn't." Her voice was gentle, certain. ""I don't think either of you realised you were doing it. You'd spent so many years orbiting each other that it had just become... normal. If someone asked where Gator was, you'd already have a pretty good idea. If someone asked where you'd wandered off to, he already knew."
She smiled to herself.
"It wasn't like you were attached at the hip. Half the time you weren't even together." She paused, searching for the right words. "It was more like... you were each other's point of reference. No matter how busy things got, or how many people were around, you both always seemed to know where the other one was. You just trusted that, when you needed the other one... they'd be there."
The words lingered between you, settling into a silence that somehow didn't feel awkward.
You looked down into your coffee, turning the mug slowly between your hands. Football games. Bonfires. School. You searched through each memory again, this time from Megan's perspective instead of your own, and realised she was right. You'd never looked for Gator because, somehow, you'd always known where he'd be. Just as he'd always known where to find you.
It wasn't something you'd ever questioned. It had simply become part of the rhythm of your life, as ordinary and unquestioned as knowing where Maggie kept the mugs or which chair Ford would inevitably claim at Sunday lunch. Gator had simply... always been there.
"I never thought about it like that," you admitted quietly.
Megan smiled.
"I don't think either of you did."
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head to yourself.
"God, we've been idiots."
"Monumental idiots."
The laughter that followed was gentler this time, easing the weight of the conversation without taking anything away from it. You took another sip of your coffee before glancing back at her with a grin.
"Right," you said, pointing your mug in her direction. "Enough about me. Without the extended details, how is it with Logan?"
A different smile appeared on Megan's face, softer.
"He's nothing like I expected. Not how I remember him from high school or anything." She traced absent-minded circles around her mug. "He's so... real. Like, when it's just us, we talk, really talk and he listens. He's calm and easy. I think everything with Noah, it really shit him up and he's been talking loads about it, and he's really taking a look at himself; he wants to try for this promotion thing at work, don't tell him I told you. But he's been really focusing on it."
You couldn't help smiling. That sounded exactly like Logan, he'd never admit he wanted something, but he’d definitely work his ass off for it.
"I don't know," Megan continued. "He always seemed like this reckless, wild guy but I think he just needed the right direction?"
"Or the right person?"
Colour crept gently into her cheeks.
"Maybe."
She laughed quietly into her coffee before looking back at you.
"He's fun too, like really, properly funny. I really like him." Her smile widened. "So, thank you, for not giving him to Brooke."
You both dissolved into laughter.
"Not a chance in hell."
The rest of the afternoon slipped by far quicker than either of you expected. Once Megan realised the software wasn't nearly as intimidating as it first appeared, the tension she'd arrived with gradually disappeared. Together you worked your way through Ford's systems one piece at a time. Purchase orders. Invoices. Delivery schedules. Site reports. You handed over passwords, explained where everything lived and introduced her to the strange little shortcuts you'd accumulated over the years that never appeared in any instruction manual.
Every now and then she'd stop you to scribble something into her notebook before immediately asking another question. It reminded you a little of yourself when you'd first started. Certain you'd never remember any of it until one day it had simply become second nature.
Halfway through the afternoon, the front door opened and Ford wandered in carrying two unopened boxes tucked beneath one arm.
"How's it going?"
"She's surviving," you answered.
"Barely," Megan corrected with a laugh.
Ford grinned before placing both boxes onto the dining table.
"These're for you."
Megan looked between him and the boxes. "For me?"
Ford nodded towards them.
"Phone and laptop, for work stuff, don't want you having to use your own. If you need anything else, let me know."
She blinked for a second before opening the smaller box enough to reveal a brand-new phone nestled inside. The surprise on her face was genuine.
"Thank you." She looked back up at Ford. "And thanks for giving me the job, I swear, I won't let you down."
"Got big boots to fill."
"She'll be way better than me, you'll see," you smiled.
"Traitor," he winked at you.
You laughed as Ford wandered back towards the kitchen in search of coffee, leaving Megan staring down at her new laptop with an expression somewhere between excitement and disbelief.
By the time the front door eventually opened again, the sunlight spilling through the windows had shifted lower across the floor, stretching long golden rectangles over the dining table. Gator's boots crossed the room with the easy familiarity of someone coming home rather than visiting. He was wearing his deputy's uniform, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever.
His eyes found you immediately.
Always.
He didn't stop to say hello from across the room or announce he'd arrived. Instead he walked straight over to your chair, one hand settling lightly against the back of it as he leaned down to kiss you properly. The kind of kiss that belonged entirely to ordinary life now.
"Good day?" You smiled up at him.
He nodded, then his attention shifted over your shoulder towards Megan.
"Y'alright Megan?"
"Yeah, I'm good." She began closing her laptop. "I was just getting ready to go, she's all yours."
"Ain't gotta leave f'me,” a small smile tugged at Gator's mouth. “I get her all night."
Heat crept immediately into your cheeks. He kissed you once more, quick and absent-minded this time, before turning towards your bedroom to finally change out of his uniform. Across the table, Megan slowly raised her coffee mug to hide the grin spreading across her face.
"I bet you do, deputy."
She mumbled it into the rim of the mug, quietly enough that she clearly thought only she could hear it. You reached across the table and swatted her arm as she burst into laughter.
・❥・
Normally Maggie's enormous sectional made the living room feel almost too big, but tonight it surrendered beneath the weight of the family. There wasn't an empty cushion left.
Maggie occupied her usual place at one end; Noah sat beside her, looking healthier than he had only days before. Nicky had claimed the space tucked into his side, leaning comfortably against him as though determined to make up for every day Noah had been hidden away in the Cabin.
At the opposite corner, Logan had become an unwilling climbing frame for Rhodes, who had somehow ended up half draped across his lap with his head hanging dramatically off the edge of the sofa. Logan occasionally reached over to stop him sliding any further but otherwise tolerated the arrangement. Ford occupied the middle section with Josie happily bouncing on one knee, each enthusiastic wobble rewarded by another delighted squeal from the little girl.
You were tucked comfortably into Gator's side further along; your legs curled beneath you while one of his arms rested lazily around your shoulders. Brooks rounded off the final end of the sofa, nursing a beer. On the rug in front of the television, Tucker and Walker sat shoulder to shoulder.
The birthday boys.
The family ritual was officially underway, delayed to the evening as the twins had spent their birthday paintballing, evident from the pattern of pea sized bruises along Walker’s arms. Maggie looked around the room, waiting until enough conversations had died away to reclaim everyone's attention.
"Right," she announced. "Who wants to go first?"
"ME!"
Nicky was already moving before the word had fully left his mouth. He launched himself off the sofa and hurried across the living room clutching two presents that looked as though they'd been wrapped with considerably more enthusiasm than precision. Tape wandered in several different directions and one corner of the paper had already begun surrendering.
He shoved one parcel into each twin's hands, and the boys exchanged amused glances before opening them together. Matching keyrings, each carried their names stamped neatly into the metal. Tucker's face lit up.
"Whoa, cool, thanks Nicky!"
"Yeah, thanks bud. These are awesome," Walker agreed.
They both reached for him at the same time. Nicky disappeared beneath an enthusiastic double hug that lifted him clean off his feet for a moment before setting him back down again. He beamed. With all the satisfaction of someone who had absolutely nailed birthday gift-giving, he trotted straight back across the room and climbed into his place beside Noah again, looking impossibly pleased with himself while the rest of the family smiled around him.
Brooks leaned forward from the end of the sofa, reaching behind his chair for another neatly wrapped parcel.
"These're from me."
The twins accepted it together, already laughing as they fought over which piece of tape to pull first. The wrapping paper lasted only seconds before two matching Minnesota Vikings jerseys emerged from inside. Walker's eyes widened, without a second's hesitation he yanked his t-shirt over his head and pulled the new jersey on instead.
"Thanks Brooks!"
Brooks tipped his beer towards him in acknowledgement and Ford nudged Logan with his elbow.
"You go next; they've already had their gift from me."
Brooks looked across.
"What did you get them?"
"Oh, it's wicked,” Tucker interrupted. “Upstairs, in the den, it's a real arcade machine. Pacman. We played for hours last night; I've got top score."
"Restored original,” Ford said smugly. “I'll play you later."
"You don't have a chance,” Brooks snorted. “Remember that arcade that used to be in Dickinson? I annihilated you, Ma used to have to stop you crying."
"Pretty sure that was you."
"No--"
"You both lost,” Maggie interrupted without even glancing up from where she was helping Rhodes unwrap a chocolate bar he'd somehow acquired. "Grace would beat you every game and I'd have to buy you hot dogs to shut you up whining."
The room dissolved into laughter. Brooks opened his mouth to defend himself before apparently deciding there was little point arguing with the only witness whose memory everyone trusted. Across the sofa, Logan leaned over the backrest to retrieve two more presents.
"These are from me and Noah," he announced, pointing a warning finger at the twins. "And before you bitch about joint gifts, they were expensive as hell."
You immediately raised a hand.
"Woah, I second that! No complaints about joint gifts."
"No complaints," Walker agreed.
Tucker held up a finger.
"Hold up, I'm not agreeing to that until I see the gift."
Logan rolled his eyes dramatically before passing both wrapped boxes across. The twins tore into the wrapping to find two shoe boxes. Walker lifted the lid first. For a second neither of them spoke. Inside sat matching pairs of pristine white trainers, each one hand painted in the Bears' colours with their individual jersey numbers worked into the design. Noah spoke before either twin found their voice.
"I found this girl, um, on Instagram. She hand paints them."
"Yeah," Logan added. "We just gave her your numbers and the Bears colours and she did her thing."
"These are amazing!" Tucker looked completely stunned.
Walker was already turning one of the trainers over in both hands, admiring every painted detail.
"Are these by SharryPaintz?? I follow her! These are insane!"
Noah looked pleasantly surprised.
"Yeah, Sharry, she was nice, you should message her."
"Okay, they're nice shoes but he's turning fifteen, not twenty,” Ford frowned. “We won't be messaging girls on the internet."
"Alright, Grandpa." Logan grinned. "When I was fifteen--"
"Logan, they really don't need t'know what you were doin' at fifteen." Gator laughed before he could finish.
That only made Logan laugh harder.
"Yeah, you're right. Still, Walker, message the girl. Just to say thanks or whatever."
You waited until the laughter had settled before reaching over the back of the sofa for the two boxes you'd hidden there earlier. They were larger than the others and as you stretched a little too far, Gator's hand grabbed your waist to steady you. He didn't even look up from the conversation. It was simply instinct, one of a hundred tiny things he did without thinking.
"You got 'em?" he murmured.
"Yeah."
Settling back into your corner of the sofa, you balanced one present on each knee before passing them over.
"From me and Gator."
The wrapping paper disappeared quickly enough, giving way to two heavy black presentation boxes. Walker frowned curiously as he lifted the lid while Tucker was already tugging at the ribbon around the dust bag inside. Both boys pulled away the protective covers at almost the same time.
Rich brown leather caught the light from the lamps as they pulled the new duffel bags from their covers. The leather was thick enough to hold its shape on its own, solid brass hardware glinting against the stitching. Their initials had been branded neatly into one side, and, on each end, their football jersey numbers had been pressed permanently into the leather.
"Baby..." Walker looked between the bag and you, almost lost for words. "These are... crazy."
You couldn't help smiling.
"Thought you could have a little luxury, for your game day photos. Get you ready for all those designer bags when you're NFL stars."
Tucker was already opening compartments and testing the weight of it over one shoulder.
"These are so cool. The team is going to lose their minds."
"Okay well I'm not buying the rest of the team one," you laughed. "Your dad doesn't pay me that well."
"Won't be paying you at all soon," Ford snorted.
"I'll find other ways to take your money, old man, don't you worry."
"Tillman, control your woman,” Ford said, launching a cushion at you.
You barely had time to react before Gator reached across in front of you, caught it neatly in one hand and, rather than throwing it back, tucked it behind your shoulders.
"Y'really think m'the one in control here?" he laughed. "No chance."
He leaned down to kiss your temple. Comfortably propped against your newly acquired cushion, you looked back at Ford with the most antagonising smile you could manage. Maggie clapped her hands together.
"Okay, my turn." She reached for two cream envelopes resting beside her. "Saved the best for last, as always."
"Ma,” Ford groaned. “You are the only person I know who treats gift giving as a competition."
"The only reason you don't is because you'd never win." Maggie smiled serenely. "People should only compete at things they're good at."
"Hey, I'm not a bad gift giver! They loved the Pacman!"
"You love it more." She looked pointedly between Ford and Brooks. "Don't think I don't know you and Brooks are going to spend more time on that thing than the twins ever will."
Across the room the brothers shared the sort of guilty glance that answered the accusation before either of them opened their mouths.
Maggie handed an envelope to each twin.
"Hang on, cash is a cop out, Ma," Brooks frowned.
"I don't gift cash," Maggie replied with mock offence. "That's vulgar. But careful tearing, boys."
Immediately more intrigued, Tucker and Walker carefully peeled open the envelopes instead of ripping them apart. Inside each was another presentation wallet, Walker opened his first and his eyes widened.
"For real?"
The tickets slid halfway into view; Minnesota Vikings, Private Suite.
Maggie smiled at the expression spreading across both their faces.
"For real. The suite has room for fourteen, so you can take whoever you want. I've got a friend with a jet who will fly you there and can sort the hotel." She looked between them. "Happy birthday boys."
They both launched themselves across the sofa together, wrapping Maggie into a hug that almost made her disappear beneath two now fifteen-year-old boys. Ford laughed.
"Okay, yeah, you outdid me." He pointed at the twins. "I better be one of those fourteen, boys. Don't forget who pays for your football gear and drives you to practice and cleans your disgusting gear."
Tucker looked thoughtfully at Walker.
"So... you're saying we should invite Baby?"
The room erupted. You cackled loud enough that your stomach hurt while Ford's expression collapsed into theatrical offence.
"You walked into that one, brother," Brooks shook his head.
"Yeah," Ford muttered. "Don't I know it."
"Thanks for the offer, boys," you grinned. "But I think your dad might cry if you don't take him."
Walker and Tucker exchanged one of those looks only twins ever seemed capable of having. A whole conversation appeared to happen without either of them speaking. Then Walker looked around the room.
"We're all going."
"Yeah, family trip," Tucker nodded.
"You don't wanna take some friends?" Brooks looked surprised.
Walker shook his head.
"Nah. Family trip." Then he looked back at Maggie. "But Maggie has to promise to wear a jersey."
"Do you know how much those tickets cost?” Maggie looked genuinely horrified. “Is that not enough for you?"
"Come on, Ma," Ford laughed. "You can pull off anything."
"Don't they wear purple?" Maggie frowned. "I mean, purple, really? Who wears purple?"
"C'mon Mags!" you laughed.
Maggie sighed with all the exaggerated suffering of a woman being relentlessly bullied by her own family.
"Oh fine," she relented. "But I'm not happy about it!"
The room erupted in cheers before Ford interrupted.
"Okay, so fourteen. Family only makes up eleven, even if you include the littles. So, you sure you don't wanna bring a friend each?"
The twins frowned at one another. Walker started counting on his fingers while Tucker quietly followed along beside him.
"Family is twelve?" Walker frowned.
"Did I have another kid?" Ford blinked.
"Maggie, you and Uncle Brooks." Tucker counted them off one by one. "Me and Walker. Logan, Noah, Nicky, Rho and Josie. Baby and Gator. That's twelve."
Beside you, Gator went completely still, you felt it before you looked at him. The subtle tightening beneath your shoulder. His breathing catching for just a fraction too long. It was such a tiny reaction that nobody else would have noticed. You reached behind your back until your fingers found his hand resting against the sofa. You squeezed it gently.
Family.
The word settled somewhere so deep inside Gator’s chest it almost hurt. They hadn't paused, hadn't looked at him and felt obliged. They'd simply counted him, the same as everybody else. As though there had never been another possibility. He felt your hand find his, your fingers threading through his with that uncanny way you always seemed to know exactly what was happening inside his head without him ever having to say it aloud.
Across the room, Ford laughed.
"Okay, yeah, you're right, I can't count. Will they count Josie? She's hardly going to take up a seat. Even so, twelve, so still two spots."
Nobody corrected the twins, nobody questioned why Gator had been included. Ford simply accepted it, just another member of the family.
His thoughts drifted, uninvited, to only a few days earlier. Brooks and Ford loading boxes into trucks without complaint because Maggie had asked them to help collect his things from Roy's house. Nobody had questioned whether it was their problem. Nobody had made him feel like a burden. Then Maggie had simply opened the bedroom door and told him he lived here now. And since, not once had he been made to feel like a guest or an inconvenience.
He squeezed your hand back. Maybe this was what belonging was supposed to feel like.
"You can bring friends if you want," Maggie looked between the twins. "Or, if you're willing to give up one of those seats I might know a certain Linebacker who would happily join us."
Both boys' heads snapped towards her.
"Who?"
Maggie smiled and nodded towards Gator.
"Ask Gator."
"Oh, yeah." Gator cleared his throat. "Um... Dean Holloway."
"Holloway?"
"How the hell do you know Dean Holloway?!"
"I only met 'im this weekend," Gator admitted. "But he's got a real soft spot f'Maggie. They're best mates."
Maggie laughed as the twins looked back at her.
"Only if you're willing to--"
"Yes!"
"Obviously, it's Dean Holloway?!"
Walker sounded almost offended she'd even thought they might hesitate. Tucker suddenly turned towards Logan.
"We got one extra, if you want to bring your girlfriend."
Logan's ears coloured almost immediately.
"Oh... um..." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Sure. Thanks. I'll ask her."
The birthday excitement slowly dissolved into the sort of comfortable chaos that always followed family celebrations. Maggie was the first to stand, bending to gather handfuls of discarded wrapping paper from the rug. Brooks rescued Rhodes before he could make himself useful in entirely the wrong way, scooping him effortlessly under one arm before swinging him high enough to earn a shriek of laughter that echoed through the whole room.
From the kitchen, Ford was already halfway through opening cupboards.
"Right!" he called over his shoulder. "We're ordering pizzas."
The twins abandoned their new presents long enough to commandeer the PlayStation while everyone else gradually settled back into familiar places. Within minutes Mario Kart had filled the television screen.
The first race belonged to Tucker, Walker, Logan and Noah. Predictably, it descended into accusations of cheating before the second lap had even started. Noah surrendered his controller after the first race, smiling quietly as Nicky climbed into his place. Nicky drove spectacularly badly but celebrated every lucky power-up like he'd won the championship. By the following race, Logan passed his controller backwards over the sofa.
"Your turn."
Gator accepted it with considerably more confidence than turned out to be justified as five minutes later he finished last.
"Aw, c'mon," Gator let the controller fall into his lap with a theatrical sigh. "How're y'all this good at this?"
Beside him, he felt you laughing quietly against his shoulder.
"They've had years of practice."
"So have I."
"Clearly not enough."
Before he could defend himself, a familiar weight landed on his shoulder. Ford's hand. It squeezed once, solid and affectionate in that absent-minded fatherly way Ford seemed to touch everyone he cared about.
"You're getting old, Gator." Ford grinned down at him. "Can't keep up with these kids."
Gator reached up and swatted lazily at his wrist.
"Still got years on you, Ford."
Ford laughed and wandered away towards the twins before they could start another race without ordering food first. Left watching him go, Gator found himself strangely distracted by something that had nothing to do with Mario Kart.
A week ago that hand on his shoulder would've made every muscle in his body tighten before he'd even realised why. Years of living with Roy had taught him to brace first and think afterwards whenever somebody reached for him unexpectedly. Now, he'd barely registered it.
Because this was simply how the Heatons were. They touched, they hugged, they leaned against one another while they talked. They squeezed shoulders as they walked past. They kissed foreheads without thinking. Love existed here as something visible, something ordinary, woven so completely into daily life that nobody seemed conscious of doing it. And somewhere along the way, nobody had asked permission before including him in that too.
His thoughts were interrupted by a tiny pair of hands gripping the edge of the sofa. Josie had abandoned whatever adventure she'd been on across the living room and, after a determined if slightly wobbly climb, hauled herself onto the cushion beside him. Before he really understood what was happening, she'd crawled the remaining distance and settled squarely into his lap, turning until she could tuck herself comfortably against his chest.
Gator froze; he looked instinctively towards you. You were already smiling.
"Congrats. You're trapped."
He couldn't help smiling back. Slowly, carefully, he rested one hand against Josie's small back. She gave a sleepy little sigh, apparently satisfied with her choice of seat.
A minute later Ford wandered back over, phone in hand.
"What d'you want on your pizza, Baby?"
You answered and Ford tapped it into the order before moving onto Brooks. Not once did he glance twice at Josie curled comfortably against Gator's chest. Not because he hadn't noticed. Just because, to Ford, there was nothing unusual about it anymore.
By the time the pizzas had been ordered, everyone had gradually drifted back towards the sectional once again. The room was full in exactly the same way it always seemed to be by the end of an evening. Conversations overlapped. Somebody laughed from the kitchen. The PlayStation menu music hummed quietly beneath it all.
Curled comfortably against Gator's side, you shifted slightly to look up at him, then smiled. At some point, entirely unnoticed by everyone, he'd fallen asleep. His head rested against the back of the sofa, one arm still loosely around the little girl sleeping peacefully across his chest. Josie hadn't moved either, her cheek tucked beneath his chin as though she'd decided he made a perfectly acceptable pillow.
You glanced across the room, Ford had noticed too. Your eyes met but neither of you said a word. He simply smiled, quiet and knowing, before looking back towards the television. You settled your head a little deeper against Gator's shoulder. The noise of the family carried on around you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, everything simply felt right.
Taglist: [Comment to be added] @keerygirlie98 @mystickittytaco @imdjoverit @lofi-fics @kristywidget97 @janehartt @ms-mountebank @louisbelongstome28 @eller41 @slutforpumpkins @roridemie @mrmountebankk
"Your "big three" blend creates a deeply charismatic yet gentle personality. You possess a Leo Ascendant's radiant confidence and warmth, a Libra Moon's refined, harmony-seeking emotional core, and a Pisces Sun's imaginative, highly intuitive, and empathetic spirit.
This specific combination balances the artistic, dreamy, and idealistic nature of your Pisces Sun with the diplomatic, socially graceful charm of your Libra Moon. People see you as a bold, magnetic, and theatrical leader (Leo Rising), but beneath that bright exterior lies a deeply emotional and empathetic soul who needs peace, balance, and creative expression to feel fulfilled"
Thankyou so much for this!!
I've never read much into zodiac/horoscope stuff but this is so interesting. My sister is more into it than me, I'm going to see what she thinks about it and if she thinks it fits me!
I can definitely see the emotional beneath the bright aspect!!
Summary: A perfect birthday unfolds in paradise, powerful alliances quietly take shape, and beneath the warmth of celebration, Maggie's trap begins to close around Marshall Beaumont
Note: Spot the chapter Mimi wrote whilst ovulating.... Also, this chapter reveals that I know fuck all about playing the piano lol. Anyway, enjoy my horny ovulating mind... Mimi <3
Masterlist
Keratolysis
Translation: The Peeling of Skin
From lysis, meaning ‘a loosening, dissolution or breaking apart’. The shedding or peeling of the outer epidermal layers.
Friday morning found you back in the Yukon with Jack, once again, behind the wheel. You'd quietly decided you liked travelling with Jack. Not because he was particularly talkative, if anything, he was the opposite, but because there was something reassuring about the way he drove. Nothing was hurried. Every movement was deliberate. He never seemed surprised by anything happening on the road, as though he'd already anticipated it several seconds before everyone else.
Maggie occupied one of the captain's chairs in the middle row, already halfway through reading something on her iPad.
You and Gator had claimed the back.
You'd curled naturally into his side almost as soon as you'd climbed in, your legs tucked beneath you across the leather seat while his arm rested around your shoulders, holding you comfortably against his chest. Every now and then you felt the idle movement of his thumb against your arm, completely unconscious on his part.
Outside, the familiar roads of Stark County gradually gave way to long stretches of open countryside. Every now and then Jack adjusted the cruise control as another small town disappeared behind you. You watched the trees drifting past outside for another minute before your curiosity finally won. You looked towards Maggie.
"So, you gonna tell us more about where we’re going?"
"Take note, Gator,” she said, without looking up from the tablet. “This girl is no good with surprises."
You felt Gator laugh quietly against your temple before his lips found the top of your head.
"It’s opening weekend at my hunting lodge. It’s a closed event so plenty of room to take you with me."
"You hunt? Is it like, a members thing?"
"I hunt and it is exactly a members thing,” Maggie nodded. “Luckily for you, I own the place so I’m sure they’ll look past the lack of membership."
"You own a hunting lodge?" You asked with knitted brows.
"Where'bouts?" Gator asked.
"Turtle Mountains, near Lake Metigoshe. The Briar. I don’t have too much to do with it in the day to day, but I always head up for opening weekend."
You tried picturing Maggie owning a hunting lodge. Strangely... It fit. Not because you'd ever imagined her wandering around forests carrying a rifle, but because Maggie had always collected projects the way other people collected hobbies, she collected those too. The plants in her office, housing projects. Basically, anything you could do to keep your hands busy; Maggie Heaton had tried at least once.
"Are there other guests?"
"This weekend is invite only. The first hunt for a select few that I invite personally."
"Got a feelin’ that’s a specific list," Gator smirked.
Maggie finally abandoned the iPad altogether. She crossed one leg over the other before turning in her seat to face the pair of you properly.
"They each have their purpose." A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You wanna know who’s coming?"
"Will I know them?"
"You’ll know some." She counted them off almost absent-mindedly. "Judge Keating; Warren, he’s been a good friend for some time. Senator Vale; Richard, the man is a spineless rat, but he has his uses. Thomas Bellamy, typical finance guy. Harvey Sloan, attorney, again bit of an ass but useful. The doctor, Isaac Whitmore, private surgeon, careful with him Baby, he’s no trouble but he’ll be sizing you up like a prize cow, offering you all sorts of nips and tucks."
Before you could answer, Gator's arm tightened around your shoulders, he pressed another kiss into your hair.
"Don’t need all that shit, y’perfect."
Heat crept into your cheeks. You smiled, squeezing the hand resting against your shoulder before leaning over to kiss his bicep.
"Damn right she is." Maggie smiled. "Who else? Omar Haddad? Omar is a good man, family man. He owns a trucking firm. Lionel Baptiste, land developer. Rafael Alvarez-"
"I know that name,” you interrupted. “Horses, right? Race horses."
Maggie nodded.
"Yeah, he breeds horses, nice guy, you’ll like him. Oh, Leon DuPont, you’ll love Leon, he owns casinos and clubs across the country. He’ll talk your ear off about the clubhouse refurb, Baby. Celestino Vega-"
"I know him too! Doesn’t he have a Grammy? Blues singer?"
"Yeah, voice full of soul, owns a whiskey brand now. Good one too. Then, who am I missing…. Oh, Dean Holloway-"
"The very same. Great guy, lot of fun. Vincent Moretti, legal firearm manufacturer, which is hilarious considering he is the worst shot of the lot." She paused briefly. "And then one, Marshall Beaumont."
You straightened in your seat.
"He’s coming?"
"He was invited long before I knew, but yes, he’s coming and he has no idea I’m onto him. So, a perfect opportunity for me to take measurements for his coffin."
A low chuckle escaped Gator beside you. You weren't quite as convinced.
"Is that not a bit risky?"
Maggie simply smiled.
"He has the privilege of being a rich old white man. Part of that benefits package includes his complete God complex. Ivory men in ivory towers,” she winked at you, repeating the words her father told her. “He doesn’t know anything and he thinks he’s untouchable, I plan to keep it that way until the very last moment."
You let yourself sink back against Gator again, resting your head beneath his chin. Almost immediately his arm tightened around you, pulling you a little closer.
"I’m not shooting any animals,” you stated. “Just so you’re aware."
Maggie's laugh filled the cabin.
"Of course not. Didn’t bring you to hunt. I just figured it’d be nice for you two to get away from the madness for a moment. I’ve put you in one of the outer lodges, overlooks the lake, private deck. There’s plenty to do that isn’t shooting deer, Baby. We got boats on the lake, a horse trail, hiking trails. Chef Mario puts on a dinner to rival any meal you’ve ever eaten. He’s been planning your birthday dinner all week."
You looked down at the hoodie you were wearing before glancing towards the bags sitting in the cargo area behind you. A private lodge. A birthday dinner. A room overlooking a lake. Suddenly the contents of your suitcase felt woefully inadequate.
"Why do I feel like I have desperately under-packed for this?"
"Baby, y’packed half the closet,” Gator laughed softly. “Think y’gonna be jus’ fine."
"And I might have packed you a thing or two." Maggie added.
"I was suspicious of your lack of gift this morning," you chuckled.
Your birthday had actually started several hours earlier, even though it wasn’t technically until tomorrow. Like every birthday in the Heaton house, nobody was allowed to simply wander downstairs, collect a present and carry on with their day. Maggie insisted birthdays were occasions, which meant everybody piled into the living room before breakfast, still half asleep and clutching oversized mugs of coffee while the birthday person sat in the middle of the chaos opening presents.
Brooks had gone first. His present had been a Wrangler denim jacket, lined for winter. Ford had followed with a new pair of boots that fitted perfectly. Neither of your uncles had ever really been shoppers, which left you quietly convinced Maggie had accompanied them for both purchases. She'd deny it, of course.
Nicky and Rhodes had proudly presented a slightly squashed box containing homemade cupcakes alongside hand-drawn birthday cards. Within ten minutes they'd each managed to eat at least three cupcakes while happily watching you unwrap everybody else's presents, leaving a trail of icing across the arm of the sofa and somehow on Rhodes' forehead.
Walker had surprised you; he'd become oddly good at buying presents. He'd found a tote bag from some small online business you'd never heard of. It was quilted by hand with different patches stitched across the front. A little Bronco. A football. A heart. A cowboy boot. Right in the middle, one embroidered patch simply read Baby. It was ridiculously thoughtful. It was sitting now in the footwell beside your feet.
Tucker's gift had been equally unexpected. A bottle of perfume. A nice one too, not something he'd grabbed from a supermarket shelf on the way home. You strongly suspected Walker had steered him in the right direction, but Tucker had looked so pleased with himself when you'd smiled that you hadn't questioned it.
Then Logan had wandered over with his present. Inside had been the tackiest photo frame you'd ever seen; bright pink and green stripes, plastic with enormous bubble letters across the bottom spelling out BFFL. It was completely ridiculous and entirely Logan.
You'd laughed the second you saw it. Then you'd looked at the photograph inside. It had been taken after the boys won All-State back in high school. The four of you were perched across the tailgate of somebody's truck, boys still wearing football gear, medals hanging around their necks. Logan sat in the middle with an arm thrown around both you and Noah, grinning so hard his eyes had almost disappeared. Noah was laughing at something outside the frame.
And Gator... You hadn't noticed it all those years ago. But he was stood beside you, one hand resting on the tailgate barely an inch from your thigh. Looking at you. Not the camera, not the boys. Just... You. Like the photograph had accidentally captured something nobody else had realised was happening. On the back Logan had simply written four words.
It was always you.
The frame itself might have been awful, but the sentiment wasn't. By the time breakfast had dissolved into the usual chaos of children needing wiping down and adults pretending they hadn't also eaten cake before nine in the morning, you'd been thoroughly spoilt.
Maggie adored birthdays, she wasn't the sort of woman who quietly forgot to give a present. If anything, the complete absence of one made you far more suspicious than if she'd handed you something wrapped in a giant bow.
Maggie glanced back over her shoulder, the faintest smile already playing at the corner of her mouth. Then, without saying another word, she bent to retrieve her handbag from beside her seat.
"Like I’d forget to get you a gift,” she smiled. “Here."
She held out a small box wrapped in thick cream paper, a dark green ribbon tied carefully around it. You accepted it, looking at her suspiciously.
"Hang on, you said you packed stuff for me, what’s this?"
"That’s your gift, the stuff in my case is just in case you wanted options. Go on, open it."
Your curiosity got the better of you. The ribbon slipped free beneath your fingers before you peeled back the paper, revealing a familiar deep red presentation box beneath. You recognised the colour long before you spotted the logo.
"Oh my god..."
The words escaped under your breath as you lifted the lid. Nestled inside the box was a Cartier Panthère watch. It was beautiful. Not flashy or oversized or designed to announce itself. Just elegant. Gold links caught the light filtering through the windows as the Yukon rounded another bend, each one gleaming softly against the white satin lining beneath it. You looked from the watch back to Maggie.
"This is… beautiful. Maggie, this is too much, it’s way too expensive."
She waved the concern away as though you'd commented on the weather.
"No such thing. Couldn’t send it back even if I wanted to, turn it over."
Frowning slightly, you lifted the watch from the box and turned it over in your hand. The engraving sat neatly across the back. Baby. You leaned forward between the seats, wrapping your arms around Maggie as best you could.
"Thank you Mags, I love it."
"I know," she laughed quietly, hugging you back with one arm.
There was something wonderfully Maggie about that response. No false modesty or pretending she'd been uncertain. She'd chosen it because she'd known you would love it. You settled back into your seat, still smiling to yourself as you tried fastening the watch around your wrist. Beside you, Gator chuckled.
"Here, lemme do it."
You passed him the watch, and he took your wrist gently in one hand, his fingers warm against your skin. It took him only a few seconds before the clasp clicked into place.
"There."
You turned your wrist slowly, watching the gold catch the afternoon light, it fitted perfectly. You held it up towards him. He looked at the watch for all of half a second before his attention settled back on you instead.
"Looks good, Baby."
Then he leaned down and kissed the top of your head with the same quiet affection he'd shown you all morning. Across the aisle Maggie smiled to herself before turning back around in her seat. A little while later Jack's voice broke the comfortable silence from the driver’s seat.
"We’re twenty minutes out,” he asked, looking at Maggie in the rear view. “Want me to call ahead?"
"No, thank you. I’ll call Henry, let him know we’re almost with him."
Jack acknowledged her with a small nod before returning his full attention to the road, the Yukon continuing north.
The road narrowed until it felt like the forest had swallowed it completely. Pines crowded either side, their branches meeting high overhead and throwing shifting patches of shade across the windscreen. Every now and then the trees parted just enough to reveal flashes of blue water somewhere off to the right before closing again. Jack slowed almost imperceptibly as the truck rounded another bend.
Ahead, a pair of enormous timber gates stood open between two stone pillars. Carved into a simple wooden sign suspended between them were two words.
The Briar.
The tyres left the main road and rolled onto a long gravel drive; it stretched on far longer than you expected. Woodland continued for another minute or two, broken only by occasional glimpses of riding trails disappearing deeper between the trees. Then, almost without warning, everything opened up.
The lodge emerged from the clearing, and you found yourself leaning forwards slightly. It was stunning. The entire building seemed to belong there. Huge timber beams framed walls of pale stone, enormous windows reflected the surrounding forest, and wide porches wrapped around the building beneath a roof that looked as though it had been built to withstand a hundred North Dakota winters.
Your eyes drifted towards the parking area beside the entrance, several luxury SUVs sat neatly in a row. A Bentley. A Rolls Royce. The sort of vehicles that belonged to people who never had to think twice before spending money. Jack eased the Yukon beneath the covered entrance and brought it smoothly to a stop. The front doors opened before the engine had even fallen silent.
Staff appeared almost immediately, not rushing, simply moving with the confidence of people who had done the same welcome hundreds of times before. Somewhere between Jack opening his own door and climbing out, two members of staff were already making their way towards the rear of the vehicle.
Jack circled around to Maggie's side first, he opened her door and offered his hand, she accepted it with an easy smile as she stepped down onto the stone. A tall man in a dark suit was already approaching, his glasses caught the light as he walked, every part of him immaculate, from the perfectly pressed jacket to the polished shoes.
"Maggie, we’ve had several guests arrive already, they’ve been shown to their allocated rooms and Billy is providing drinks in the East Lounge."
"Straight to business, Henry,” Maggie smiled warmly. “No loving welcome."
"Of course, apologies,” Henry looked faintly embarrassed. “Great to have you back."
He leaned in, kissing each of Maggie's cheeks before stepping back again. Behind them, the trunk was lifted open. Staff began unloading luggage with the same quiet efficiency they'd greeted you with while Jack remained beside the passenger door, turning instead to offer you his hand. You smiled your thanks as you climbed down. The cool mountain air hit you, it smelled different here, like pine and fresh water.
Maggie reached for your hand.
"Henry, this is my granddaughter, Baby and her boyfriend, Gator."
You felt strangely proud hearing her say it. Henry shook Gator's hand first before turning to you.
"A pleasure. You’re the birthday girl?"
"Tomorrow, yes." You laughed.
"Well happy birthday."
He stepped aside, gesturing towards one of the younger members of staff waiting nearby. A young man in a neatly pressed uniform smiled and stepped forwards.
"Devon here will show you to your lodge. Maggie has put you up in Tamarack, our best suite."
You looked back towards Maggie. She'd already slipped effortlessly back into work mode. Another member of staff had quietly appeared beside Henry carrying a leather folder and Maggie's attention had already begun drifting towards whatever needed her next.
"Go ahead," she said. "Get settled. I’ve got some business to do, but I’ll come find you after."
She squeezed your arm briefly before turning back towards Henry. You and Gator followed Devon away from the main entrance. Somewhere behind you, your luggage had already been transferred from the Yukon into the back of a waiting RTV without either of you noticing it happen.
Gator waited while you climbed onto the bench seat first before settling beside you, one knee brushing yours. Devon climbed into the driver's seat, started the little vehicle and guided it away from the lodge.
The gravel paths wound gently through the estate, weaving between towering pines and smaller guest lodges tucked carefully into the landscape as though somebody had deliberately tried not to disturb the forest any more than necessary. After a minute or so, Devon glanced back over his shoulder with an easy smile.
"You been here before?"
"First time," you smiled.
“Let me give you the tour, then."
The paths meandered through the estate rather than cutting straight across it. Nothing about The Briar felt accidental. The buildings were tucked amongst the trees instead of clearing them away, the winding roads forcing everything to slow down until the outside world felt impossibly distant. Every few hundred yards another lodge appeared between the pines before disappearing again behind the forest.
Devon seemed to know every inch of it. As he steered the RTV between the trees, he pointed towards a cluster of cabins scattered amongst the woodland.
"So, these are the Aspen lodges. Noone staying in them this weekend, but rest of the year they’re booked up."
You watched them disappear behind you. They were smaller than the main lodge but built in exactly the same style. Timber and stone, wide porches overlooking the trees, each one tucked far enough away from the next that it felt completely private. You couldn't imagine hearing another guest from any of them. The path curved again, through the trees you caught sight of a long timber building bordered by white fencing.
"Through there is the stables. We’ve got 18 horses you can loan for the trails, then 4 working horses. You might see horseback security riding around; Luca and Chris."
You looked up from the passing scenery.
"Horseback security?"
"Yeah,” Devon smiled in the rear-view mirror. “Easier to take the horses through the woods, you know? RTV’s are good, but it gets dense in the thick of it, can’t always get the clearance. Plus those horses are mad quick."
It made sense, the estate was enormous. The further you drove from the main lodge, the more you realised this wasn't simply a hotel tucked beside a lake. It was its own little world. Miles of woodland stretched in every direction, broken only by cabins, trails and the occasional glimpse of another RTV disappearing between the trees.
A few minutes later the woodland opened out completely and water sparkled ahead of you. The RTV rolled to a slower pace as Devon gestured across the shoreline.
"Then down here we have the lake. Well, lakes. It’s kind of like loads of little lakes surrounding one big one? This is the South Waterfront; this is all for fishing."
Small wooden docks reached out into the water, the lake itself stretched much further than you'd first realised, disappearing around wooded peninsulas that broke it into smaller bays. Rather than turning back, Devon carried on around the shoreline. The next waterfront felt entirely different.
Rows of boats bobbed gently against floating pontoons; kayaks stacked neatly beside a boathouse with paddleboards lined up along a dock. You found yourself smiling. It felt peaceful, the kind of place where hours disappeared without anybody noticing.
Eventually the paths began leading back towards the centre of the estate. The main lodge appeared again through the trees, somehow looking even larger now you were seeing it from different angles. Devon slowed as they passed beneath it.
"Main lodge is the hub of everything. You’ve got the different lounges, the dining room, the bar. It’s built on a hill, so looks like one floor but when you’re inside it actually goes down. Doesn’t look big from the outside but inside’s huge. There are twenty two suites inside, that’s where the weekend’s guests all are, you guys are the only ones in a lodge."
"Only ones in a lodge,” you glanced sideways at Gator with a grin. “Special treatment."
He looked back at you with that familiar crooked smile before leaning across to steal a quick kiss.
"No-one to hear y’screamin’ my name," he whispered.
Heat flooded your face before you could stop it. You gave his thigh an indignant poke, earning nothing more than a quiet laugh and an entirely unrepentant wink in return. Devon, thankfully, seemed to have mastered the very useful skill of pretending not to hear anything happening behind him.
The RTV continued onwards until another pair of heavy timber gates appeared ahead. Unlike the entrance to the estate, these remained firmly shut. Beyond them, all you could see was forest, Devon pointed as he drove past.
"That leads through to the hunting grounds, so essentially, just don’t go through there unless you want to shoot or get shot at. Jonah, the groundskeeper, he runs the hunts so just check in with him."
Then the path turned west and the woodland thickened once more before gradually opening onto another stretch of water. Nestled on the shoreline sat a single lodge. It was larger than the Aspen cabins, set well back from the path beneath towering pines, with huge windows looking straight across the lake and a broad covered deck wrapping around the front. There wasn't another building in sight. Devon pulled the RTV to a stop.
"Then this is you, Tamarack. You’re on the West Waterfront. Everything’s done on directions, so you shouldn’t get too lost. Main Lodge is at the centre, everything else on a rough circle around it."
You climbed down onto the gravel and looked out across the water. For the first time in days, everything felt quiet. The good kind. The sort that made it feel as though the rest of the world had been left somewhere beyond the trees.
The lodge sat slightly raised above the shoreline, built in the familiar A-frame style that echoed the rest of The Briar but somehow felt more intimate. Rich redwood cladding wrapped around the exterior, weathered just enough to soften the colour against the surrounding forest, while a broad stone foundation anchored the whole building into the landscape. It looked less like it had been built there and more like it had always belonged amongst the pines.
Devon lifted both your bags from the back of the RTV before leading the way up the short stone path. The front door opened with a soft click.
The entire back wall of the lodge was glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched from one side of the room to the other, framing the lake like a painting. Beyond them, a private deck reached out towards the water, the afternoon sun scattering diamonds across the surface as a light breeze disturbed the otherwise perfect reflection of the trees.
For a second you forgot to move. Everything else seemed to disappear behind the view. Only when Devon stepped further inside did your attention finally drift back into the room itself.
It wasn't a hunting lodge in the clichéd sense. There were no antlers bolted to every available wall or tartan blankets thrown across furniture for effect. Instead it felt timeless. Huge, exposed beams disappeared into the vaulted ceiling above, while an enormous stone fireplace anchored the centre of the room. Soft leather armchairs sat angled towards both the fire and the lake, expensive wool throws folded neatly across the backs. A small wooden dining table occupied one corner, fresh flowers arranged in a simple vase at its centre, and beyond it all, facing the windows, stood a four-poster bed dressed in crisp white linen.
Every surface invited you to touch it; wood, stone, leather, wool. Everything chosen because it would only become more beautiful with age. Devon placed your bags neatly on the bench at the foot of the bed.
"So, everything works from the tablet."
He crossed to the dining table, picking up what looked like an ordinary digital tablet before holding it out towards you.
"Lights, stereo, tv, air con, fire, blinds. You just tap the screen and tell it what you want."
As he spoke, the lights dimmed slightly before brightening again. Soft music drifted quietly through hidden speakers somewhere in the ceiling. He smiled.
"Also, from here you can order anything to the room, just type a message in here and it goes right to the front desk. They’ll respond. You can also ask for someone to come get you, if you want an RTV to come bring you up to dinner or something. Basically anything you want, all on this screen."
He gave the tablet a little shake before placing it back exactly where he'd found it. Then he crossed towards the glass doors and slid them open. Fresh air rolled into the room. You reached instinctively for Gator's hand as you followed Devon outside, your fingers threading through his.
The deck overlooked nothing but water and trees; no neighbouring lodges, no passing guests, no sounds except the faint ripple of the lake against the shoreline and birds somewhere high in the pines.
"This lake is essentially yours," Devon explained. "No activities run on it so it’s just for you two. Just no diving off the deck, it’s rocky at the shore and it’s a walk in lake, so not that deep at the perimeter."
The lake was impossibly clear, the shallows revealing smooth stones beneath the surface before the water deepened into rich blues further out. Across the opposite bank, untouched woodland stretched as far as you could see.
You squeezed Gator's hand. When you looked up at him, he was staring across the water with exactly the same expression you imagined was on your own face, one of quiet amazement. Behind you, Devon continued as though breathtaking views were simply another item on the tour.
"Now, it isn’t common, but we are close to Canada and occasionally we do catch sightings of bears, but it is rare and not this time of year. But just in case, if you see one, just head inside, close the door and use the tablet to message reception. Jonah will come sort it. But like I say, unlikely."
Back inside, Devon cast one last practiced look around the room, checking everything was exactly as it should be before pointing towards another door tucked discreetly beside the fireplace.
"Bathroom."
He reached into his pocket, producing two keycards before handing one to each of you.
"Keys. You need anything else?"
You looked around the lodge one more time.
"No, this is perfect,” you beamed. “Thank you so much."
"My pleasure and happy birthday, Miss."
"Thank you."
He gave a polite nod before letting himself out, the front door clicking quietly shut behind him. For a moment neither of you moved and then you looked up at Gator. He was still smiling. Slowly, he turned another circle, taking in the room before looking back at you.
"Well this ain’t bad,” he smirked.
You laughed.
"No," you agreed softly, looking back towards the lake beyond the windows. "Yeah, I think it’ll do."
Maggie had called not long after you'd unpacked, apologising that business had kept her tied up longer than she'd expected. She'd promised she'd find you both later that evening and, true to form, solved the problem before either of you had the chance to think about it. Dinner had appeared at the front door barely twenty minutes later, delivered by another smiling member of staff.
So you and Gator had eaten outside on the deck that overlooked the lake, the water turning to molten gold beneath the lowering sun while the trees cast long shadows across the opposite bank. Neither of you had spoken much. There hadn't been any need. Every now and then one of you would point out an eagle circling overhead or a fish breaking the surface before settling back into the quiet again. It was exactly what Maggie had wanted for the two of you, a pause.
Afterwards you'd both showered, washing away the drive. The clothes Maggie had promised were already hanging neatly from the wardrobe door.
Across the room Gator was crouched beside his duffel bag, a towel slung low around his waist while he searched for something he'd inevitably packed at the bottom. The bruising across his face had faded considerably over the last couple of days, the angry colours softening into pale yellows around his cheekbone.
His body was another story. The marks still stretched across his back and ribs in deep washes of purple, blue and red, each one bleeding into the next until they looked less like bruises and more like somebody had painted them onto his skin with watercolours.
You crossed the room, your fingertips settled gently against his waist before slowly tracing upwards, careful never to press hard enough to hurt him. He stilled beneath your touch, and you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades.
"Still sore?"
He glanced back at you over one shoulder.
"Looks worse than it is, had worse."
You knew that was probably true, it didn't stop you kissing his back once more. You wandered over to the bed instead, sitting cross-legged beside his open bag.
"We don’t have to go up to the lounge, could always stay here. Maggie won’t mind."
"An’ miss m’chance to talk to Dean Holloway? Not a chance, baby."
"I knew that'd be the selling point," you couldn't help laughing.
Leaving him to continue rummaging, you crossed towards the wardrobe where Maggie's garment bags hung waiting. The first one unzipped to reveal a beautifully tailored shirt and pair of trousers. You held them up, looking from the clothes to Gator.
"I have a feeling you’ve been promoted to one of Maggie’s mannequins."
"She went t’get my stuff from dad’s,” he grinned. “Clearly wasn’t up t’her standards."
"Maggie went?"
"Um, yeah, she took Ford an’ Brooks. Said she didn’t want me goin’ back there."
Something warm settled quietly in your chest. That sounded exactly like Maggie. She'd simply removed another problem before Gator ever had to face it.
"Good," you smiled, holding the clothes out towards him. "Well, here, might as well dress the part if you’re going to spend the night schmoozing the Dean Holloway."
He accepted the hanger with an amused shake of his head while you reached for the second garment bag. Inside hung a dress, you'd barely taken it out before smiling. It was unmistakably something Maggie had chosen; expensive and beautiful.
A little while later the two of you stood by the front door, ready to leave. You gave the lodge one last quick glance to make sure nothing had been forgotten.
"You got the key?"
"In m’pocket."
Gator looked you over once before his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Y’gonna be cold in that, where’s y’coat?"
"It doesn’t really go with the outfit, Gator."
"Don’t care, baby." He folded his arms. "Better than y’gettin’ sick. Put the coat on."
You sighed with theatrical reluctance before turning back towards the wardrobe. He only smiled as you slipped your jacket on.
The Main Lodge somehow felt even grander after dark. Warm light spilled from every window, glowing against the surrounding woodland like a beacon amongst the trees. As you and Gator climbed the broad stone steps to the entrance, the heavy timber doors were already being opened for you before either of you reached them.
Inside, everything smelled faintly of cedarwood and a fire burning somewhere deeper in the building. Before you'd even had chance to properly look around, somebody appeared beside you with a warm smile.
"May I?"
You slipped your jacket off, Gator following suit beside you, and within seconds both had disappeared somewhere behind the reception desk. Another member of staff stepped forward.
"If you'd like to follow me."
You and Gator exchanged a quick glance before following him deeper into the lodge. The building seemed to unfold one elegant room after another, all rich timber panelling, soft lighting and artwork that looked tastefully curated.
The staff member stopped outside a pair of tall double doors and opened them. The lounge itself looked like something lifted straight from the pages of an interior design magazine. Rich leather seating gathered around an enormous fireplace, polished timber floors reflected the warm amber lighting overhead. At one end of the room an elegant bar stretched the full length of the wall, bottles glowing beneath softly lit shelves.
The noise washed over you immediately. Conversation filled the room from every direction, glasses clinked together, somebody laughed loudly enough to briefly drown out everyone else. Every voice belonged to a man, except one.
Maggie.
She was perched casually on one of the bar stools. Her platinum bob caught the light every time she turned her head, the deep burgundy three-piece suit somehow making her stand out even more amongst a room full of very wealthy men. The second she saw you, she smiled and crossed the room towards you.
One by one, conversations began faltering, not stopping entirely, just... shifting. Heads turned after her almost instinctively until, by the time she'd reached you, you had the distinct feeling most of the room had quietly noticed your arrival too.
"Baby! You look beautiful!"
She kissed your cheek before stepping back to admire you properly. Then her attention moved to Gator.
"Gator, looking good. Let’s get you two something to drink."
Before either of you had chance to answer, she'd looped an arm through yours and guided you both towards the bar. Waiting behind it was a man a little older than you, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, already polishing a crystal tumbler. He looked up as you approached, an easy grin appearing.
"Baby, Gator, this is Billy," Maggie gestured towards the bartender.
"What can I get you both?" He asked.
"Gator’s a whiskey man, good stuff,” Maggie answered for you. “But you’ll have to get imaginative for Baby, she doesn’t do liquor."
Billy looked at you with an expression that suggested he'd already accepted the challenge. His lips curved into a cocky smile. He was unmistakeably handsome, and he clearly knew it too.
"You trust me?"
"Um, sure?" You laughed.
"I can work with that."
A few moments later he slid a tall glass towards you. The drink was bright with fresh fruit, garnished with mint and something that looked entirely too pretty to actually drink. You took a cautious sip. It was delicious. You looked back up at him, smiling despite yourself.
"Okay, I see why she hired you."
"Nah, the drinks were a bonus,” Billy laughed. “Maggie hired me for my good looks."
"Keep dreaming, Billy boy."
Billy placed a hand dramatically over his heart while Maggie only shook her head with long-suffering affection. Then she gently turned you by the shoulders until you were facing the room. Dozens of conversations continued around you, some of the faces you recognised, most you didn't. Maggie rested a hand lightly against your arm.
"So..." she said, surveying the room with the quiet confidence of somebody introducing you to her own living room. "Who do you want to meet first?"
The rest of the evening settled into exactly what Maggie had promised it would be. She guided you and Gator through the room with effortless ease, introducing you to people whose names you recognised from newspapers, television interviews and business magazines as though she were simply introducing neighbours at a barbecue. Every conversation seemed to begin the same way. Warmly. Personally. Maggie never listed achievements or titles, only what mattered about the person standing in front of you.
Warren Keating turned out to have the dry humour of somebody who had spent too many years sitting in courtrooms listening to bad excuses. Richard Vale was exactly as Maggie had described him, all polished smiles and carefully rehearsed charm. Thomas Bellamy spoke almost exclusively in numbers, while Harvey Sloan seemed determined to convince everyone in the room that being an attorney was far more interesting than it actually sounded.
Isaac Whitmore really did spend the first thirty seconds studying your face before complimenting your bone structure, Maggie had called that one perfectly.
Rafael Alvarez spoke with such genuine enthusiasm about horses that you found yourself smiling before he'd even finished introducing himself, while Omar Haddad insisted you and Gator visit him if you were ever passing through Minneapolis. Every person seemed to carry some little piece of the country with them, different accents weaving through the room until it felt less like North Dakota and more like a gathering pulled together from every corner of America.
Eventually the introductions slowed and six of you settled around one of the larger tables near the fireplace, the conversation naturally splitting into smaller groups.
Dean Holloway was every bit as broad as he looked on television, somehow making Gator seem almost average-sized sitting beside him. Celestino Vega leaned comfortably across the table, laughing as the two of them disappeared almost immediately into a conversation about football, old coaches and stories that seemed to involve increasingly questionable locker room behaviour.
You weren't entirely sure how Gator had gone from quietly sitting beside you in the Yukon that morning to happily debating defensive formations with an NFL linebacker by the evening. He looked completely at ease.
Across the table, Leon DuPont proved exactly as Maggie had warned. He could talk. His voice carried the warm, rolling cadence of French Creole, every sentence softened by an accent you could happily have listened to all evening. There was something reassuring about it, familiar even though it wasn't. Within minutes he'd somehow steered the conversation towards the clubhouse refurbishment, asking thoughtful questions about the plans you'd drawn up, the materials you'd chosen and the contractors you were using.
Unlike so many people who asked questions simply to appear interested, Leon actually listened to the answers. He threw out ideas, mentioned suppliers he'd worked with, recommended stone yards in Montana and a furniture maker in Louisiana whose work, according to Leon, was "worth e’ery damn penny."
The longer the conversation continued, the more confident you became discussing it. For the first time, you found yourself talking about the project not as Maggie's granddaughter helping out, but as the person actually responsible for making it happen. It felt good.
Then the lounge doors opened. You saw Maggie notice before anybody else. It wasn't obvious, if you hadn't been looking directly at her, you might have missed it altogether, just the slightest tightening of her jaw. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared. By the time the man crossing the room reached the edge of the lounge, Maggie was already smiling as she stood to greet him.
"Marshall, glad you could make it,” she cooed. “You hit traffic?"
"Had a last minute meeting but all dealt with."
He looked exactly how you'd imagined. Expensive suit. Expensive watch. The sort of confidence that came from spending too many years believing nobody would ever tell him no. Maggie rested a hand lightly against his arm, guiding him towards the table.
"Marshall, this is my granddaughter, Baby and her boyfriend, Gator."
His eyes barely lingered on you, instead they landed on Gator. Recognition flashed and he held out a hand.
"Tillman’s boy. Small world."
You felt Gator hesitate for the briefest fraction of a second before taking it, the handshake lasted no longer than politeness demanded. Maggie was already steering Marshall towards the bar before another word could be exchanged.
You looked instinctively towards Gator. and he caught your eye, whatever he saw on your face made him give the smallest wink. A quiet reassurance. Everything's fine. You smiled back before turning once more to Leon, determined not to let Marshall Beaumont occupy another second of your evening than he already had. Leon watched the exchange over the rim of his whiskey before leaning slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough that it stayed between the two of you.
"You don’ wanta be catchin’ dat man’s attention, chers. Man is a gwo kochon. Don’ care ‘bout nobody but heself."
・❥・
You woke slowly, for the first time in what felt like weeks there was nothing waiting to drag you out of sleep. The room was warm beneath the duvet, sunlight filtering through your closed eyelids until you blinked awake. Gator was still completely asleep. One arm lay loosely across the mattress until, sensing your movement, it shifted instinctively around your waist, drawing you against him with a sleepy little sigh before he settled again. You smiled to yourself, even in his sleep he reached for you.
For another minute you simply stayed there, your cheek resting against his shoulder, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The lodge was so quiet you could hear the faint movement of water outside. When you eventually lifted your head, the view beyond the bed stole your attention all over again.
Morning light flooded through the huge windows overlooking the lake, scattering across the room in dancing reflections as the water caught the sun. The entire back wall of the lodge seemed to glow. Beyond the glass, the lake sat almost perfectly still beneath a cloudless sky, the surrounding pines mirrored so clearly in its surface they almost looked painted there.
A grin spread across your face before you could stop it. It was your birthday. Not only that, but you were waking up exactly where you wanted to be. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere quiet. Beside the man you loved. There really wasn't much more you could ask for.
Careful not to wake Gator, you slipped quietly from beneath the duvet. The wooden floor felt cool beneath your feet as you crossed the room, reaching first for your phone on the bedside table before lifting the thick wool blanket draped across the leather armchair. You wrapped it around yourself as you slid open the glass doors, the cool morning air meeting you, fresh with the smell of pine trees and the lake below.
You settled into one of the chairs overlooking the water, tucking the blanket around your legs before unlocking your phone. Overnight it had filled with birthday messages. The family group chat was already alive with photographs and far too many emojis. Brooks had sent a simple Happy Birthday, kiddo. Ford had followed with one of himself, Nicky and Rhodes pulling ridiculous faces around the breakfast table. Hannah had written an entire paragraph telling you how much she loved you, while Megan's message was mostly demands for photographs of wherever Maggie had spirited you away to. You were halfway through replying when your phone buzzed again with a call.
Maggie.
You answered immediately.
"Happy Birthday, Baby!"
Just hearing her voice made you smile.
"Thank you, Mags."
"You just getting up?"
"Mh-hm." You looked back through the open doors towards the bed where Gator hadn't moved an inch. "Gator’s still out but I’m out on the deck. This place is beautiful."
"I knew you’d like it." There was the sound of voices in the background before Maggie moved somewhere quieter. "I’m just calling to let you know what I’m up to today. It’s ritual masculinity day. We’re heading out hunting, so the rest of the estate will be empty. Yours to make the best of. But I need you both dressed and ready for a special birthday dinner at seven. Until then, if you need me, call me or ask Henry at the Main Lodge."
You smiled out across the lake again; it was hard to imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
"Ok. Thank you again, for bringing us."
"You’re welcome, baby. I hope that boy spoils you today. Love you."
"Love you too, Mags."
The call ended, leaving only the quiet sounds of the lake around you once more. You lowered your phone onto the table and moved to stand at the edge of the deck. You looked out across the water for a while, feeling the morning sun beginning to warm the blanket around your shoulders.
A moment later, familiar warmth settled around you. Gator's arms slipped comfortably around your shoulders from behind, drawing the blanket and you both against his chest as he bent to kiss the top of your head.
"Happy birthday, Baby."
You smiled, letting your head rest back against him.
"Mhm, morning. You sleep good?"
"Always do w’you."
You turned within the circle of his arms until you were facing him properly. His hair still stood in every direction from sleep, his t-shirt only half pulled on, and despite everything that had happened over the past few days there was something softer about him this morning. Rest suited him. You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly through the hair at the back of his neck before kissing him.
His hands disappeared into your hair, holding you a little closer as he kissed you back, unhurried and still carrying the warmth of sleep. When you finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead lightly against yours.
"Breakfast is here. Maggie sent y’pancakes."
"She knows me too well," you laughed.
The tray had been left quietly inside while you'd been outside on the deck. Pancakes occupied the centre of the tray, stacked impossibly high with Happy Birthday written across the top in looping chocolate sauce. Beside them sat bowls overflowing with strawberries, blueberries and raspberries, still glistening from where they'd been washed that morning, along with fresh coffee, juice and maple syrup in little glass jugs.
It looked almost too good to eat. Almost.
The two of you sat cross-legged on the end of the bed sharing breakfast between you, stealing fruit from one another's plates and quietly watching the lake through the windows while the morning drifted by without any urgency attached to it.
Afterwards, you both changed into something more practical for the day ahead. As you laced your boots, you looked over towards Gator.
"Maggie said the whole place is ours, they’ve all gone off hunting."
He looked up from where he was pulling on his own boots, the corner of his mouth lifting knowingly.
"Y’wanna go for a walk? I know y’wanna be nosy."
You laughed because he wasn't wrong.
"It’s so pretty here, seems a shame to waste it."
He stood, crossing the room until he was close enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"S’your birthday, baby." He smiled. "We do whatever y’wanna do."
You and Gator wandered without much destination in mind, following whichever trail looked interesting, fingers loosely intertwined as the estate unfolded around you. Every turning seemed to reveal something new. A narrow footbridge crossing a stream that fed the lake. Another secluded cabin hidden amongst the pines. A wooden bench overlooking a meadow that looked as though nobody had sat on it in weeks.
It was impossible to feel rushed somewhere like this. The further you walked from the main lodge, the quieter everything became until the only sounds left were birdsong, the occasional breeze moving through the trees and the steady crunch of your boots over gravel.
You were halfway through pointing out a hawk circling high above the treeline when Gator's arm shot out across your chest. He stopped you so suddenly you froze.
"What--"
He didn't answer, instead he nodded towards a clearing between the trees to where a doe stood amongst the long grass, her ears twitching gently as she grazed. Beside her, still all awkward legs and oversized ears, a tiny fawn copied her every movement.
You both stayed perfectly still, even breathing felt too loud.
The pair wandered peacefully across the clearing for another minute before something cracked somewhere deeper in the woods. Both heads lifted at once. In the blink of an eye they bounded back into the trees, disappearing so quickly you almost wondered whether you'd imagined them. You let out the breath you'd been holding.
"I think that's the closest I've ever been to one."
"They're even prettier when they ain't runnin' from hunters."
By the time you found yourselves back near Tamarack, the sun sat high overhead and the lake shimmered beneath the afternoon light exactly as it had that morning, you wandered down to the shoreline. The water looked impossibly inviting. You kicked off your boots, peeled off your socks and stepped carefully onto the smooth stones at the edge before dipping your toes into the lake.
It was colder than you'd expected. Not freezing, refreshing. Behind you, Gator watched with folded arms.
"Y'crazy?"
"It’s not that cold,” you laughed, looking back over your shoulder. “C’mon."
Before he could answer you'd already unbuttoned your jeans, stepping out of them and leaving them in a heap beside your boots.
"Baby, whatcha doin'?"
"Going in. You coming or are you too chicken?" You grinned.
His expression suggested he was rapidly questioning every decision that had brought him to this exact moment. Meanwhile you were already wading further into the lake.
The water climbed slowly from your ankles to your knees, then your thighs, cool enough to steal your breath for a second before your body adjusted. You pulled your sweater over your head, tossing it back towards the shore, Gator caught it automatically.
A second later you carried on until the water reached your waist, the lake wrapping around you in gentle ripples. Behind you came a long, theatrical sigh. You glanced back just in time to see him giving in. Piece by piece he discarded his clothes until he was left in nothing but his boxers before cautiously following you into the lake.
You smiled to yourself and deliberately faced forwards again. The water climbed to your shoulders as you wandered further out.
You'd barely taken another step before two familiar arms wrapped around you from behind. Gator turned you effortlessly to face him before lifting you out of the water. Your legs found his waist automatically as he carried you another step deeper until the lake reached his shoulders instead.
"Y’happy now? Soakin’ wet in a cold lake."
You laughed, looping your arms around his neck.
"Happy now you’re in it with me."
You kissed him softly. When you pulled back, the world around you felt impossibly still.
"I don’t think I’ve ever heard quiet like this."
He looked out across the lake before back at you.
"S’nice."
For a while you both enjoyed the silence, simply floating there together while tiny ripples spread lazily across the water around you. Eventually you leaned backwards, trusting him completely. His hand slid beneath your back, supporting you as your hair drifted into the cool water behind. Sunlight danced across the surface above your face while the ends of your hair spread weightlessly around you. Gator kept one steady hand beneath you the entire time before leaning forwards, pressing a gentle kiss against your stomach that made you laugh quietly. He pulled you upright again and you settled back against him; arms wrapped comfortably around his shoulders.
"You have a good time with Mr. NFL last night?"
"Gotta stop callin’ him that,” he snorted. “Dean Holloway is a legend. Who was you talkin’ to?"
"Leon DuPont. He owns a few bars with Maggie, but he also owns casinos, hotels, bars. Designs them all himself. He was asking me about the clubhouse refurb."
Gator nodded thoughtfully.
"Maggie knows a lotta important men."
"I think she does it on purpose." You glanced back towards the direction of the main lodge, hidden somewhere beyond the trees. "Like, look at this place. Maggie doesn’t care about hunting and compare the lounge last night to the Gilded Lily. This place is designed specifically to feel like a boys club, she makes them feel at ease, that’s why she was all fake last night to Marshall."
"Keep y’friends close an’ y’enemies closer."
"Exactly."
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"Tellin’ ya, I ain’t ever met no one as smart as your grandma."
"Don’t let her catch you calling her grandma, she’ll mount your head above the fireplace in the dining room."
That earned a proper laugh. He buried his face into the crook of your neck for a second, his shoulders still shaking with it before finally pulling back. His eyes drifted out across the lake, following the tiny ripples spreading away from you.
"Y'remember that storm?" he asked quietly.
"What storm?"
"Must've been... y’senior year," He frowned to himself. "Hot as hell f’weeks. Nobody wanted t'do nothin'. Madison was pregnant with Rhodes."
You smiled immediately.
"She was miserable."
"Thought she was gonna kill somebody." He chuckled. "Then that rain finally came in, soon as it started she got everybody outside. Didn't give nobody a choice."
You could almost see it again. Thick summer rain falling so hard it bounced off the lawn. The relief of cool air after weeks of relentless heat. Gator smiled to himself.
"Madison decides she's gonna lay in the grass, but she can’t get up ‘cause she was huge.”
“She’d have killed you for saying that,” you laugh.
“She was huge!” He was smiling wider now. “She’s hollerin’ for somebody t’help her, so you run over, made it ‘bout two steps before y’feet went straight out from under ya.”
“I forgot about that,” you chuckled.
"Y'ended up lyin' there beside her instead. Neither of ya could get up." He let out a quiet laugh. "Madison's laughin' so hard she's cryin'. You're laughin' so hard you ain't even tryin' t'help anymore."
He fell quiet for a beat.
"...Think I stood there f’good five minutes jus’ listenin'."
"To what?" You looked at him.
He shrugged, like the answer should've been obvious.
"You."
The lake went silent again, Gator looked back out across the water.
"Prettiest girl I ever seen." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Best sound I ever heard."
Heat bloomed in your chest. He said it so simply, like he wasn't confessing anything at all. Just remembering. Before you could think of a reply, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against your forehead.
"C'mon," he murmured. "We better get y'dry before y'catch a shiver."
Before you had chance to argue, he carried you back towards the shore. He set you carefully on a warm sunlit rock before collecting the scattered pile of clothes, handing you your sweater first so you could pull it over your damp skin. Then, with the rest of the clothes bundled beneath one arm and still dripping in his boxers, he suddenly scooped you up again. Only this time you found yourself unceremoniously slung over his shoulder.
"Gator!"
You squealed, laughing helplessly as he started back towards the lodge, entirely unbothered by your half-hearted protests and every attempt you made to wriggle free until the front steps finally appeared beneath his feet.
He lowered you to dig the keycard from the crumpled pocket of his discarded jeans, still bundled beneath one arm with the rest of your clothes. The front door clicked open and, before you knew it, you were both back inside with the warmth of the lodge wrapping around you again.
The chill from the lake settled in surprisingly quickly. You wandered straight through to the bathroom, turning on the taps for the enormous freestanding tub to fill. Steam gradually curled across the room, fogging the mirrors.
The hot water chased the last of the cold from your skin as you settled back between Gator's knees, resting comfortably against his chest while he gently worked shampoo through your hair. You closed your eyes again, letting yourself melt against him while he rinsed the shampoo away.
Neither of you paid much attention to the time. Eventually the water cooled enough that neither of you could pretend not to notice anymore. Reluctantly, you climbed out first, wrapping yourself in one of the enormous white towels waiting on the heated rail before wandering barefoot back into the bedroom. You flopped dramatically across the end of the bed, still cocooned in the towel while your damp hair spread across the duvet beneath you. Gator leaned down, stealing an easy kiss before smiling against your lips.
"Y’want y’present now or later?"
You looked up at him, your entire face lighting up.
"Now, obviously?"
He laughed quietly to himself before rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, suddenly looking oddly uncertain. Crossing to his duffel bag, he crouched down and rummaged around inside before pulling out a neatly wrapped package. He carried it back over, holding it out towards you.
"I ain’t good at presents, so y’ain’t allowed t’judge me. An’ it definitely ain’t no competition f’Maggie’s expensive watch. Shoulda given you it before her."
Instead of opening it, you carefully placed the present on the bed beside you. Then you climbed onto your knees and reached for him instead. He stepped closer and you slid your hands around his waist, drawing him in until you could press a gentle kiss against his lips.
"You didn’t have to get me anything. And I don’t care about expensive." You smiled up at him. "It’s from you, that’s what matters."
You kissed him once more, lingering there for just a second before finally settling back onto the bed. You smiled to yourself as you carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, deliberately taking your time now you'd seen how nervous he'd suddenly become. Gator had never been good at hiding when he cared about something. While you focused on the paper, he quietly wandered back over to his bag, rummaging around for something else before returning to stand beside the bed.
You only glanced up briefly; he was holding a pair of wired headphones. Your brow furrowed for a moment, but before you had chance to ask, your attention was drawn back to the gift itself.
Inside the wrapping sat a smart little box. You lifted the lid and nestled against the dark lining was a fine gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant resting neatly in the centre. It was beautiful, simple and elegant. Entirely unlike the sort of jewellery you imagined Gator picking out on his own.
You looked up to thank him, but he was already stepping closer. Without saying anything, he gently settled the headphones into your ears before reaching for the necklace in your lap. Your eyes followed his hands as he turned the pendant over, sliding open a tiny panel on the back that you hadn't even noticed was there. A small port was hidden beneath it. He plugged the wire into the pendant, then rested his thumb lightly against the front.
A heartbeat filled your ears. For a second you simply stared at him, then he reached back into the box and handed you a tightly rolled sheet of paper. You uncurled it across your lap. It took your brain a moment to recognise what you were looking at, an EKG. But not just one trace, two. A red line moved unevenly across the page, every beat a little unpredictable, while beneath it a black line travelled with quiet consistency, each rhythm measured, steady and sure. Gator reached over and eased one of the earbuds away from your ear.
"Red line is you, from the hospital. Black line is me, know an EMT owed me a favour. One in your ears is me." He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, his eyes dropping somewhere towards the floor. "Somethin’ Logan told me, ‘bout how you listen t’my heartbeat when y’layin on me, try t’match it. Now y’always got it with ya."
You looked back down at the page. Slowly, your fingertip traced the black line as it travelled across the paper. You remembered every one of those nights. The nights when sleep refused to come because your own heartbeat seemed too loud inside your ears. When every missed beat or flutter became impossible to ignore until anxiety took hold and all you could hear was your own chest betraying you. Those were the times you found yourself curled against Gator, your head resting over his heart, listening to the slow certainty beneath his ribs until your breathing matched his and your own heart gradually stopped feeling like something to be frightened of.
Somewhere between Logan mentioning it in passing and today, he'd quietly gone away and found someone willing to help him. He'd called in a favour. He'd thought about it long enough to turn one of your greatest fears into something you could wear around your neck.
The necklace wasn't the gift, the heartbeat was. The thought behind it was.
Your vision blurred before you even realised tears had started falling. One landed softly against the EKG paper. You folded it carefully before placing it back inside the box, protecting it almost instinctively. Then you pushed yourself up from the bed and closed the space between you in two quick steps, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
"It’s perfect. I love it. I love you."
The words came out through tears you made no attempt to hide. You kissed him before he could answer. His hands found your face, gentle as always, his thumbs brushing beneath your eyes to catch the tears while he kissed you back with the same quiet tenderness he'd poured into the gift itself.
Somewhere beneath it all, through the single headphone still resting against your ear, his heartbeat carried on.
Slow.
Steady.
Constant.
And, just as he'd promised, no matter where you were now, you could always find your way back to it.
・❥・
By the time the two of you reached the Main Lodge again, the last of the daylight had disappeared behind the trees. Music drifted faintly through the open entrance as the doors opened.
You glanced sideways at Gator as you walked. Maggie had struck again. He'd somehow ended up in another perfectly fitted shirt and tailored trousers that made him look as though he'd belonged at weekends like this his entire life. His shoulders seemed even broader beneath the crisp fabric, his hair still slightly damp.
He looked ridiculously handsome. The sort of handsome that made people stare. But as much as you appreciated the view, you realised your favourite version of Gator would probably always be the one waiting for you at home in worn cargo trousers and one of those tight t-shirts that clung to his shoulders after a day spent working. Grease beneath his fingernails. Hair a mess. Looking entirely unaware of the effect he had on you.
That was your Gator.
He just happened to clean up exceptionally well. His fingers tightened gently around yours as you climbed the front steps together. Henry was waiting in the lobby, the moment he spotted you, his face broke into a warm smile.
"Happy birthday, Miss Heaton! The rest of the guests are gathering in the dining room, right this way."
"Thank you."
He led the pair of you through the lodge to an elegant dining room where a single long table stretched almost the entire length of the space, candles flickering gently between towering floral arrangements while glasses and polished silver caught the light overhead.
Heads turned towards the doorway as you entered. Before you had chance to feel remotely self-conscious, Maggie was already on her feet.
"There’s my birthday girl!" She crossed the room without hesitation, wrapping you in a hug before you'd even reached the table. "How was your day?"
"Yeah we took a walk, went for a swim in the lake, it was nice.” You smiled. “How about you, have fun playing hunter?"
Maggie laughed.
"Absolutely, I outshoot every one of these old timers."
Several of the men around the table protested through amused laughter, earning nothing more than an entirely unapologetic grin from Maggie. She slipped an arm around your shoulders as she guided you and Gator towards your places at the table, the conversation quickly beginning to swell back to life around you once more.
Dinner unfolded, nobody seemed in a hurry to finish one course before the next arrived. Conversation drifted easily around the table, splitting and reforming as bottles of wine were passed from one end to the other and stories became steadily louder with each passing hour. Leon was halfway through recounting an impossible tale involving a poker game in New Orleans that nobody around the table seemed entirely convinced had happened, while Dean and Gator had somehow picked up exactly where they'd left off the previous evening, now debating college football with the same enthusiasm they'd shown for the NFL.
At the head of the table, Maggie floated effortlessly between every conversation at once. She had an odd gift for making everyone in the room feel as though they'd had the most interesting discussion of the evening.
The food itself deserved every bit of the praise Maggie had given it. Each course arrived looking almost too beautiful to disturb; but somehow tasted even better than it looked. You found yourself slowing down simply to make it last a little longer, while every now and then Mario appeared quietly from the kitchen to check on the room before disappearing again with the quiet pride of somebody who genuinely loved feeding people.
By the time plates were finally cleared away, you were comfortably full. Then the dining room doors opened again, and Mario emerged carrying an enormous cake. It was spectacular. Layers of marble sponge towered above the cake stand, iced simply in cream with Baby written neatly across the front in looping script. Delicate curls of white and milk chocolate climbed one side like ribbons, catching the candlelight as he carried it carefully towards the table.
A single sparkler candle protruded from the very top. You couldn't stop smiling, Mario set the cake carefully in front of you before lighting the sparkler properly. Almost immediately, the room broke into song. Happy Birthday echoed around the dining room, a collection of voices in different accents somehow finding the same tune. You laughed, feeling your face grow steadily warmer as every eye settled on you.
Halfway through the song your gaze wandered unintentionally down the length of the table. Marshall Beaumont was watching you. He was singing along with everyone else. Smiling. But there was something about it that made something inside you tighten. It didn't reach his eyes. It felt rehearsed somehow, performative in a way that instantly made your skin prickle.
You looked away instantly.
Maggie was smiling at you from across the table, Gator's shoulder rested comfortably against yours, Leon was singing far louder than anybody else. When the final line came to an end, you leaned forwards and blew out the sparkler. The room erupted into applause. Mario looked almost as pleased as you felt, you leant across the table towards him.
"Thank you so much. Everything was incredible."
He smiled warmly, dipping his head in quiet acknowledgement before disappearing back towards the kitchens to leave the guests to enjoy the cake. The evening lingered long after dinner had officially finished. Coffee replaced wine for some. Whiskey appeared for others. Chairs scraped gently across polished floors as conversations continued in little clusters around the room until, eventually, Maggie rose from her seat.
Almost instinctively everyone else began doing the same. With the easy confidence of somebody who had hosted this same gathering many times before, she shepherded the party from the dining room, laughter and half-finished conversations spilling out into the hallway before continuing through towards the South Lounge.
The South Lounge felt completely different to the East. Where the previous evening had centred around the bar, this room invited people to settle in for the rest of the night. The entire back wall was nothing but glass, looking out across the South Waterfront where the lake reflected the moonlight in long silver ribbons. A fire crackled somewhere behind you, taking the chill from the room, while pools of warm lamplight gathered around deep leather sofas and low tables that encouraged people to sit close and stay awhile.
Off to one side stood a grand piano. On the other, a poker table had been assembled for the weekend. It didn't belong to the room in the same way everything else did. It had the temporary feel of something brought in especially for this gathering, already stacked neatly with cards and heavy clay chips waiting for whoever eventually wandered over.
Maggie disappeared towards the bar, Billy already waiting behind it with the sort of grin that suggested he knew exactly what everyone would be drinking before they asked.
Across the room, Dean Holloway had somehow reclaimed Gator before either of you had made it halfway inside. The two of them dropped easily into one of the sofa areas, already deep in another conversation that looked as though it had simply resumed after dinner rather than ever ending. Every now and then Dean laughed loudly enough to turn heads, Gator shaking his own with a grin that reached all the way to his eyes.
You couldn't help smiling. You'd worried, before coming here, that he'd spend the entire weekend politely enduring conversations he didn't care about simply because Maggie had invited him. Instead, he looked comfortable and interested, like he'd genuinely found people he enjoyed talking to. That alone made the weekend worth it. You were still watching him when a familiar voice drifted up behind you.
"Don’t just stand there letting the dust settle on your shoes, birthdays mean you get to make a little noise."
You turned to find Celestino smiling warmly at you. Before you had chance to answer, he'd already gently steered you towards the piano. He settled onto the bench, leaving just enough room for you beside him before lowering one finger onto a single key. The note rolled slowly through the lounge; deep and rich. It lingered in the room long after he'd lifted his hand away.
“You play?” he asked.
You shook your head.
"The piano is a whole world." His left hand settled over the lower keys. "The left hand… that’s the earth. That’s the road you gotta walk on."
He played again. This time a heavy bass rhythm rolled from the piano, slow and deliberate, each note settling comfortably against the one before it.
"Hear that? That’s the ground right there. Holds you steady when everything else is shaking."
His left hand never stopped moving, keeping the rhythm alive beneath everything else while he nodded towards the higher end of the keys.
"Now, I’m gonna hold down the road, but I need you to give us a little sky. See the black key, the middle one in the cluster of three?"
You nodded, suddenly very aware of how little you actually knew about playing the piano. Your fingers hovered uncertainly above the keys.
"Don’t be shy with it. That’s the blue note. That’s where the rain lives and where the sun comes out. When I hit the change, I want you to lean your finger into it. Let it cry a little."
The bass line shifted and something inside the rhythm opened, a space appeared that hadn't been there before.
"Right now. Give it to me, sugar."
You pressed the key and the note cut cleanly through the bass beneath it, melancholy and bright all at once. Celestino laughed softly.
"Just like that, get the taste for it. But a bird can’t fly with just one wing, we gotta give that note some company."
He kept the rhythm rolling beneath your single note. His right hand hovered above yours, never quite touching.
"See these two ivories, tucked under your thumb, just there? They’re waiting on you, slide on down to ‘em. Walk it down real slow, like you’re stepping off a porch step in a hot summer, nice and slow."
Again the bass shifted beneath you as he left you space.
"Go on now, walk it out. Talk back to me."
You pressed the black key once more before letting your fingers drift onto the two white notes he'd shown you. It wasn't perfect, you knew it wasn't, but somehow it didn't matter. The notes found each other anyway, your hesitant little melody weaving naturally through the steady rhythm beneath it. Celestino closed his eyes. A soft hum escaped somewhere deep in his chest. Before long the humming stretched itself into words.
"The stars up in the heavens…"
He smiled without opening his eyes.
"They don’t shine half as bright as you…"
Another chord changed beneath your hands, you found the notes almost instinctively this time, walking the pattern he showed you. Celestino bumped your shoulder with his own.
"Yeah, the stars up in the heavens… they don’t shine half as bright as you. You got a smile so sweet, Baby, make a bluesman forget he’s blue."
The final notes drifted gently away into the room. For a second neither of you moved. Then Celestino threw back his head and laughed, the sound warm enough that several people around the lounge smiled without even knowing why. He gave your shoulder an affectionate pat.
"MM-hmm, you got the blues in you, Baby."
By the time you looked up again, Maggie had appeared beside the piano carrying two fresh drinks. She handed one to you and the other to Celestino.
"Where you been hiding this pretty girl, Miss Maggie?"
Maggie's smile softened as she looked between the pair of you.
"Gonna revive that career to write songs about my Baby?"
Celestino let out another easy laugh.
"Oh, she’d be quite the muse." His eyes settled on you with a mischievous smile. "It’s all in the eyes, looks like a heartbreaker to me."
The evening settled into an easy rhythm after that, the sort that only seemed to happen when everyone in the room knew one another well enough that conversation never had to be forced. People drifted naturally between the bar and the sofas, old stories resurfacing between fresh rounds of drinks while the poker table gradually became the centre of attention.
Maggie sat at one end, Marshall Beaumont occupied the seat opposite, Vincent Moretti lounged comfortably to one side with an ever-growing stack of chips in front of him, while Thomas Bellamy and Lionel Baptiste completed the table. They looked as though they'd been playing together for years, cards moving confidently between their hands, conversations continuing uninterrupted beneath the game itself. Maggie caught your eye and beckoned you over.
"You wanna see how I win our shopping money?"
You smiled, wandering over to stand beside her chair. Marshall looked up then, finally taking his attention away from his cards.
"Oh so this is the little lady whose wardrobe I’m funding?"
The smile on your face disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived. It wasn't what he'd said, it was the way he looked at you while he said it. His eyes travelled over you with an ease that made your skin tighten instinctively. It wasn't admiration. It wasn't even curiosity. It felt more like appraisal, as though he were looking at something that could be bought if he decided he wanted it.
Without thinking, you shifted a little closer to Maggie and she noticed.
"Please, you don’t bet enough to keep my Baby dressed up." She gathered her cards without so much as glancing at Marshall. "Keep your eyes on your cards, Marshall."
The table laughed and Marshall did too, but something in the room had shifted all the same. It was only then that you noticed Jack. He stood several feet behind Maggie, almost blending into the edge of the room, his attention seemingly nowhere in particular. You hadn't seen him since he'd driven everyone up to The Briar the afternoon before and, truthfully, you hadn't even thought about where he'd disappeared to. Now you realised that had probably been the point.
He was simply watching, always close enough that Maggie never had to wonder where he was. You settled beside Maggie's chair, watching over her shoulder while she quietly explained what she was doing. Poker, according to Maggie, wasn't really about the cards at all. It was about people. Who played cautiously after a win. Who bluffed too often. Who always reached for their drink when they were nervous. Before each hand was revealed she'd quietly lean towards you, gesturing almost imperceptibly at another player before whispering what she thought they were holding. Every time the cards turned over, she was right.
By the time she'd collected another comfortable pile of chips, Billy appeared beside the table carrying a fresh tray of drinks. Without looking up from her hand, Maggie accepted a fresh whiskey.
"There should be a crate of cigars in the back office. Have Henry bring them in."
"Sure thing, I’ll call through."
Billy disappeared back towards the bar while Vincent smiled across the table.
"Hope you’re blessing us with your Cubans, cara?"
"Wouldn’t waste your time with anything else, Vincent. You ask me nicely and I may have even come through on that other thing you were after."
"You have always been good with the impossible, Maggie." Vincent laughed into his glass.
The conversation moved on as another hand began, but the phrase stayed with you. The other thing. You leaned down slightly, keeping your voice low enough that only Maggie could hear.
"The other thing?"
She never took her eyes off her cards, instead she nodded ever so slightly towards Vincent's wrist.
"Vincent has a proclivity for the finer things in life. Not all of them are easy to get hold of, and not all of them can be legally imported. See his watch?"
You glanced across discreetly, the gold watch looked expensive enough to make you nervous simply looking at it.
"One of a kind. Watch face is crafted with Hawksbill turtle shell. Illegally hunted, endangered. $140,000, of which I took twenty percent as an import charge."
You looked back at her, trying to keep your surprise from showing.
"So, this is one of the… other things."
"I don’t mess with drugs or people. I’m not interested in that. But goods, sure. Vincent wants himself some crocodile leather shoes or a box of Cuban cigars and I’m who he asks."
The conversation settled quietly in the back of your mind while another hand unfolded around the table. You found yourself looking differently at the room. At the watches catching the firelight whenever somebody reached for a drink. At cufflinks that probably cost more than most cars. At handmade shoes and tailored jackets and the effortless wealth sitting around every corner of the lounge.
These weren't simply influential men. They were customers, maybe not all of them. But enough. People came to Maggie because she knew how to find the things other people couldn't. You realised then that you probably still only understood half of what your grandmother actually did for a living. Just when you thought you'd finally worked her out, another layer quietly revealed itself.
After another hand was dealt, you bent to kiss the top of Maggie's head. She reached up without looking away from her cards, her fingers finding yours for the briefest moment before giving your hand a gentle squeeze. Then she returned to the game, already calculating her next move while you slipped quietly away from the table to find Gator again.
You found him exactly where you'd expected him to be. Dean had claimed one of the leather sofas nearest the fire and Gator was stretched comfortably beside him, one ankle resting across his opposite knee, a whiskey balanced loosely in one hand while the two of them continued a conversation that, from the animated gestures alone, had clearly never strayed far from football.
Neither of them noticed you straight away. Dean was halfway through demonstrating something with his hands while Gator nodded along, occasionally interrupting with a grin that told you he was enjoying himself far more than he'd ever admit.
You wandered over quietly and perched yourself on the arm of the sofa beside him. Almost immediately, without interrupting whatever Dean was saying, Gator's arm found its way around your back, his hand settling comfortably against your waist as though it had always belonged there. Only then did Dean look up.
"How you doing, birthday girl?"
"I’m good, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt."
"Not at all, just boring your man to death with stories."
"Well, I know that isn’t true,” you laughed. “Gator can talk football for hours; I usually tune it out."
Dean clutched dramatically at his chest.
"You’re breaking my heart, you not a fan?"
"Oh, I know when to cheer. Not being a fan in my house, not an option, it’s in our blood. Have two younger cousins who live and breathe the game."
A broad smile spread across Dean's face.
"Ah, your boy here has already shown me some footage of them. Helluva pair. And for kid’s their age? Ain’t seen no one else like ‘em."
You felt Gator glance up at you, there was an unmistakable look of satisfaction on his face.
"Gonna need y’to be witness when I tell ‘em he said that."
"I don't think they'll ever let you forget it," you laughed.
The conversation lingered for another minute before movement around the room gradually drew everyone's attention elsewhere. Billy appeared from the hallway carrying a large wooden crate beneath one arm. The moment the lid came off, the rich smell of cigars drifted across the lounge.
Like clockwork, several of the older men abandoned their seats almost simultaneously, making their way towards the bar to replenish drinks and help themselves. Dean was no exception. He pushed himself to his feet with a good-natured groan, clapping Gator once on the shoulder before wandering off after the others.
Within moments the two of you were alone again, tucked together on the sofa while the rest of the room slowly gathered around the fire and the cigars Maggie had quietly produced from somewhere, just as she always seemed to produce exactly what people wanted before they'd even thought to ask for it.
The smoke had started hanging thick enough in the lounge that Gator found himself watching it. Every curl that drifted towards the ceiling had brought his thoughts back to you. To your heart. To monitors in hospitals. To every little thing that could so easily become something bigger. Enough was enough for one night.
"Y’wanna get outta here?"
"Thought you’d never ask," you smiled.
He laced his fingers through yours and, on the way out, paused only long enough beside Maggie to quietly let her know the pair of you were heading back to Tamarack. She smiled, squeezed his arm in understanding and waved you both on without another question.
Now, with the lodge behind you, he found himself paying less attention to the path than he probably should have. The little lights lining the walkway cast a warm glow across your dress as you walked beside him, catching on the gold of Maggie's watch every time your hand swung between you. The necklace he'd given you rested against your collarbone, glinting softly beneath the lights.
He couldn't stop looking at you. It wasn't the dress or the jewellery. It was you. His attention lingered a fraction too long. The toe of his shoe clipped the edge of the path, and he stumbled just enough to have to catch himself. Your laugh rang out through the trees.
"Stop staring at me and look where you’re going!"
"Can’t help it, y’look too good," he grinned, completely unashamed.
Still smiling, he led you the last few yards to Tamarack. The lodge sat quietly amongst the trees exactly as you'd left it, warm light spilling through the windows onto the deck overlooking the lake. He finally let go of your hand just long enough to fish the keycard from his pocket before tapping it against the lock.
The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet settling around the two of you. The sounds of the lodge, the laughter from the South Lounge, the rest of the world, it all disappeared the second you were alone.
Gator didn't take his eyes off you. There was something about the way he looked at you that had always undone you. It was never simply appreciation. It wasn't vanity or possession or anything so shallow. He looked at you as though he'd reached the end of a long journey and somehow still couldn't quite believe he'd been allowed to stay.
It made every insecurity fall silent. You could spend hours wondering whether your dress was right or your hair sat properly or whether anybody else in the room liked you, but none of it seemed to matter when he looked at you like that.
As though you hung the moon.
The distance between you disappeared almost of its own accord. His hand found the small of your back, stepping into you until your shoulders met the wall beside the door. His mouth found yours in a kiss that still carried the warmth of the whiskey he’d drank and the quiet happiness of the evening, one hand settling against your waist while the other brushed carefully through your hair.
When he finally pulled back, only far enough for both of you to breathe, you smiled, your nose brushing softly against his. Something had been circling your thoughts all evening. You weren't entirely sure how he'd respond, but you knew if you didn't say it now, you'd probably never find the courage again.
"I want you to do something for me."
His forehead rested lightly against yours.
"Anythin’. What d’you need Baby?"
You kissed him once, softly. Your fingertips traced slowly along the line of his jaw before you looked back into his eyes, you swallowed.
"Don’t be gentle with me."
For the briefest moment, everything stilled. You watched the change pass across his face almost imperceptibly, something deeper settling behind his eyes as he searched yours, making certain he understood what you were asking and that you wanted him there with you.
Gator kisses you like a man starved; hungry, deep, like he’s been waiting forever just to have you this close, and you give it right back, just as eager. He can feel your fists tightening in the front of his shirt, knuckles white, as if you’re trying to pull him even closer, as if there’s any space left between you to close. But he has to be sure; he has to know this is what you want, not just something you think he expects. He can’t go further unless he knows it’s your choice, fully and freely.
He breaks the kiss slowly, resting his forehead heavy against yours, his dark eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt.
“Y’sure?”
You nod firmly against him, no hesitation at all.
“I’m not going to break. I want you to fuck me.”
Before Gator can even fully process the words, before his brain can catch up to what you just said, you’re pulling him right back into another deep, searing kiss, your tongue sliding boldly into his mouth. If there was a single rational thought left in his head, it vanishes instantly, every drop of blood in his body rushing straight down to his cock, making it throb hard and heavy.
He tugs his shirt free from where it’s tucked into his waistband, fumbling with the buttons one after another as fast as he can, still kissing you all the while, before shrugging it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Then his hands move to the thin silk straps of your dress, sliding them slowly down over your shoulders, and his cock twitches at the soft, breathy little gasp that slips past your lips. The fabric slips further down your arms, revealing you’re not wearing a bra, and continues gliding over your hips until it pools in a soft heap at your feet, leaving you standing before him in nothing but a tiny, barely-there thong.
Gator smirks, taking a slow step back just to look his fill, drinking in every inch of you.
“This s’gonna be fun.”
Then he closes the distance again in one quick move, wrapping one strong arm tight around your waist to pull you flush against him, never breaking the kiss as he starts walking you backward through the room, toward the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the quiet lake beyond.
You stumble a little, balancing precariously on your heels and moving backward, but Gator’s hold on you is solid and unwavering, keeping you steady even as his lips stay locked to yours. You come to a sudden stop when your back meets the cold, smooth surface of the glass, but right as it happens, Gator lifts one hand to cushion the back of your head, making sure you don’t knock it hard against the pane.
His kisses shift, moving from your mouth to your jaw, then trailing down the side of your neck; hot, wet, a mix of soft, open-mouthed kisses and small, sharp sucking nips that make your skin prickle and heat rise under your flesh. He travels lower still, across your collarbone, and then takes one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before sucking gently. You react instantly, your hands flying up to tangle in his hair and hold him there.
Gator lets out a low growl against your skin, then pulls back just enough to grab both your wrists in one firm grip, pinning them high above your head against the glass. He holds your gaze steady, eyes dark and intense.
“Stay.”
Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering faster, but you nod, and he drops his head again to take your other nipple into his mouth, this time giving it a playful, light little bite that makes your hips buck forward and a loud moan spill from your lips.
“Mhm… Gator…”
He just smirks against your skin and keeps moving lower, his lips tracing a path down over your stomach, and even as he kisses his way down, his eyes stay locked on yours. You keep your hands raised as he told you, but tilt your head to look down at him, and the sight makes your knees weak; his amber eyes looking up at you, burning with want, framed by dark hair.
He kneels in front of you, making quick work of your heels, sliding them off one by one and tossing them carelessly behind him. You think briefly that he probably wouldn’t have been so rough if he knew just how expensive those shoes were, but the thought vanishes the second his lips return to your hip bone, trailing kisses there. Then his tongue darts out, sliding under the thin fabric of your thong, and he catches the elastic between his teeth, pulling it down slowly until it slips past your thighs and knees. He helps you step out of it, then lifts your left leg and rests it over his shoulder, opening you wider for him and without any warning, he buries his face right between your legs.
His nose brushes firm against your clit while his tongue makes one long, deep stroke through your wet folds, and you arch your back off the glass, letting out a soft, shaking moan. But Gator’s hands come up to grip your hips, holding you still and pressed tight against him with enough strength that you know there’s no squirming away. His tongue dives deep into your entrance, and you gasp, fingers twitching where they’re still stretched above you.
“Fuck… Gator…”
His fingers flex harder against your skin, and he starts eating you out like he’s starving, fucking you with his tongue, swirling it deep inside while his nose keeps rubbing that sensitive little bundle of nerves over and over. This time, when your hands come down to tangle in his hair and hold him right where you want him, he doesn’t stop you at all. He seems perfectly content to stay buried between your legs, not coming up for air, just working you harder and deeper until your thighs are shaking, your back arched, and you come apart with his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
Gator lifts your trembling thigh gently off his shoulder and sets it back down on the floor, then stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he rises. He spins you around smoothly, pressing your front flat against the cool glass, and grabs your wrists again, guiding them to rest spread wide against the window. He leans in close, his lips brushing right against your ear.
“Be a shame t’waste the view.”
He rests his chin against your shoulder, one hand sliding up to curl around the back of your neck to keep you still and steady, while the other trails slowly down your spine, making you shiver at the light, tickling touch. He smirks to himself, he loves how responsive you are, how every little movement of his hands affects you so clearly, and he knows none of it is for show; it’s all real, all for him. His hand travels lower, grabbing a firm handful of your ass before giving it a sharp, playful smack that makes you gasp and push back against him. He watches your breath fog up the glass in front of you, tracing the pattern with his eyes.
He licks a slow line up the side of your neck, then catches your earlobe between his teeth and tugs gently. He uses his foot to nudge your ankle apart just a little, and smirks wider when you instantly spread your legs for him, opening yourself up without him even having to ask.
He reaches around from behind, his fingers finding your entrance easily, already slick and warm and ready, and pushes two thick fingers inside you in one smooth motion, just resting them there for a moment, letting you feel the stretch. His voice rumbles low and rough right against your ear.
“Givin’ ya one last chance t’back out, baby.”
You shake your head fast, almost frantic, pushing your hips back against his hand.
“No… Want it… Want you…”
He lets out a quiet, satisfied chuckle. Well, if that’s what his girl is asking for… He nips at the soft skin just below your ear again, his voice dropping to a growl.
“Alright then… y’asked for it.”
Then without warning, Gator starts to plunge his fingers into you at speed; fast, deep, relentless, each stroke driving right into that sensitive spot inside. The sound of your wetness is loud and obscene, filling the quiet room, and you can feel yourself dripping down around his digits, slick and hot.
“Oh, fuck….” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling uselessly against the cold glass, only sliding across the smooth surface instead of finding purchase.
His hand on the back of your neck tightens just enough, pushing you gently but firmly forward until your forehead rests flat against the pane, your breath fogging a patch of clear glass in front of your face. He doesn’t let up, his fingers moving in a steady, punishing rhythm, and you can already feel the heat coiling tight and fast in your belly, your next orgasm building quicker than the last. Your walls clench hard around his fingers, squeezing him.
“Y’gonna cum f’me?” he growls behind you, his voice rough and thick. “Y’hear how fuckin’ wet you are f’me?”
You can’t answer even if you wanted to, your breath is coming in short, shallow bursts, your knees already trembling, and then the wave crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming. Your whole body tenses and shakes, your back arching as you come apart, your vision blurring for a second.
Gator slows his fingers but doesn’t pull them out, keeping them buried deep and moving in slow, shallow strokes to ride you through every last aftershock.
“Fuck… Gator… fuck… I…” you try to speak, but your mind is too fuzzy, your words breaking off into a soft moan.
He chuckles low and warm, the sound vibrating through your body. His hand leaves the back of your neck, but he keeps his fingers moving inside you; slow, deep, dragging against every sensitive nerve, while you stay pressed against the glass. You hear the rustle of fabric, the distinct clink of metal, the slide of a zipper as he starts to undress. Then, without warning, he pulls his fingers all the way out, leaving you empty and aching so suddenly you let out a small, desperate whimper.
“Nhmm… please…” you beg, pushing your hips back instinctively.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, right against your ear. “Ain’t done with ya yet.”
His arm slides around your waist, and you feel the cool, hard leather of his belt press against your stomach. There’s a soft clinking sound as he works the buckle, then a sharp tug as he pulls it tight, cinching it firmly around your middle. With his free hand, he guides you to step back until your body is pressed flush against his chest. Then he brings his palm down hard against your ass, making you jolt and whimper.
“Hands back on the glass, baby,” he orders, voice low and commanding. “Bend over f’me.”
You obey instantly, reaching forward to plant your palms flat against the window and bending at the waist, arching your back just how he wants it. The leather of the belt digs gently into your skin, holding you right where he wants you.
Gator wraps the loose tail of the belt tight around his fist, using it as leverage to hold you steady and keep you from sagging forward. He pauses for just a moment, letting his eyes roam over the sight before him: hands braced wide against the glass, back arched, your ass lifted perfectly for him, every curve and line of your body exposed just for his pleasure. How the fuck did I get this lucky? he thinks, still half-convinced he’s dreaming.
He’s already shed his trousers and boxers down his legs, kicked to the side, and he spits into his free hand, stroking it quickly over his cock; hard, throbbing, and aching so bad it feels like it might split. Not that he needs it; you’re already so soaked you’re practically dripping down your thighs, ready and waiting.
He lines the broad, flushed head of his cock up against your entrance, and when you push your hips back to meet him, he smirks, eager little thing, but tightens his grip on the belt just enough to warn you to stay still. He drags the tip slowly up and down through your slick folds, rubbing it over your clit then back down to circle your hole, teasing you mercilessly.
“Gator… please…” you whimper, your fingers curling against the glass.
He stops, holding the head right at your opening, just barely pressing in.
“Tell me what y’want, baby.”
“Want you…” you breathe out.
“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, dragging the tip back and forth again. “Y’know exactly what I wanna hear.”
“Fuck… want you inside me… please… need it…”
“Yeah… that’s it.”
He pushes forward in one smooth, deep motion, sinking all the way to the hilt in a single stroke. The feeling is so perfect, so hot and tight and wet, that a guttural groan tears from his throat before he can stop it.
“Ah, fuck… yes… Gator…” you cry out, your voice shaking.
Gator knows right then he will never, ever get tired of hearing you say his name like that; like it’s the only word you know, like it’s the only thing that matters.
Gator tightens his grip on the belt, and it ends up doing more than just holding you in place; your legs have turned to jelly, completely weak and unsteady, and it’s the only thing keeping you upright. You push harder against the glass, bracing your arms and flexing your muscles just to stay on your feet, while the feeling of him inside you makes your head spin. You feel so full, so stretched open, like he’s reaching all the way into your stomach, filling every inch of you completely.
His free hand slides down your spine, his palm warm and heavy against your skin, and you shiver all over at the touch.
“Y’good? Still sure?” he asks, his tone rough but soft around the edges, checking in even now.
It makes a small, fond smile tug at your lips, even when he’s taking you apart, he still cares enough to make sure you want it. And you do, more than anything.
“So sure… so good…”
That’s all the confirmation he needs. He brings both hands to grip the belt, using it as his anchor, and pulls back until only the tip remains inside you, then thrusts forward hard and deep, burying himself to the root again. The force makes you cry out, your eyes fluttering shut, and when he does it again, faster this time, you let that smile spread wide across your face. This is exactly where I want to be.
“So fuckin’ wet… fuck… so fuckin’ tight…” he grunts, his hips snapping forward in a steady, punishing rhythm.
He pulls you back onto him with every stroke, using the belt to pull you tight against his thrusts, driving into you over and over. You can barely form words anymore, only broken moans, gasps, and soft, incoherent sounds falling from your lips. His pace is fast and hard, and the room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, his rough grunts, your cries, and the wet, slick sounds of your bodies meeting. It’s loud and lewd and completely, utterly glorious.
Gator cannot get enough of the sounds you’re making; each gasp, each cry, each broken moan only drives him harder, deeper, faster.
“Yeah, fuck… y’can be as loud as y’want… ain’t no-one around t’hear ya… all by ourselves…” he growls, the words vibrating low in his chest.
One particularly deep, hard thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, and you practically scream, your fingers slipping across the glass, so you lose your grip entirely. Gator reacts instantly, releasing one hand from the belt and sliding his forearm beneath your chest to catch and support your weight. He lets the belt drop to the floor with a heavy clink of metal, then steps you closer to the window until your chest rests flat against the cool pane. He grabs both your wrists and pins them firmly behind your back, holding them tight as leverage, never stopping his rhythm, driving into you over and over.
He can feel every single clench of your pussy around him, every ripple of your muscles squeezing him tight, and every sound you make seems to vibrate right along his cock.
“Fuckin’ grippin’ me so good, baby… takin’ every inch…”
Your reply comes only in broken, breathless mumbles, and Gator knows you’ve gone completely boneless, the only thing keeping you upright is his grip on your arms. He needs to see you, though; needs to watch your face, see the pleasure written all over it as you come apart for him.
Without warning, Gator pulls all the way out, and you let out a sharp, disappointed whine, almost tipping forward into the glass, but he catches you. He drags you upright, then turns you around until your back is pressed firmly against the window again. He then lifts you up and holds you suspended there, using his own body to pin you in place, like you weigh nothing at all.
“Need t’see that pretty fuckin’ face,” he murmurs, his voice rough and warm. “Gonna cum f’me again, huh?”
You wrap your arms tight around his neck, trying to help hold yourself up, but your body feels weak and useless and that feeling only gets worse when he reaches down between your bodies, guides his cock back to your entrance, and pushes in again in one smooth stroke.
“Oh, fuck… Gator… please… feels so good…” you gasp, burying your face in the curve of his shoulder as he starts to move.
Somehow, at this angle, he’s even deeper than before, stretching you open in a way that makes your eyes roll back and a cry tear from your throat. But his hand comes up to tangle in your hair, gripping gently but firmly, and pulls your head back until you’re forced to look straight at him.
“Wanna see ya… y’asked for it… so fuckin’ take it…”
You can feel the heat building fast, coiling tight and hot in your belly, and you blink hard, trying to keep your eyes focused on his, but it’s impossible, your vision blurs, and your eyelids flutter shut.
“Please… m’close… Gator… please…”
Gator drinks in the sight of you; lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and half-lidded, still so beautiful it feels unfair. When your eyes roll back completely, and he feels your walls start to clamp down hard around him, he knows you’re right there, and he isn’t far behind.
He tightens his hold in your hair, leans in, and swallows your next moan with a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue tangling with yours. In this moment, he isn’t aware of anything else: no bruises, no Roy, no worries, nothing but you. Your mouth, your soft skin, your heat, your wetness, every breath you take, every clench, every sound you make; it’s all that exists.
You break away from the kiss, tipping your head all the way back to expose the long line of your throat, and cry out as your orgasm crashes over you. Gator buries his face right in the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering and driving deep one last time as he spills himself inside you with a guttural, shaking groan, filling you completely.
You go limp against him, your head falling forwards onto his shoulder, and he can hear your breath coming fast and shallow, too overwhelmed to speak. He doesn’t rush you, instead, he turns his head and presses his lips to yours again, this time soft and slow and gentle, a complete contrast to what just came before. When you pull back, you gasp for air, your chest heaving. Gator chuckles softly, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face.
“Y’good?”
You move your head, half a nod, half a shake, still trying to catch your breath, and for a split second, Gator feels a flicker of panic, his heart skipping a beat.
“Alright… breathe f’me, baby. Big one… in.”
He watches closely as you try, first a small breath, then a little deeper, and then your face breaks into a bright, dazed smile as you finally draw in a full lungful. Your eyes flutter open, and relief floods through him so hard he almost sighs aloud, though he keeps it hidden behind his own smile.
“Good… I’m okay…” you murmur.
“Alright… keep breathin’, yeah?”
You nod, following his instruction, and he watches as your breathing starts to steady, coming easier and deeper now. Gator braces his forearms against the glass and slowly lifts you just a little higher, so his cock slips gently out of you. You gasp softly at the sudden emptiness, your face pinching just a little, and he presses a quick, apologetic kiss to your cheek.
“M’sorry… keep breathin’… you got it.”
He keeps his gaze fixed on your chest, making sure each rise and fall is smooth and steady. Your next breath fills your lungs fully, and when you open your eyes again, Gator is looking down at you with the softest, warmest smile you’ve ever seen.
“I’m okay,” you say again, more sure this time.
“Yeah… I know you are,” he replies, his voice low and fond. “Gonna put y’down now, alright?”
You nod, and he lowers you slowly until your feet touch the floor, but as soon as your weight settles, your legs give out entirely, turning to water beneath you. Gator’s arm wraps around your waist instantly, holding you up, and he laughs, warm and amused.
“Alright… maybe not.”
He bends and lifts you properly, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back and you don’t even try to stand, just let yourself go limp in his hold, draping your arms around his neck and resting your head against his shoulder. He carries you easily across the room and over to the bed, climbing onto the mattress with you still held close. He leans back against the headboard, settling you comfortably across his lap, and pulls the duvet up to wrap around both of you, then presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
You tilt your head back to look up at him, then lean in to meet his lips for a slow, lingering kiss; sweet and deep and full of everything you can’t put into words. When he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the look in his eyes takes your breath away all over again.
No one has ever looked at you like this; like you’re the only thing that matters, like you hold the whole world in your hands. It makes you remember what Maggie told you about Wayne, how he used to look at her like she was everything. This is exactly what that feels like. If you ever had even a second of doubt about how much Gator loves you, all you’d have to do is look at him; eyes soft and bright, a quiet smile on his face, watching you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever known.
His voice comes, soft and warm against your skin:
“Happy birthday, Baby.”
Taglist: [Comment to be added] @keerygirlie98 @mystickittytaco @imdjoverit @lofi-fics @kristywidget97 @janehartt @ms-mountebank @louisbelongstome28 @eller41 @slutforpumpkins @roridemie @mrmountebankk
I'd hope so at least. I'm the friend you come to when you need something, you can call me anytime, anywhere, I'll come get you, I've got what you need. So I'd hope that they would say that.
☂️ Your favourite fanfic from another writer
Shit this is SO HARD because I have so many. I'm going to go with the ones that came to mind first and that is Chokehold / Deathlock by @opulentpeony - honestly, masterpieces of the highest order.
🥀 Kinks you would never write for
piss/scat/sick (I don't yuck anyone's yums these just aren't for me)
This is just a fun little thing I’ve been wanting to do since the dawn of time but could never find a post to reblog that satisfied what I wanted. So I made this, feel free to reblog and use it yourself!
❤️ how tall are you?
🧡 what is your sexuality?
💛 what is your favorite feature on yourself?
💚 where are you from?
🩵 do you have any pets?
💙 do you have any siblings?
💜 describe yourself in five words or less!
🩷 dream job?
🖤 favorite hobbies outside of your blog
🎂 when is your birthday?
🌙 your zodiac (Sun, Moon, Rising)
💉do you have tattoos and/or piercings
🚗 can you drive?
✈️ favorite place you’ve traveled
🎤 have you been to a concert
🎵 favorite artists
🎧 last song you listened too
📺 last show you watched
📝 last thing you wrote
🔐 something no one would guess about you
🧟♀️ scariest thing that’s happened to you
🔥 craziest thing that’s ever happened to you
🍓 favorite food
🍅 least favorite food
🍊 favorite season?
🍋 favorite genre to read / watch / write
🍐 if you could make one character real, who would it be
🫐 some place you’d love to visit
🍇 a word your friends would use to describe you
🍒 what is your earliest memory
🍌 what is one talent you wish you had
💌 why did you start this blog?
✏️ when did you start writing fanfic
🖇️ what are your favorite asks to answer
📚 how do you come up with the fics you write
📌 what is the fic you’re know for
🔍 what character do you enjoy writing for the most
🖊️ what character do you not enjoy writing for
💔 is there a fic you wish you didn’t write
❤️🔥 what character do you simp for most often
🧚♀️ favorite characters of all time
🪐 favorite shows / series of all time
🌝 a show you would recommend to anyone
🌚 a show you’d tell people to stay away from
🌹 favorite kinks to write for
🥀 kinks you would never write for
🌊 a kink you would like to write but you think you’d be judged
❄️ full fics, imagines or head canons
☂️ your favorite fanfic from another writer
A couple of in depth questions!
🍄 what is something that’s happened in your life that you wish you could go back and change?
⭐️ what is one of your biggest accomplishments? Why is it so important to you?
🪻what is the toughest thing you had to go through, but can say you’ve successfully overcome?
🌺 what is the best gift someone has ever given you and why is it so important
🍀 what is your comfort show/series and why is it your comfort show? How has it helped you?
I know that At The Heart Of It and Under The Skin are x reader but personally I relate to Gator so much in your writing. Baby and Gator remind me of my own relationship. I came from a family that isn’t the best and no one really likes me or even each other. When I meant my partner’s family, it was just like going to the Big House. So much energy and love pouring from everyone. Throughout the years, this family has become my safe place. I’m allowed to just be. Shit I see them twice as much as my own. Reading your stories has made me look back when I first met them and finally getting to feel loved. You are an amazing author and I want to thank you for sharing your talent.
This is the loveliest message thankyou so much 🫶
I'm so so glad you have your partner and you found your place!! I've always been a huge fan of the found family trope. I just feel like everyone deserves to feel loved, and it doesn't always look how people think it should or how we anticipate it to.
I don't have a particularly big family; it's just my dad, my two siblings and me but my house is very much as loud as the Big House and I wouldn't have it any other way ❤️
I'm really happy you have people who love you and a place to be yourself 💕 you are always welcome here!!
Summary: Hard-won healing, unconditional love, and Maggie Heaton reminding everyone exactly why nobody messes with her people.
Note: When I tell you that uploading this has been the most STRESSFUL thing in my life. My laptop is dying, and it has been a chore, but alas, here I am. I will prevail. Be fed my little loves... Mimi <3
Masterlist
Necrosis
Translation: Tissue Death
From nekros, meaning ‘dead body or corpse’ and the suffix -osis, meaning ‘a state or condition’. The localised death of living cells.
The tapping pulled you gently from sleep. For a moment you lay still, listening. The house hadn't quite woken yet. No children charging around upstairs. No distant clatter from the kitchen. Just the soft, deliberate tapping coming from your porch door.
You pushed back the covers and crossed the room, drawing the curtain aside. Gator stood on the porch, the sight of him woke you properly. He looked exhausted. His uniform was still on, his hair was mussed beneath where his hat had clearly been, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that suggested he hadn't slept at all.
You unlocked the door and pulled him inside.
"Hey, I didn't know you were coming? You didn't text. You okay?"
He stepped into your room, the cool morning air following him in. Up close he looked worse. Tense. Drained. He simply shook his head. Concern settled in your chest.
"What's wrong?"
"Um, I need t'speak t'Maggie."
"Yeah, okay, yeah, I can get her."
You'd barely turned towards the door when his hand closed gently around yours, stopping you. His grip wasn't tight, but it was enough to make you look back.
"Can y'stay with me?"
You softened immediately.
"Course, let me get her, just go sit in the office, I'll come back."
You kissed him softly before slipping out into the hallway. The Big House was still quiet as you hurried across the living room towards Maggie's bedroom. You tapped against the door lightly.
"Maggie?"
For a few seconds there was only silence. You were just reaching for the handle when the door opened. Maggie stood there already awake, an expensive cream silk robe tied neatly around her waist and fluffy pink slippers on her feet. Her hair was still a little tousled from sleep.
"Jesus, Baby, the house burning down? Why you up so early?"
The teasing disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. She took one look at your face and straightened slightly.
"Gator's here, he says he needs to speak to you. I dunno, he looks… something's wrong."
She didn't ask another question. She simply nodded and stepped into the hallway beside you.
"He's in the office."
"He say what it was about?"
You shook your head as you crossed the quiet living room together.
"No, just knocked on my door looking like he hasn't slept."
You turned into the office. Gator wasn't sitting where you'd expected him to be. He was pacing slowly across the rug, one hand dragging repeatedly through his already dishevelled hair. He stopped the moment you walked in. Maggie moved behind the desk and took her usual seat.
"You alright, Gator?"
You crossed the room first, slipping your hand into his before gently steering him towards one of the armchairs. He sat, though only because you encouraged him to, his eyes never leaving Maggie.
"M'sorry, I didn't know what t'do, been thinkin' bout it all night, I jus', I dunno I jus', he's gonna be mad that I told ya, but I couldn't not tell ya."
"Gator, tell us what?" You asked.
He reached into his vest and pulled out a thick stack of folded papers, passing them across the desk.
"Dad's been hidin' reports, not filin' 'em. Some lady came in yesterday. Was only listenin' 'cause she mentioned a loan," his eyes found yours. "Y'said Maggie was lookin' at a loan company."
"Yeah, we think they've been targeting people at the Grace Foundation."
He nodded once before looking back to Maggie.
"Also, I saw who he's hidin' them for."
Maggie paused halfway through the first report and looked up; Gator unlocked his phone and held it out across the desk.
"I didn't know, Maggie, I swear. I didn't have nothin' t'do with it, I ain't ever hidden nothin'..."
"I know, Gator."
The reassurance landed instantly. Some of the tension left his shoulders and you reached for his hand beneath the desk. He took it without hesitation, weaving his fingers through yours.
"Y'know the guy?"
Maggie handed the phone back.
"Marshall Beaumont. I know him."
"Marshall?" You frowned. "As in… poker money Marshall?"
"The very same."
Beside you, Gator's grip tightened.
"I didn't know anythin', I only found 'em yesterday 'cause that woman came in an' dad was actin' strange, if I had known..."
Maggie looked at him with a softness that she reserved for very few people.
"I know, Gator. I know you didn't have anything to do with it. You are not your daddy, that's why you're sat here showing me these."
You squeezed his hand gently. Only then did you understand why he'd looked so exhausted standing outside your bedroom. He hadn't just lost sleep. He'd spent the entire night deciding between the man who'd raised him and the people who had become his family.
Your mind drifted back to that evening in the bath, when he'd quietly admitted that Roy was all he had. He'd been wrong then. He had you. He had Maggie. He had this family. And sat here in the office, handing over those reports despite knowing exactly what it might cost him, this felt like Gator choosing all of you.
Maggie gathered the reports into a neat pile before sliding them beneath the notepad on the corner of her desk. Then she looked back at Gator.
"Thank you, Gator. I'll deal with it."
"Do y'want the texts? I can send 'em?"
She shook her head. Gator hesitated, clearly still trying to work out where he fit into all of this.
"D'you... need me t'like.... be..."
Again, Maggie shook her head.
"I won't tell him it was you and you definitely don't need to be here for it. I can handle Junior."
There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Whatever conversation she was about to have with Roy, she'd already decided exactly how it was going to go.
She glanced towards you and gave a small nod. Understanding, you squeezed Gator's hand before standing. You gave him a gentle tug and, after only the briefest hesitation, he rose with you, his fingers still threaded tightly through yours.
The office door clicked shut behind you, leaving Maggie with the reports, while you led Gator back to your bedroom. Once inside, you closed the door quietly before turning to him. He was still carrying the weight of the morning on his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him. He folded into you, burying his face against your shoulder with a tired sigh that sounded as though he'd been holding it in for hours.
"This why you were avoiding me last night?"
"Weren't avoidin' ya," he murmured against you. "Jus' got in m'head. He's my dad, y'know?"
"I know," you tipped your head back just enough to kiss him softly. "I know. You could have come to me though, you didn't even have to tell me, you could've just... been here. With me. At least then you might have slept."
"I know, m'sorry."
You kissed him again before your hands found the zip of his deputy vest.
"You don't have to be sorry. C'mon, let's get you to bed. You look exhausted."
He didn't argue. You eased the heavy vest from his shoulders, followed by the rest of his uniform until he was left in nothing but his T-shirt and boxers. Every movement seemed slower than usual, dulled by a night without sleep.
When you climbed beneath the covers together, he came to you without hesitation. His head settled against your chest while you curled yourself around him, one hand threading gently through his hair, the other still laced with his. It reminded you a little of Nicky; the first few weeks after Madison had passed, he'd get nightmares and you'd climb into bed with him, twirling your fingers through his curls until he drifted off.
For a while neither of you spoke. His breathing was still uneven, sleep tugging at him but refusing to take hold. You combed your fingers slowly through his hair.
"...Logan told me something today. He told me it wasn't him who used to leave the headphones on the bleachers during football practice. It was you."
He was quiet for a moment before giving the smallest shrug against your chest.
"Yeah."
"...Yeah?"
"Y'd get bored."
A smile tugged faintly at your mouth.
"So your solution was to leave me your headphones?"
"Headphones... iPod... Game Boy if m'iPod was dead." He shrugged again. "Whatever I had."
You couldn't help laughing softly.
"Gator..."
"What?"
"I spent years thanking Logan, I handed them back to Logan. Why didn’t you never say anything?"
He was quiet for so long you wondered if he'd already fallen asleep. Finally he murmured, almost confused by the question.
"...Didn't do it so you'd thank me," his thumb lazily traced once across the back of your hand. "Just hated knowin' you were sat up there on y’own, waitin' on us."
You shook your head, smiling to yourself as your fingers continued their slow path through his hair.
"...I can't believe I never knew."
He hummed sleepily.
"Didn't matter if y'knew."
"It matters to me."
Another sleepy shrug.
"Mattered t'me that y'weren't lonely."
The words were so quiet you almost thought you'd imagined them. You felt something inside your chest pull tight. All those afternoons. Walking out to the bleachers because there was nowhere else to go. Finding the headphones already looped around the rail. Thinking Logan had remembered you.
All along, it had been Gator.
He'd never needed you to know. He'd just wanted you looked after.
Before you could think of anything to say, his breathing finally deepened against your chest. His grip on your hand loosened, the tension slowly melting from his body until, at last, sleep claimed him.
You still didn't know exactly what had gone through Gator's mind overnight, but you knew what it must have cost him to walk into Maggie's office. He'd spent years believing that, whatever Roy did, loyalty meant standing beside him. This morning he'd chosen something else.
He'd chosen you.
・❥・
The television murmured quietly from the living room. Some cartoon Maggie couldn't have named was keeping the younger children occupied while Ford drifted somewhere between them and the kitchen, never quite sitting still for more than a minute. The Big House felt settled in that familiar way it always did between breakfast and lunch, everybody close enough to hear one another without necessarily sharing the same room.
Maggie leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee, one hand wrapped around the warmth while the fingers of the other tapped idly against the ceramic. Her attention rested across the room.
You were sat at the dining table surrounded by organised chaos. The biker refurbishment had gradually claimed almost every inch of the tabletop; plans spread open beside your laptop, folders stacked into neat piles, notes scribbled in margins only you would ever understand. Every so often you'd type something, reach for another sheet or pause to read through a quotation before carrying on.
It reminded Maggie a little of herself. The way you disappeared into the work.
She found herself thinking about Gator. She'd always had a soft spot for the boy. Truthfully, she'd expected far less from him. A child raised by Roy Tillman had every reason to become another Roy Tillman. Yet somehow Gator had grown into a decent man despite it.
Now he had you. Maggie wasn't naïve enough to believe you'd changed him overnight. But she'd watched enough people over the years to know the difference between a man trying to become better and one content to stay the same.
Those reports had proved it. She doubted Gator would have walked into her office a month ago. The loyalty he'd carried towards Roy all his life would've won. Guilt had a habit of looking an awful lot like devotion. Then you'd quietly made yourself part of his life, Maggie suspected you'd never even realise what you'd done.
It reminded her of Wayne. Not because Gator was much like him. Wayne had been louder. More confident. Entirely too fond of hearing his own voice. But every now and then Maggie caught Gator watching you when you weren't looking, and it was the same expression she'd spent years pretending not to notice on Wayne's face. Like you were something extraordinary. Like he still couldn't quite believe he'd somehow ended up with you.
Wayne had always looked at Maggie that way. It was a rare thing. The sort of love that never really settled into habit. The sort that kept choosing the same person every morning.
A knock at the front door interrupted the thought. You looked up from your laptop at exactly the same moment Maggie lifted her head, but Ford reached the door first.
"Sheriff, we expecting you?"
"Maggie is."
Ford stepped aside, nodding towards the kitchen. Maggie held Roy's gaze for a beat before setting her coffee down on the island. Then she turned and walked towards the office. She didn't ask him to follow. She knew he would.
The office door closed behind them with a soft click. Maggie crossed to her desk and took her usual seat, waiting while Roy settled himself into the armchair opposite. To her surprise, he removed his hat, placing it beside him along with his phone before leaning back.
"This a business meeting or a casual one, Maggie?"
For the briefest moment, irritation flared. Roy had always possessed that particular brand of confidence that came from believing he was the smartest man in the room. It wasn't unique to him. His father had carried exactly the same swagger. Maggie had known Roy Tillman Senior well enough over the years. He'd been just as arrogant, just as convinced the world revolved around him. The difference was that Senior had actually been clever enough to support it. Junior simply thought he was.
She leaned back in her chair, refusing to let the annoyance reach her face.
"Depends how you wanna play it, Junior. Want to tell me about a loan company, causing trouble, repossessing houses?"
She watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. There it was, the pause. Maggie had spent the better part of sixty years listening to people lie. There was always a moment where they decided which version of the truth they were willing to tell, she could practically hear Roy planning his next line.
"Ain't heard about no repossessions."
"No? So you're not getting reports about people taking out loans, repayments doubling?"
"You in need of a loan, Maggie?"
Maggie had heard that trick before too, humour. People had a habit of reaching for it when they felt the conversation slipping away from them. A joke changed the rhythm of a room. Bought them a second or two to think. Invited everyone else to stop taking things quite so seriously.
It was a shame Junior was about as funny as he was clever.
She wasn't about to tell him where she'd gotten her information. The image of Gator sitting opposite her in this very office, looking exhausted. Like every word had cost him something. She remembered the way he'd stumbled over his sentences, apologising before he'd even told her what he'd found, terrified she'd somehow think less of him for bringing evidence against his own father. No. She wasn't going to reward that courage by selling him out. This conversation could happen perfectly well without Gator's name ever leaving her lips.
"I've got several clients at the Foundation who have only ended up there due to these loans. Some of whom, categorically tell me they spoke to you. Filed a report."
"Ain't much I can do 'bout all that Maggie. People should pay their bills."
She ran her tongue thoughtfully across the inside of her lip. There it was again, that effortless ability to reduce somebody’s troubles because they weren’t something Roy faced himself. A quiet huff of laughter escaped her.
"You always have been a piece of shit, Junior. Fine, you don't wanna tell me, I'll find out for myself."
Roy reached for his hat and settled it back onto his head.
"You know I do what I can for folks, but I can't pay off the whole county's debts, Maggie." He smiled. "Maybe you could."
"You're walking a thin line, Junior. Don't forget who put you where you are."
Roy's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. His jaw worked once, the only outward sign that she'd managed to land the blow exactly where she'd intended. For a moment Maggie wondered whether he might turn back, but instead he simply tipped the brim of his hat in a gesture that fell somewhere between respect and insolence before letting himself out. Maggie let out a slow breath.
Fuck Roy Tillman.
She pushed herself up from behind the desk, intending to head back to the kitchen, when something caught her eye. Roy's phone was still sitting on the armchair where he'd left it beside his hat. She picked it up, weighing it thoughtfully in her hand before the corner of her mouth lifted into the faintest smile.
Well, there was no reason to go chasing after him. Soon enough he'd be halfway back to town, patting his pockets and cursing under his breath while trying to remember where he'd left it. She'd give it back, of course. Eventually. But there was something deeply satisfying about the thought of Roy Tillman spending a few hours mildly inconvenienced.
Petty? Perhaps. But Maggie found she could live with that.
・❥・
The roads were almost empty by the time Gator finished his shift. Darkness had settled over the county hours ago, the headlights of his truck cutting a lonely path through familiar roads as he drove home. He hated the late shift. Always had. There was something about finishing work when everybody else was already settling into bed that made the whole day feel longer than it really was. Mostly, though, he hated that it meant saying goodnight to you through a phone screen.
He'd already sent the text while he was at the station. A quick Sleep well, Baby. Love you. It wasn't enough. He'd much rather have driven to the Big House, climbed into bed beside you and fallen asleep with you tucked against him.
He rubbed a hand slowly down his face before lowering the driver's window, letting the cool night air rush into the cab. It helped a little. His phone buzzed against the centre console. For half a second he smiled, already expecting your name. Instead, the screen read:
Roy: Ranch. Now.
The smile disappeared; his stomach sank with a familiarity that was almost biologically ingrained. He knew exactly what this was. It wasn't the first time Roy had summoned him like this. Never with an explanation. Never with a request. Just an instruction and the expectation that Gator would obey it.
He could ignore it. The thought crossed his mind. He could keep driving. Turn towards the Heaton Ranch instead. You might still be awake. He could climb into your bed, wrap his arms around you and pretend none of this existed.
Part of him wanted to. The other part knew he wasn't going to. He'd made his choice the moment he'd walked into Maggie's office carrying those reports.
Whatever Roy Tillman had become, he was still Gator's dad. Somewhere deep inside him, buried beneath years of disappointment and resentment, was a little boy who still believed fathers deserved loyalty. Roy certainly believed they did. Gator had gone against him. He'd chosen Maggie. Chosen you. Chosen what he knew was right. Choices had consequences.
Besides, disappointing Roy wasn't exactly new. He'd been doing that his whole life, and he'd learnt to take the punishment that came with it. He could try to delay it, sure, but there was no avoiding it.
By the time the Tillman Ranch came into view, any lingering hope that he might have been wrong had disappeared. The place was quiet; no guards lingered outside the house; no ranch hands were finishing late jobs. The house itself sat in darkness, every window black against the night.
Only the barn was lit. One solitary light spilled through the open doorway, casting a pale square across the dirt yard. Gator parked beside the cattle fence and switched off the engine. For a moment he simply sat there, staring towards the barn.
Eventually he climbed out but each step felt heavier than the last as he crossed the yard towards the waiting light.
The barn felt cavernous. Empty stalls. Stacked hay bales. Machinery sitting idle beneath dust sheets. The silence only made Roy's presence feel larger somehow. He was waiting exactly where Gator knew he would be, hands hooked through his belt, posture relaxed enough that anybody passing by might have mistaken him for a man simply ending another day's work. Gator knew better.
As he stepped inside, Roy shifted just enough to place himself between Gator and the barn door.
"I knew you were stupid, but I didn't peg you for a traitor," Roy grunted.
Gator opened his mouth; Roy never gave him the chance.
"Fancy yourself a Heaton, do ya? Knew you were fucking the girl but didn't realise you'd taken her last name as well."
He removed his hat with unhurried precision, hanging it on the hook beside the door before turning back around.
Gator felt his jaw tighten. It wasn't what Roy thought of him, that hadn't mattered for a long time. It was the way he talked about you, reducing everything the two of you had built together into something cheap enough to sneer at. A familiar anger stirred in his chest before he forced it back down again. He'd learnt a long time ago there was no point rising to Roy's bait. Not when Roy had already decided how the conversation was going to end.
"Got nothing to say for y'self? I got you that damn badge, now you're using it to play spy, on me, in my own house?"
Roy started towards him. It was remarkable how quickly Gator's body remembered things his mind wished it could forget. His shoulders tightened, his stomach knotted. Somewhere deep inside him he was already waiting for the first blow before Roy had even reached him.
"Shit that doesn't concern you."
Gator kept his eyes lowered, another lesson learnt long ago. Sometimes looking Roy in the eye only made him angrier. A hand clamped around his jaw anyway, rough fingers digging into his chin as Roy forced his head upwards.
"Such a fuckin' disappointment, boy. Ain't no wonder your mama ran."
The words stung, not because Gator believed them anymore but because Roy always knew exactly which wounds had never healed properly. The punch came a split second later, driving hard into his stomach. Air rushed from his lungs as pain folded through his middle, but he stayed upright through instinct more than determination.
Roy had some rules; faces healed too publicly but broken ribs didn't invite questions from anyone, bruises were better hidden.
"Couldn't just keep your mouth shut?"
The second punch landed against his ribs. Pain shot around his side, and he sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. Roy smiled as though he'd been hoping for exactly that.
"You know, she didn't even say it was you. I just knew."
Another fist buried itself in his gut. Gator doubled slightly before forcing himself straight again, his breathing already becoming shallow against the ache spreading through his torso.
"Made your way into Maggie Heaton's good books have ya? Protected by her now? Enough you've become her fuckin' dog?"
Roy caught the front of his shirt this time, bunching the fabric in his fist and dragging him forwards until they were almost nose to nose.
"This family not good enough for ya?"
The punch caught him clean across the jaw, his head snapped sideways, copper flooding his mouth where his teeth split the inside of his cheek.
"My name not good enough for ya?"
Another followed before he'd properly recovered from the first. Gator rocked backwards, steadied himself and said nothing. He'd spent most of his life learning that Roy eventually got bored, you just had to survive long enough for him to reach that point.
By the time Maggie turned onto the Tillman Ranch, she already knew something was wrong. The place was too quiet. Ordinarily the ranch was alive regardless of the hour. Armed guards wandering between the house and the outbuildings. Trucks arriving. Engines idling. Roy had built the place to feel occupied, to remind anyone passing through that they were being watched.
Tonight there was nothing, even the house sat in darkness. Only the barn glowed against the night.
Maggie pulled the Yukon to a stop and killed the engine. For a moment she simply looked through the windscreen, taking it all in. Then she reached across to the glovebox, retrieved her pistol and checked it with practised ease. Roy's phone disappeared into the pocket of her jacket before she climbed out into the cool night air.
The second the driver's door shut, she heard it. Roy. His voice carried across the yard, muffled by timber walls but unmistakable all the same.
"I raised you, boy. This the thanks I get?"
Maggie was already moving. She crossed the yard, the gravel crunching beneath her shoes. The shouting grew clearer with every step until she reached the barn door, left slightly ajar. Through the gap she could see them.
Roy's fist crashed into Gator's side with enough force to make him double over. For a second it looked as though he might collapse completely, but Roy caught hold of the front of his shirt, hauling him upright again as though he wasn't yet finished with him.
Something cold settled inside Maggie, she pushed the door open just enough to slip through. Roy's arm was already drawing back again. The click of the safety echoed through the barn and Roy froze. Maggie stood with both hands steady on the pistol, the barrel pressed against the back of Roy’s head.
"Lay another hand on him and I'll shoot, Junior."
Roy turned. He looked from the gun to Maggie before letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. Slowly, almost mockingly, he lifted both hands away from Gator and took a step backwards.
Maggie didn't lower the weapon; her eyes flicked briefly towards Gator. He was bent over slightly, one hand wrapped around his ribs, blood running steadily from his nose onto the dirt floor.
"You good? Get up."
He nodded, it wasn't convincing, but it was enough. As he straightened, Maggie reached into her pocket and tossed him the Yukon keys.
"Get in the car."
He caught them and disappeared through the barn door, leaving Maggie alone with Roy. She waited until she heard the distant slam of the passenger door before looking back at him. The gun never moved, but she reached to pull Roy's phone from her pocket. She tossed it onto the dirt between them.
"If your daddy could see you now. What a fucking disgrace," she spat.
The words landed exactly where she'd intended. For the first time that evening, Roy's composure slipped. His jaw tightened, something angry and almost embarrassed flashing across his face at the mention of the only man he'd ever truly wanted approval from.
It was all the opening Maggie needed, she stepped forward once and swung. The butt of the pistol cracked sharply against Roy's cheekbone, splitting the skin and sending him staggering sideways before he could recover. When he looked back at her, the gun was already trained on him again.
"You lay a hand on that boy again and I won't let you walk away."
Maggie backed slowly out of the barn. She climbed behind the wheel and shut the door with deliberate calm. For a moment she simply gripped the steering wheel, her breathing measured, refusing to look across at Gator.
She'd seen enough. The blood running from his nose. The way he'd been holding his ribs. The slight tremor in his hands as he'd caught the car keys. Worse, the fact he took every punch like this was all too familiar. How had she missed it? The question arrived with startling force.
Gator had been around this family for years. Sunday lunches. Football games. Birthdays. Christmases. She'd watched him become a man and never once stopped to wonder why he always seemed to carry himself like somebody waiting for permission to exist. She'd seen bruises often enough, dismissed them as roughhousing with Logan or the hazards of ranch work or police work. God knew she'd never imagined...
The engine rumbled into life; headlights swept across the barn just as Roy stepped back outside. Without taking her eyes from the windscreen, Maggie spoke quietly.
"Don't give him the satisfaction of letting him see you cry, Gator."
She pulled away before Roy could take another step, the tyres throwing dirt behind them as the Yukon surged down the ranch road. Neither of them spoke, the silence stretched all the way to the county road. Only once the Tillman Ranch had disappeared completely in the rear-view mirror did Maggie pull into a small lay-by beneath a stand of cottonwoods. She switched the engine off. The sudden quiet rang in her ears.
Then she undid her seatbelt. She didn't hesitate, leaning across the centre console, she wrapped both arms around Gator and pulled him against her with all the force of a mother reclaiming a frightened child.
He broke instantly. The first sob tore out of him before he'd even managed to return the embrace. Then another. Years of restraint seemed to collapse all at once as he buried his face against her shoulder, every breath catching painfully in his chest. Maggie simply held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other stroked slowly through his hair.
She'd held Brooks like this after Wayne died, Ford too. Baby, more times than she could count.
"How long?" She asked quietly.
It took Gator several attempts before he managed to answer. His voice was muffled against her shirt, shaking almost beyond recognition.
"Forever."
The single word hollowed something out inside her. She kept stroking his hair for another few moments before gently drawing him back just enough to see his face. Blood had dried beneath his nose. Tears had carved clean tracks through the dust on his cheeks. Maggie brushed them away with her thumb as though he were still ten years old instead of a grown man wearing a deputy's badge.
"I wish you told me, Gator. I would've protected you."
The guilt settled heavily in her chest. She prided herself on seeing people, on noticing what others overlooked. Yet Gator had walked through her front door for years carrying this alone and she'd never once asked the right question. She'd accepted every bruise, every split knuckle, every quiet explanation because she'd assumed boys would be boys. Logan. Work. A bar fight. Anything except the truth.
"I am so sorry. If I had known, I never would've spoken to him. I never would've put you in this position."
"Y'didn't,” Gator shook his head. “He said y'didn't say nothin'. He jus' knew it was me."
Maggie gathered him into her arms again without a second thought, uncaring that his blood and tears were soaking through her shirt.
"You're staying with us. As long as you need. Forever, if you want. With Baby, long as she don't mind, or I'll have Brooks put you up in the Cabin. You ain't going back to that house, understand me."
She didn't phrase it as a question; there was nothing to negotiate. Gator gave a small nod against her shoulder. Only then did Maggie finally let him go.
He settled back into the passenger seat looking utterly exhausted, his eyes red and swollen, his breathing finally beginning to steady. Maggie reached for her phone, sent one brief text, then slipped it back into the centre console before starting the engine again. As she fastened her seatbelt, she reached across and rested her hand briefly on Gator's knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Let's get you home, kid."
・❥・
You'd been lying awake for long enough that you'd stopped trying to force it, instead watching the shadows cast across your ceiling by the porch light outside. Gator should have finished work by now. You wondered if he was home yet, if he was asleep. When your phone lit up, you reached for it almost automatically.
Your heart sank the moment you saw the name on the screen. Maggie. That was strange enough on its own. Maggie didn't text. She called. If she wanted somebody, she'd simply come and find them, she hated texting. You frowned as you opened the message.
Maggie: Coming to your porch door in 10. Need you to be calm, Baby. Don't freak out. He needs you.
For a moment you simply stared at the words. He. Your mind began trying to fill in the blank. Logan? Brooks? Ford? Then another name forced itself to the front of your thoughts. Gator. Maggie had gone to the Tillman ranch, said she had to give Roy something. Your stomach twisted.
You sat upright so quickly the duvet slid into your lap. The lamp clicked on beside the bed, bathing your room in soft yellow light as you read the message again, somehow hoping the words might have changed. They hadn't.
Need you to be calm.
That was easy enough for Maggie to say. You climbed out of bed and began pacing the room, your phone still clutched tightly in your hand. Eight minutes had never felt so impossibly long. Every time you reached the bedroom door, you turned and walked straight back again, chewing on the edge of your thumb.
Don't freak out.
You repeated it to yourself over and over; it did absolutely nothing. You pulled your thumb from your mouth, forcing yourself to stand still in the middle of the room. The porch door opened and you turned instinctively. Maggie stepped inside first, then Gator followed her.
Everything else disappeared.
His eyes were swollen and red, his face streaked with dried blood, and he held himself with that careful, guarded stiffness people only had when every movement hurt. Whatever Maggie had meant by he needs you, it hadn't prepared you for this.
You crossed the room before either of them had the chance to say a word. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him against you as tightly as you dared. For a second he simply stood there, then every ounce of tension seemed to leave him as he leaned into the embrace, burying his face against your shoulder. Behind him, Maggie rested a gentle hand on his back.
"Get some rest, we'll talk more in the morning."
When you looked up, she was already smiling at you with that familiar mixture of reassurance and quiet affection that somehow managed to steady your own panic. Then, without another word, she slipped through the door, pulling it closed behind her and leaving the two of you alone. You held onto Gator for another moment before gently easing back, your hands finding his arms as you looked up at him.
The sight of him made your chest ache. There was a stiffness to the way he stood that told you every part of him hurt. You had no idea what had happened. A dozen possibilities chased one another through your mind, none of them making any sense. Maggie had told you not to freak out and now didn’t seem the time for talking, so you swallowed every question.
"Can you sit on the bed for me? Let me clean you up?"
He didn't answer but he let you guide him towards the bed, lowering himself carefully onto the edge of the mattress. Even that looked painful. Your fingers drifted gently through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.
"I'm just gonna get some stuff, I'm coming right back, okay?"
He gave the smallest nod. You hurried through the house as quickly as you dared, grabbing the first aid kit from the kitchen cupboard before filling a bowl with warm water. A couple of clean cloths came from the drawer beside the sink, then, almost as an afterthought, you took a bottle of water from the fridge too. Your arms were full by the time you made it back to your bedroom, your thoughts racing faster than your feet.
Nothing about tonight made sense. Had someone attacked him? Had something happened on shift? Why hadn't he called you? Why had Maggie brought him here? When you stepped back into your room, Gator hadn't moved an inch.
He was still sitting exactly where you'd left him, elbows resting loosely on his knees, staring at the floor with empty, unfocused eyes. He looked so utterly defeated that your own heart felt as though it might break. You set everything carefully on the floor beside him before lowering yourself to your knees between his legs.
For a moment you simply looked at him. Then you reached up and cupped his face as though he were made of glass, your thumbs brushing gently against his cheeks until, eventually, he lifted his eyes to meet yours.
"I'm gonna clean you up, okay? You don't have to talk, just let me look after you."
His expression crumpled. Fresh tears gathered instantly, spilling over before he could stop them. You felt your own eyes sting in response, but you forced yourself to smile anyway. Carefully, you let your hands fall away from his face and reached instead for one of the cloths, dipping it into the warm water as you tried to think of nothing except taking care of him.
Gator closed his eyes the moment the warm cloth touched his face. You barely grazed his skin, carefully wiping away the dried blood beneath his nose before moving to the split in his lip. Every touch was impossibly gentle. He was only slightly aware of the fresh tears escaping beneath his closed eyelids, sliding silently down his cheeks.
He didn't bother apologising for them, he didn't have the energy. His ribs ached every time he breathed. His jaw throbbed. Every muscle in his body felt heavy, but none of it hurt as much as the thoughts he couldn't seem to quiet.
Roy had known. But Maggie hadn’t told him. The thought kept circling back to the same place. Maggie had protected him before she'd even understood what she was protecting him from. She could have spoken his name. She could have told Roy exactly where she'd gotten those reports. Instead she had tried to keep him out of it.
The memory of her standing in the barn doorway flashed across his mind. Gun levelled at Roy. Calm as anything. Lay another hand on him and I'll shoot. He felt another tear escape.
The cloth left his face, and he heard you place it back into the bowl before gently pushing everything aside across the floor. Only then did he open his eyes. You were still kneeling between his knees, watching him with that same soft expression you'd worn from the second he'd walked into your bedroom.
Without really thinking about it, he reached for you. His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek, the movement slow enough that he noticed the tremor in his own hand. He tried to still it, but you simply leaned into his touch as though the shaking didn't matter. His chest tightened. Even now, even looking like this. You still leaned towards him.
"Lip is split, and you're gonna have some nasty bruises. But your nose isn't broken, and you're still pretty."
A tired smile tugged weakly at the corner of his mouth.
"You gonna let me see the rest?"
Slowly, he let his hand fall from your face before pushing himself carefully to his feet. You stepped back to give him room, your eyes never leaving him. His fingers found the hem of his T-shirt, he wanted to show you, he didn't want to lie to you. But somehow this felt different, this was vulnerable.
The bruises hidden beneath the fabric weren't just injuries. They were years of keeping quiet. Years of pretending nothing was wrong. He'd spent so long making sure nobody ever saw them that the thought of letting you see this part of him made something twist painfully in his chest. Roy did his worst work here specifically because Gator could hide it, but he didn’t want to hide from you.
He stood there for a long moment; fingers curled around the cotton without moving.
"Want me to help?"
He didn't answer, he simply let his hands fall away from the hem of his shirt and stood still while you stepped closer. Carefully, you gathered the fabric in your hands and began lifting it upwards. You moved as gently as you could, taking your time whenever the cotton caught against his ribs, but even your lightest touch drew a quiet wince from him.
"I'm sorry, being as gentle as I can."
He gave the smallest shake of his head, more to reassure you than himself. As the shirt reached his chest, your eyes dropped almost instinctively, and the sight made you freeze. Bruises covered him. Deep purple already spread beneath his skin, angry reds blooming around fresh impacts until almost his entire torso had become a patchwork of injuries. Some marks had the shape of knuckles. Others had begun to blur together where blow after blow had landed in the same place.
You felt your throat tighten. You knew Gator; if somebody had swung at him in the street or during an arrest, he'd have swung back. He'd have come home bruised, certainly, but there would've been something to show for it. Split knuckles. Torn skin. The evidence that he'd fought to protect himself.
But there was none of that. These injuries belonged to somebody who'd simply stood there and taken it. Swallowing hard, you continued lifting the shirt over his head before laying it quietly on the bed behind him.
Gator's eyes remained fixed somewhere over your shoulder, refusing to meet yours. Gently, you reached up and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across his skin until he finally looked back at you.
"Anything feel broken or just bruised?"
"Ain't broken."
"Good." You nodded, relieved despite everything.
You turned towards the dresser, remembering one of his T-shirts folded neatly in the bottom drawer. You'd barely taken a step before his hand closed carefully around your wrist, you looked back over your shoulder.
"Just getting you a clean shirt, I'm not going anywhere."
Instead of letting go, he gave the slightest pull. You stepped back towards him and his arms slipped around your waist. He held you carefully despite the pain you knew every movement must have been causing him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.
"M'sorry."
The words were little more than a whisper against your skin. Your hand found his hair, stroking slowly through it.
"You've got nothing to be sorry for."
"Y'shouldn't have t'see this."
Your heart ached. Carefully, you drew back just enough to look at him again, your hand settling against his jaw.
"You wanna tell me about it?"
He stayed quiet for so long you wondered whether he was going to answer at all. When he finally did, he never looked at you.
"Brought it on m'self. Knew he'd kick off that I told Maggie."
The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. For a moment you simply looked at him, your hand still resting against his jaw, your thumb moving absent-mindedly across his skin as your mind tried to make sense of what he'd just said. Then, slowly, everything about tonight began to rearrange itself.
The bruises covering his body. The blood on his face. None of it had happened at work. None of it had been some drunken idiot or an arrest gone wrong. It had been Roy.
His own dad.
You thought back to that evening in the bath, when Gator had quietly admitted that Roy was all he had. At the time you'd thought he'd meant emotionally. That despite everything, despite Roy's temper and impossible expectations, he couldn't bring himself to walk away because he was still his dad.
You hadn't understood. Not really. You'd never imagined that all this time, the bruises you'd occasionally caught sight of, the way he sometimes flinched when somebody raised their voice, the quiet loyalty he still carried for Roy, had all been growing from the same place.
He'd been surviving him.
Your chest ached as you looked at him standing there, shoulders rounded as though he was somehow trying to make himself smaller.
"Deserved it."
The words were spoken so quietly you almost didn't hear them. Somehow they hurt more than everything else he'd told you. You shook your head before you'd even thought about it, nobody deserved this.
"If Maggie did this to me, would you tell me I deserved it?"
He blinked at you. The question seemed to stop him completely. His eyes searched yours for a long moment before he slowly shook his head. Of course he wouldn't. You reached up, smoothing a strand of hair back from his forehead, wishing there were some way to make him see what felt so painfully obvious to everyone else.
You'd never seen him like this before. Gator was always the steady one. The person who listened while everybody else fell apart. Tonight there was nothing left of that careful composure. Just a frightened, exhausted man trying to convince himself that the people who loved him would see him the same way his father did.
Gator stood quietly for a long moment, his eyes never leaving yours. He hated this. Not being hurt, he'd lived with that for so long it had become something he simply endured. It was this part he didn't know what to do with. Standing in front of you with nothing left to hide. Letting you see the parts of himself he'd spent years pretending didn't exist. He'd never shown anybody this. Not really. The bruises had always healed before anyone looked too closely. The excuses had always come easily enough. Roy had made sure of that.
But this was different. He was choosing to let you see. Not because he wanted you to carry it with him. Because he wanted you to know him. All of him. Even the parts he'd spent his whole life believing made him difficult to love. Slowly, he rested his forehead against yours.
"I don't want you t'leave."
You smiled sadly, your noses almost brushing.
"I'm not going anywhere. I love you. All of you."
The words settled somewhere deep inside him. For a moment he simply stood there with his eyes closed, breathing you in. The familiar scent of your shampoo. The warmth of your hands against him. The steady rhythm of your breathing. It grounded him in a way nothing else ever had.
"He jus' gets mad. Starts off yellin'... he don't normally go f'my face, can usually hide it. Guess I made him real mad this time."
"It's not on you, Gator. He should never lay his hands on you. There is no excuse. He's supposed to love you. People who love you, they don't do this."
He wanted to argue. Not because he thought you were wrong, but because somewhere inside him, there was still a little boy who wanted his dad to be different.
Instead he found himself thinking about Ford. The way Ford looked at you across a room. The quiet pride in his face whenever you succeeded at something. The instinctive way he'd always stepped between you and anything that might hurt you, whether it was a playground bully when you were little or a grown man now.
That was love.
He thought about Maggie walking into that barn with a gun, holding him across the centre console of her car.
That was love.
He thought about Brooks, Logan, the boys, every loud dinner around the table at the Big House, every hug that lasted longer than it needed to, every hand squeezed, every forehead kissed, every drive safe and text me when you get there.
That was love.
Then he thought about Roy. About all the years he'd spent trying to learn which version of his father he was coming home to. How easy it had always been to say the wrong thing. Stand in the wrong place. Breathe at the wrong moment.
You were right. If Roy had loved him the way the Heatons loved one another he wouldn't have done this. Not tonight. Not ever. Gator finally understood something he'd never been able to admit to himself before. Roy wasn't teaching him love. He'd been teaching him fear.
Because Gator knew what love felt like now. It was standing in front of him with tears in your eyes, refusing to let go of him. It was your hands on his face, your voice telling him none of this was his fault.
He couldn't imagine hurting you. Couldn't imagine raising a hand to you. To Ford. To Maggie. To Logan. To any of them. His own hands lifted slowly until they rested against either side of your face, holding you carefully as though you were the most precious thing he'd ever been trusted with.
"I love you, Baby."
You leaned forwards and kissed him softly. It wasn't hurried or desperate, just gentle. A quiet promise pressed against his lips.
"I love you, Gator. More than anything. Thank you, for telling me."
You felt him nod ever so slightly, his forehead still resting against yours.
"Maggie said I can stay, if y'alright with it?"
You couldn't help the tiny smile that found its way onto your face. Even now, after everything that had happened tonight, he was still asking permission. Still worrying about whether he was welcome.
"Of course I'm okay with it. I want you here, always. Stay, you're safe here."
The words felt far too small for what you wanted to say. Stay forever. Don't ever go back there. Let us be your family. Instead, you kissed him again, hoping somehow he'd hear all of those things anyway.
When you finally stepped away, you crossed quietly to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. One of Gator's T-shirts lay folded neatly inside amongst your own clothes. It had gradually become normal over the past few months. A spare pair of jeans. A hoodie. A toothbrush in the bathroom. Little pieces of him had found permanent homes in your room long before either of you had ever spoken about it. You carried the shirt back over to him.
"Arms up."
He managed a faint smile before carefully doing as he was told. Together you eased the shirt over his head, taking your time around the bruises that covered his ribs and stomach until the soft cotton finally settled against his skin.
One by one you helped him out of his boots, then his trousers, leaving him in nothing but his boxers and T-shirt before guiding him gently around to his side of the bed. He lowered himself onto the mattress with obvious care.
You picked up the bottle of water from the floor and passed it to him. He drank obediently while you gathered the bowl, cloths and first aid kit into your arms. The water had turned a murky pink now, stained with dried blood, and you found yourself looking away from it as you carried everything through to the bathroom. You left it all on the counter, it could wait until morning. Gator couldn't.
When you returned, he'd already stretched out beneath the covers, the bottle resting on the bedside table beside him. His eyes followed you as you climbed into bed, and without needing either of you to say a word, you opened your arms, he moved into them immediately.
You settled back against the headboard, drawing him gently against your chest until his head rested beneath your chin. Your fingers disappeared into his hair, stroking slowly through it, the same steady rhythm. You weren't trying to fix anything; you simply wanted him to know he wasn't alone anymore.
For a long time the only sound in the room was the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Gradually it began to slow, each breath a little deeper than the last, the tension leaving his body piece by piece until, eventually, you felt the full weight of him settle against you. You kept stroking his hair anyway, just in case he woke up and needed reminding where he was.
You looked down at him and felt something inside you quietly settle. This was what mattered. Not pretending life was easy. Not relationships that only existed while everything was fun and uncomplicated. This was what loving somebody actually meant. Being trusted with the ugly parts as well as the beautiful ones. Holding them together on the nights they couldn't quite do it themselves and knowing, without either of you needing to say it aloud, that tomorrow you would still be there.
Your thoughts drifted back over the last few days.
It was strange how quickly life could change. You'd spent tonight watching the man you loved finally trust someone enough to tell the truth about something he'd been carrying for years. You knew that the people who loved you didn't disappear when life became difficult. They stepped closer.
Perhaps that was what growing up really was. Not losing your innocence all at once but quietly realising that your time and your heart were too valuable to keep giving away to people who only ever asked you to doubt yourself. Brooke and Paige had spent the last few days making you feel guilty, making you question yourself, making you feel as though you somehow owed them pieces of yourself you'd already outgrown.
The people who truly loved you had never done that.
Carefully, so you didn't disturb Gator, you leaned across to the bedside table and picked up your phone. The screen illuminated the room just enough for you to navigate to the group chat, the familiar names appearing one beneath the other. For so long they'd represented your whole world outside the ranch. School. Sleepovers. Teenage years. Growing up.
Now they just looked like names on a screen. You knew Megan would still call. Hannah would still text. The people who genuinely wanted to be part of your life would find their way to you because that was what people did when they cared.
You didn't need a group chat to hold people together; your thumb rested over the screen for only a moment before you pressed the button. Tonight, you chose the people who chose you.
You: *left the group chat*
・❥・
The morning sun washed the pastures in pale gold as the Yukon rolled steadily towards town, long grass bowing beneath the breeze on either side of the gravel road. You had one leg tucked beneath you on the passenger seat, the other drawn loosely against your chest, watching the fence posts pass by in an endless rhythm. Everything outside looked impossibly ordinary. Horses grazed in neighbouring fields. A tractor crawled along in the distance. Somewhere behind you, back at the ranch, the rest of the family would already be filtering into the day.
It felt strange that the world could carry on so normally after yesterday. After Gator. Maggie kept both hands on the steering wheel for a while, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"How was Gator this morning?"
"Yeah, he's okay..." You looked down at your hands before correcting yourself with a small shake of your head. "Well, no he isn't, but I left him in bed, told him to stay and rest. Cleaned him up as best I could but..." You swallowed against the image that resurfaced. "His whole body, Mags. He's covered."
The bruises had looked even worse in daylight. Last night you'd mostly been working on instinct, focused entirely on getting him cleaned up, stopping the bleeding. This morning there had been time to actually see what Roy had done to him. Every mark carried its own shape and colour now. Deep purple blooming beneath tan skin. Bruising scattered across his ribs and shoulders where punches had landed over and over again.
Without taking her eyes off the road, Maggie lifted one hand from the steering wheel and rested it lightly on your thigh across the centre console.
"You did a good job," she said quietly. "You stayed calm when he needed you most. He's safe now. He can stay as long as he wants."
You knew she meant it. Especially now, now that you knew her even better. Maggie collected people; not casually, not quickly but with certainty. And once somebody became one of hers, that was it. They were fed without asking. They had somewhere to sleep. Someone worrying whether they'd eaten enough or slept enough or looked tired. They became another name Maggie mentally counted whenever she checked everybody was safe. Somehow, somewhere over the past few weeks, Gator had crossed that invisible line.
"What happened?" you asked. "I mean, he told me it was Roy, but I didn't want to ask him a million questions."
For the first time since leaving the ranch, Maggie's attention seemed to drift somewhere beyond the road ahead.
"I went to return Junior's phone," she said after a pause. "When I got there they were in the barn. When I spoke to Junior, I didn't mention Gator's name, but I should have done a better job protecting him. I had no idea."
You turned towards her. The expression on Maggie's face wasn't anger. If anything, it was worse. Regret sat heavily around her eyes. Maggie wasn't somebody who second-guessed herself very often. She made decisions, accepted the consequences and kept moving. Seeing genuine guilt sitting on her features felt strangely unsettling.
"I've known that boy his whole life, and I know Junior. I know he's a piece of shit, but I never thought he..." She stopped herself, exhaling slowly through her nose. "I don't agree with Roy Tillman about much, but I at least thought he valued family."
You reached across the centre console and covered her hand with yours.
"At least you were there," you said softly. "You got him out. He's safe now."
Maggie was quiet for another few seconds before giving a small nod.
"Yeah," she said. "You're right. And now we have some headway with this loan company."
"So how much do you know about Marshall?" You asked.
A humourless little sound escaped her.
"Unfortunately, more than I'd like. Marshall's one of those men who's spent his entire life convincing people he's respectable because he wears an expensive suit and sponsors enough charity dinners."
"So... not respectable." You raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, he owns legitimate businesses," Maggie replied. "Big Dakotan family name in agriculture. I met him for the first time last year; he’s been at a few poker tables. He’s sleazy, inappropriate, a misogynist at best, and I sometimes dread to think at worst."
"But?" You prompted.
"I've never liked him. Never trusted him particularly. But I had him down as the sort of man who exploited legal loopholes and underpaid contractors. I didn’t have him down for much more than that. Never thought he was all that clever."
“So,” you tried to hide your smile. “You… underestimated him?”
She glanced at you briefly before looking back to the road, a little smirk tugging at her lips.
“With men like that, it isn’t often an underestimation.”
“Men like that have the money to pay other people to be clever for them,” you shrugged.
"True,” Maggie sighed. “And it appears I've been underestimating quite a few people lately."
You knew she wasn't only talking about Marshall. Knew that after the last few weeks there were probably a half dozen people she probably felt she had calculated wrong; Roy, Gator, Noah. What you hadn’t considered was that she was talking about you.
Mallard Heights came into view a few minutes later. Maggie pulled into a visitor's space and switched off the engine. You followed her to the door and watch as she pressed the buzzer, almost immediately it clicked. By the time you reached Bug's apartment door on the second floor, it was already standing open.
Bug looked as though he'd forgotten the existence of everything outside his computer screens. His hair had become a tousled, slightly greasy mess on his head, headphones draped around his neck. His t-shirt was somehow both back to front and inside out, there was an unidentifiable stain spread across one thigh of his grey sweatpants and his socks didn't even vaguely belong together. One had a hole worn clean through the toe.
The second he saw you both he smiled. Not because he'd remembered basic social etiquette, but because his brain was still halfway through the thought he'd been having before you'd arrived.
"I have been looking into it, like it was annoying me at first, because I didn’t have enough and I kept getting lost but then you came up with that name, Marshall Beaumont. He’s like a cattle king. You know there is like two and a half cows for every person in North Dakota. We’re outnumbered by hooves."
"Morning, Bug."
He barely paused long enough for the greeting before turning and wandering back into the apartment, still talking to himself beneath his breath. You followed Maggie inside.
Bug dropped into the large ergonomic chair at the centre of his command centre, already waking monitors before he'd even properly sat down. Maggie joined him, laying her folder beside the keyboard as though she'd expected to find him exactly like this. Truthfully, she probably had.
You quietly slipped away towards the kitchen. The mess wasn't overwhelming. It was simply... cumulative. The sort that happened when somebody kept telling themselves they'd deal with it after the next task, then the next one, until eventually three days had passed without them noticing. You filled the sink with hot water, rinsed the mugs and stacked them on the draining board before wiping down enough counter space to work. You opened the fridge and it occurred to you then that almost none of the groceries looked any emptier. No wonder Maggie checked on him, he really hadn't been eating.
The kettle boiled while you put together a sandwich, cutting it in half before carrying both the tea and the plate back into the living room. Neither of them had moved.
You placed the mug and plate in front of Bug. His fingers paused on the keyboard. His eyes dropped to the plate before slowly lifting to yours. The silence stretched just long enough for uncertainty to creep into your stomach.
"Sorry, you just looked--"
"No, yeah, no, like I haven’t eaten, I’ve been busy, thanks, er, thank you. Yeah, looks good."
He looked genuinely caught off guard. Across the desk, Maggie's mouth softened into a small smile that she tried not to let become anything bigger.
"Bug, eat, then we can work."
The sandwich disappeared with remarkable speed, halfway through another bite he swivelled towards a different bank of monitors.
"The names on the reports?"
Maggie slid the folded scrap of paper across the desk. While Bug typed one-handed around his lunch, your attention drifted towards the whiteboard. It had spread. Last time there had been organised notes, now almost the entire board had disappeared beneath property photographs, IDs, company registrations, maps and printed emails. Coloured lines linked names together until the whole thing resembled the inside of Bug's head made visible. You stepped closer and Bug noticed without looking away from the monitor.
"Oh, yeah, I needed to put it together, like to see it, sometimes I need to like, see it, you know? And I don’t have enough monitors to have it all up at one time, you know, and there’s something about it being like there…"
"Yeah, no, I get it. Maggie makes me print out the blueprints for our jobs, because it’s easier than scrolling across it on a screen."
He glanced over his shoulder just long enough to nod.
"Exactly."
A notification chimed sharply through the room; Bug spun back towards the monitor.
"Wow, ok, Maggie, look at this."
"I don’t know what I’m looking at Bug, that’s why I have you."
"Right, yeah, sorry, um so, this is like all the companies that have some link back to Beaumont or the loan company. Anything in green is registered, tax paying, so like his supply stores… Field Marshalls, god I hate names with puns man, sorry, um, his stores they’re all legit, the meat supply and stuff. But then it gets a bit sketchier as you scroll down. Those in orange are mostly shells or flagged for something and then the red ones are stuff that’s been closed, like retired names. There’s 658 results. This guy is flipping businesses and hiding all sorts.”
Rows upon rows of company names filled the screen, highlighted in blocks of green, orange and red until they blurred together into something only Bug could possibly make immediate sense of.
"Okay, remove all the legitimate stuff, that’s in his name, right?"
"Yeah, his and his son, Beau Beaumont. I mean, that’s just a lack of imagination, Beau Beaumont. Goddamn."
The name snagged your attention; you looked over from the whiteboard.
"Did you say Beau?"
"Yeah, Beau Archibald Beaumont. 33 years old. Owns a large percentage of the legitimate business and has shares in all the generational companies."
Maggie looked across at you.
"You know him, Baby?"
"Not really, I mean, not personally but that’s the guy Paige is dating."
Your voice must have given away some of your anxiety because Maggie’s voice went soft and reassuring.
"Nothing to say he’s like his daddy. Not all boys grow up to be their fathers,” she smiled. “What about the shells, Bug."
"Um, none of them have his name on, but associates, and a couple reoccurring names that ‘Deran Chamberlain’ comes up a lot, but I can’t find him anywhere, think it’s an alias. Also a ‘Deacon Ross’. I found him, but he’s dead. Used to be on Beaumont’s company board but died eight years ago, so he definitely didn’t start any of these businesses."
The next hour seemed to disappear beneath the steady rhythm of Bug's keyboard.
Every few minutes another notification chimed from one of the monitors before another company joined the ever-growing web stretched across the whiteboards. Maggie asked questions sparingly, never interrupting Bug's train of thought unless she needed clarification. She had long ago learnt that his mind worked fastest when it was allowed to run uninterrupted. Your own role became quieter still. Every so often you refreshed mugs of tea, gathered abandoned plates or passed Bug another pen when he absently reached for one that no longer worked.
Slowly, a picture began to emerge.
Across the room Maggie was making herself another mug of tea, waiting for the kettle to finish while Bug continued disappearing deeper into Beaumont's world. Then the frantic typing stopped. You looked up. Bug was halfway out of his chair.
"Woah, Maggie, I found something, look, come here."
The urgency in his voice was enough to bring Maggie across the room before the kettle had even finished boiling.
"So, that report, Hadley? Woman’s just made a call; she’s going to sell. Look at this."
He pulled an email onto the centre monitor. Even from where you were stood you recognised the Vallard logo sitting at the top of the page. Beneath it sat pages of legal jargon followed by a purchase price that made your stomach sink. Maggie leaned closer, her eyes scanning the wording rapidly.
"Has she signed this yet? Bug?"
Her voice had changed. The calm remained, but it had sharpened. Bug must have heard it too because his fingers were already flying across the keyboard.
"No, um, no it’s just the paperwork being sent over, she’s got to sign it in person, email says Vallard will come to her, 2pm."
He barely reached the end of the sentence before Maggie answered.
"Get me her number, now."
Bug didn't question it. You watched line after line of information flash across his monitors while he searched.
"Maggie, what are you gonna do?"
She didn't take her eyes off the screen.
"That offer is an insult. She’ll be left with nothing."
"Katy Hadley, 555-8974."
The number had barely left Bug's mouth before Maggie was already typing it into her phone. She stepped away from the desk, moving towards the far end of the apartment as the call began ringing. You couldn't make out much of the conversation. Only Maggie's voice, quieter now, measured and reassuring in the way it always became when she wanted somebody to trust her.
Beside you, Bug hadn't stopped working; more windows opened, more searches, more information.
"Her husband died, four months ago, bills, debts, two kids." His eyes never left the monitor. "Looks like they hand-picked her, gave her a loan, doubled the repayments."
You looked towards Maggie just as she was walking back across the apartment. She'd already ended one call and was on another.
"Yes... No, now… I want that contract drafted…” her voice was in full business mode. “Move the money... Katy Hadley. Yes... I’ll have someone come to collect it… Rourke. Jack Rourke, he’ll be at your office in fifteen minutes."
She ended the call without another word before gently tapping Bug's shoulder.
"Keep tracking Vallard, I want to know what they know."
Another number was already dialling.
"Jack, need you to head to my lawyer’s office. Collect some paperwork and meet me at the address I’m about to text you… Yes… Good... Thankyou."
The call ended and Maggie turned towards you. There wasn't a trace of panic on her face, just purpose.
"Get your stuff, we’ve got to go."
You grabbed your bag before picking up Maggie's untouched mug and carrying it back into the kitchen. Behind you, you could still hear her talking to Bug.
"I’ll come back later. Keep searching, use that genius brain. You’ll get bonus points if you also take a shower. I’ll stop by the diner on my way, text me what you want. I’ve got to go deal with this, you gonna be ok?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got this. I’ll shower, I’ll text you,” Bug rushed to agree. “Is it the diner on 9th or the one on Boyce? Because the one on Boyce does better shakes, they use like gelato, it’s great, the strawberry is my favourite, but the banana is so good, which is like unheard of because banana shakes usually suck."
"I’ll go to whichever one you want,” Maggie replied. “Just text me."
When you turned back around, Maggie was standing behind Bug's chair. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Bug went completely still beneath the touch, his shoulders lifted almost imperceptibly before freezing there, like his brain had momentarily forgotten how to process what had just happened. Maggie only smiled. One hand squeezed both of his shoulders before she stepped back towards the front door.
"Thank you, Bug. I don’t know what I would do without you."
For perhaps the first time since you'd met him, Bug seemed genuinely lost for words.
"Oh, um, yeah, you’re welcome, I guess."
You smiled to yourself as you followed Maggie towards the door.
"Bye, Bug."
He looked up from the monitors long enough to lift a small wave in your direction before his attention was already drifting back towards the maze of names and companies covering every screen.
By the time the apartment door closed behind you, Maggie was already pulling her phone back out. She barely made it halfway across the parking lot before tossing her keys towards you. You caught them instinctively.
"I’ve got to make some calls, you drive, I’ll put the address in the navigation."
Maggie settled into the passenger seat while you climbed behind the wheel, adjusting the mirrors out of habit before starting the engine. Beside you, Maggie was already programming the navigation with an address you'd never heard before. You pulled out of Mallard Heights and followed the directions towards the other side of town.
For the first few minutes, the car became little more than Maggie's office. Her phone never seemed to leave her ear. You caught fragments more than complete conversations. Lawyers. Bank managers. Somebody confirming transfers. Somebody else promising contracts would be ready before Jack arrived. Every call lasted barely long enough to accomplish exactly what she needed before she was dialling the next number.
By the time you reached the edge of town, she'd already bought the property. Not promised to, not negotiated, bought it. Somewhere between Bug finding an email and you stopping at a red light, Maggie had intercepted the entire purchase.
The phone rang again and this time her voice softened.
"Katy, I have a man on the way to you. His name is Jack. He will announce himself at the door and show you his ID. Do not let anyone else in the house. I’m on my way but he’ll beat me there. He has the paperwork."
You kept your eyes on the road, concentrating on the traffic ahead while Maggie listened to the voice on the other end of the line.
"There is no catch, Katy. I just don’t like bullies… No… You don’t have to leave; the house is still yours. I will clear the debts. I’ll explain everything when I get to you. No-one is kicking you out, not on my watch."
The conviction in her voice left absolutely no room for argument. You found yourself tightening your grip slightly on the steering wheel. Your eyes flicked briefly to the dashboard clock.
1:14 p.m.
You thought back to the email Bug had pulled up barely minutes earlier. 2pm. That had been the appointment. Vallard's representative was supposed to be arriving at Katy Hadley's front door with paperwork for her to sign. Less than an hour from now they would have expected to walk away owning her home.
Except they weren't going to, because somewhere between Bug opening that email and you pulling away from Mallard Heights, Maggie had bought the property. The contract Vallard intended to put in front of Katy would be worthless.
Marshall Beaumont may have spent years building a system designed to move faster than desperate people could think. But he had never accounted for Maggie Heaton arriving first.
You weren't entirely sure how she'd done it. Then again, perhaps that was the point. People often thought Maggie's strength came from her money and sure, the money helped, the contacts helped; but neither of those things explained what had just happened.
What set Maggie apart was that while other people were still discussing whether something ought to be done, she was already doing it. Problems didn't linger around her because she refused to give them the opportunity.
Watching her work from this close made something settle quietly inside you. There had never really been a time in your life where you questioned Maggie Heaton. She had raised you, protected you, built the family that was your entire world.
But seeing her now, watching her decisiveness, her protectiveness over a woman she didn’t even know, only solidified something you had probably believed since you were a little girl.
Heroes didn't always wear uniforms. Sometimes they wore silk blouses, carried a designer purse and quietly declared war on anybody who thought they could prey on people with nowhere left to turn.
Taglist: [Comment to be added] @keerygirlie98 @mystickittytaco @imdjoverit @lofi-fics @kristywidget97 @janehartt @ms-mountebank @louisbelongstome28 @eller41 @slutforpumpkins @roridemie @mrmountebankk
HIII okay I just had to hop in your asks to fangirl a bit because when I saw you followed me I got so excited. Beautiful Broken Things was one of the first Gator fics I ever read on here and continues to be a favorite of mine! You have such a way with words and I regret not interacting with it more at the time (I was very new to tumblr and still in my lurker/liking phase lol) so I had to let you know how much I enjoy your writing!!
I need to catch up on your more recent fics and actually engage this time haha, but seeing your comment that you wanted to be added to one of *my* taglists had me like 🫨🫨 so ty for the support 🥹🩵
HI!
OhMyGod! This was the sweetest message to wake up to, thank you so much 🫶
Feel free to lurk anytime but also I'm actually like super friendly so I'm always down to chat!! I appreciate your lurking and liking!
Under The Skin : Part Seven - Pruritus Sinemateria
Gator Tillman x Reader
18+ | minors do not interact
Word Count: 5549
Summary: Buried truths, impossible choices, and Gator realising exactly what he stands to lose.
Note: Ok, this is a really short chapter BUT BUT BUT it’s because the next few coming up are long and tumblr sulks when I go too long with my chapters soooo, here my sweet loves, a small one before the big chunkers… Mimi <3
Masterlist
Pruritus Sinemateria
Translation: Essential Itching
From prurire, meaning ‘to itch’ and sine, meaning ‘without’. An intense, unyielding itching sensation.
Monday mornings in the bullpen always dragged. Gator sat behind his desk staring at the incident report on his computer screen, one hand wrapped loosely around a pen that tapped idly against the edge of his keyboard. It wasn't difficult paperwork. Just dull. He'd read the same paragraph three times already before finally forcing himself to type another sentence.
The Sheriff's Office was awake around him. Phones rang somewhere near reception, dispatch crackled quietly over the radio, someone was arguing with the printer again. It all blended into background noise. The only thing impossible to ignore was Roy.
The bullpen doors swung open and Roy wandered in beside Bowman, both of them already halfway through laughing about something. Whatever story Roy was telling came with enough volume to carry across the whole room, the two of them feeding off each other as though the rest of the office existed purely as an audience.
Gator glanced up for barely a second before dropping his eyes back to the monitor and started typing again. Mostly because he wanted the report finished, partly because looking busy usually stopped Roy finding something for him to do instead.
Roy and Bowman were still laughing when Reyes appeared from reception. The rookie looked slightly uncertain, as he always did, one hand holding the door open for the woman beside him. She looked even more uncomfortable, clutching her handbag tightly against her side as her eyes moved across the unfamiliar faces.
"Hey, uh, Sheriff. Miss. Hadley wants to make a report; you want me to--"
"You can take notes, rookie." Roy waved him off before turning towards the woman with an easy smile. "Miss Hadley, I can take ya report, come take a seat."
Gator watched Roy gesture towards one of the spare desks sitting out in the bullpen. Miss Hadley sat carefully in the chair Reyes pulled out for her. Roy leaned back against the edge of the desk, sitting half on it so he looked down at her rather than across at her. He reached for a clipboard before tossing it towards Reyes.
"So, little lady," Roy said, folding his arms across his chest. "What's the problem?"
His attention drifted back to the report on his screen instead. The traffic stop from earlier that morning wasn't exactly riveting. Speeding. Expired registration. A driver who'd somehow managed to argue with every word that came out of Gator's mouth despite being caught twenty over the limit.
Reyes' pen scratched steadily across the report form while Miss Hadley answered Roy's questions. Gator tuned most of it out, until he heard one word. Loan. His fingers stopped over the keyboard.
"...the repayments, they doubled and then again and..." the woman's voice wavered. "Sheriff, I don't know what to do, I think I'm going to lose the house."
Gator looked up. She was perched right on the edge of the chair now, twisting the cuff of her sweater so tightly the fabric had wrapped around her fingers. Tears clung stubbornly to her lashes, though she seemed to be doing everything she could not to let them fall.
A loan. Immediately his mind went to you. He remembered you mentioning some loan company over breakfast a few days ago. Maggie had apparently been asking questions about it, looking into something that didn't quite sit right. At the time he'd filed it away as another one of Maggie's community projects. Now he found himself paying a little more attention.
Reyes wrote everything down exactly as she said it, his brow furrowed in concentration while Roy simply listened with his arms folded. Eventually Roy pushed himself away from the desk.
"Reyes will show you out, Miss Hadley. I'll have a look into all this, ain't sure I can do much ‘bout your personal finances and all that. But I'll make some calls."
"Thank you." The woman nodded.
Reyes offered her a reassuring smile before leading her back towards reception, clipboard tucked beneath one arm. Roy pulled the completed report from the clipboard as he walked past Gator's desk. Gator looked up.
"What's that about?"
Roy barely glanced at the paperwork.
"Took a loan." He shrugged. "Ain't sure how that's police business. Shoulda just paid her bills."
"Want me t'type it up?"
"I got it." Roy frowned. "Ain't you got work to be doing?"
Gator looked back at his computer as Roy wandered into his office, closing the door only halfway behind him. Roy hated paperwork with a passion. Half the administrative work floating around the office eventually landed on somebody else's desk because Roy couldn't be bothered with it himself. Filing reports certainly wasn't something he suddenly took an interest in.
Gator watched without really meaning to. Roy slid the report into the top drawer of his desk. His eyebrows pulled together slightly. Through the glass walls surrounding the office, Gator watched him sit down. A moment later Roy pulled out his phone.
He spent the next couple of minutes staring at the screen, thumbs moving steadily as he typed out a message. Then, just as casually as he'd hidden the report away, he opened the same drawer and tossed the phone inside before closing it again.
The whole thing left an uncomfortable feeling sitting in Gator's stomach. Before he had much chance to think about it, Bowman appeared at the office door.
"Wanna head to the diner for lunch? Heard they changed up the specials."
Roy was on his feet instantly.
"Now you're speakin' my language."
He grabbed his hat from the desk and followed Bowman back through the bullpen. Gator kept his eyes on his report, typing another line that he didn't really read. Only once the office doors closed behind them did he glance up. He watched the pair cross the parking lot through the front windows, climb into Roy's cruiser and pull out onto the road.
Gator stayed where he was for another minute, forcing himself to type another couple of lines into the report. Eventually he pushed his chair back. The bullpen was quiet now. Reyes was still out front and there was nobody else close enough to notice him crossing the room. He walked into Roy's office as though he'd been sent there.
He slid the top drawer open, and Roy's phone was lying exactly where Gator had seen him leave it, with Miss Hadley's report tucked neatly beneath. He reached for the paperwork, intending to take a quick look before putting everything back exactly as he'd found it.
Then he noticed there was far more in the drawer than a single report. Several bundles of handwritten notes were stacked beneath the first one. Frowning, Gator lifted them out.
The first report looked almost identical to the conversation he'd overheard ten minutes earlier. A small loan. Repayments that had doubled without warning. A family falling behind before the threats started. The second was much the same. Then the third. Then another. Different names. Different addresses. The same story repeated over and over again.
One report described windows being put through in the middle of the night. Another mentioned a man being beaten badly enough to end up in hospital after refusing to sign over his property. Nearly every statement ended the same way. The house was gone. The business was gone. The family had nowhere left to go.
None of them had ever been typed up. These were paper notes, none of them had ever become official reports. This wasn't Roy forgetting or being lazy. He was burying them. Gator’s eyes flicked towards the office door before settling on the copier against the wall. A second later he'd made up his mind.
He fed each report through as quickly as he could, every mechanical whir of the machine sounding far louder than it should have inside the quiet office. Every few seconds he glanced towards the glass walls surrounding the room, half expecting someone to walk back into the bullpen but thankfully, nobody did.
As soon as the last page copied, he gathered the originals together, carefully straightening the edges before returning them to the drawer exactly as he'd found them. Miss Hadley's report went back on top. The copies he folded twice before sliding them down the front of his vest.
Only then did he pick up the phone. The screen lit up requesting a passcode. Roy wasn't exactly imaginative; Gator tried his birthday first. Wrong. He pulled out his own phone and checked the twins' birthday before trying that. Wrong. Karen's birthday. Wrong. Their wedding anniversary. Still nothing.
Gator let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Then he shook his head.
"Course."
Roy loved one person more than anybody else. Roy. He entered his father's birthday. Wrong again. For a second he simply stared at the screen in frustration before his eyes wandered around the office. They landed on a framed photograph sitting in the corner of the desk. Roy stood in uniform, smiling broadly for the camera, one hand resting proudly across the front of his chest. The sheriff's badge pinned there caught the light.
Gator's eyes dropped to the number engraved across the badge.
"...You're kiddin'."
He keyed it into the phone and the screen unlocked immediately. He went straight to the messages; the most recent conversation sat right at the top.
Roy: You're getting sloppy, Marshall. Third report this week.
Marshall: Bury them. I'll sort it.
Roy: Already done.
Gator read the exchange twice before backing out and opening the contact details.
Marshall Beaumont.
The name stirred something in the back of his mind. He knew he'd heard it before. He just couldn't remember where. He pulled out his own phone, took screenshots of both the conversation and the contact details, sent them to himself, then carefully deleted every trace he'd been there.
Only when he was satisfied the phone looked exactly as it had before did he lock it, place it back in the drawer and close it.
When he walked back out into the bullpen, his heart was beating noticeably faster than it had been five minutes earlier. He lowered himself back into his chair, stared at the half-finished traffic report on his computer screen. To anybody looking his way, it would've seemed like he'd never left his desk.
By the time Roy came back, Gator had finished the traffic report, he'd even managed to make himself a fresh coffee. He leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around the mug, both boots propped comfortably on the edge of his desk.
The door banged open. Roy strode straight through the bullpen, smelling faintly of greasy diner food, and without breaking his stride slapped the soles of Gator's boots. They hit the floor with a heavy thud.
"Go look bored on patrol, Gator."
Gator bit back the comment sitting on the end of his tongue.
"Yes, sir."
He drained the last mouthful of coffee instead, grabbed his phone and cruiser keys, and headed for the parking lot. The county roads were quiet that afternoon. He drove aimlessly for twenty minutes, letting the cruiser eat up the miles until the Sheriff's Office was well behind him. Eventually he spotted a gravel lay-by just off the road, pulled in beneath a line of cottonwoods and cut the engine.
Gator reached beneath his vest and unfolded the copied reports across the steering wheel. He still couldn't make sense of it. Why was Roy burying these? What did bad loans have to do with the Sheriff's Office?
He picked up the first statement again and read it more carefully this time. Recent widow. Two children. Forced to hand over the house after repayments spiralled beyond anything she'd agreed to. When she refused, several men had turned up at the property, thrown her family out onto the lawn, roughed her up badly enough to leave bruising across her face and broken one of her children's arms.
His jaw tightened, he looked down at the address at the bottom of the page. It wasn't far. Before he could really think himself out of it, he folded the reports away, started the cruiser and pulled back onto the county road, heading towards the woman's house.
The address led him down a quiet county road lined with pastureland before the house finally came into view. A large SOLD sign stood prominently at the end of the driveway, with Vallard Property Services printed neatly across the bottom. The house itself looked empty. Curtains gone. Porch stripped bare. There wasn't a single vehicle parked outside.
Gator rested both hands on the steering wheel as he looked at it. Twenty minutes ago this had just been another report. Now it was somebody's home. Or it had been.
He reached for his phone and searched the estate agency. Their website loaded quickly enough, filling the screen with photographs of ranches and farmhouses scattered across the county. He scrolled through the current listings, noticing the same sort of properties over and over again. Small ranches. Family homes. Acreages.
Then one photograph made him stop. William Nesbitt's place. He frowned, William had known Roy for years. Hell, he'd lent Roy his horse trailer the summer he'd bought Leroy because Roy hadn't wanted to pay to hire one.
Gator stared at the listing; William hadn't mentioned selling. He looked back towards the empty house sitting beyond the windshield. Then down at the reports folded on the passenger seat.
His jaw tightened. One hidden report could've been laziness. Two might've been incompetence. But this? This was something else. His fingers drummed slowly against the steering wheel before he reached into his pocket for his phone and opened your messages.
・❥・
The football game had claimed the television, Walker and Tucker offering running commentary from the middle of the sectional while Logan occasionally chimed in from the opposite end. Noah was there too. Still quiet, still watching more than talking, but he was there. Curled into your usual corner of the sofa, you pulled out your phone. Gator had been on the day shift, he should've been finished by now.
You: everyone is here watching the game. r u coming over?
Gator: not tonite baby, sorry. got somethin 2 do
A small frown settled across your face.
You: everything ok?
Gator: all good baby, no chewin urself 2 bits. just sum bullshit 4 my dad
You: ok. dont do anything stupid. love you.
Gator: nothin stupid, promise. Just ranch stuff. Love u baby
You weren’t entirely convinced but his promise felt reassuring. You smiled faintly and slipped your phone back into your pocket before looking up. Rhodes was balancing along the back of the sofa with both arms stretched out, apparently convinced he was some sort of tightrope walker now his cast had finally come off. You sighed, climbed to your feet and scooped him up before gravity had the chance to intervene and he ended up in another cast.
"Okay, I'm thinking we might need a little distraction. Who's up for a game of hide and seek?"
Nicky was off the sofa before you'd even finished speaking.
"I wanna play!"
"We're all playing," you said, leaning over for the remote and switching the television off.
Walker groaned dramatically.
"That's enough out of you. C'mon, who wants to seek?"
"Why don't me and Nicky seek," Noah suggested. "You lot hide?"
"Yeah, I wanna be with Noah!" Nicky grinned.
"Okay. Three minutes, anywhere inside the house, except for Maggie's room. Outside is out of bounds, ready? Go."
The room emptied almost instantly as everyone scattered in search of the perfect hiding place. Walker and Tucker disappeared upstairs, the sound of pounding footsteps echoing across the landing. You watched Rhodes vanish around the corner.
Logan, on the other hand, made absolutely no effort to hide. He just stood in the living room with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking at you. You rolled your eyes, grabbing him by the sleeve, you dragged him out of the living room.
As you passed through the kitchen, Ford looked up from where he was helping Josie finish a yoghurt. He watched you marching Logan down the hallway to your bedroom. You opened the closet door, gave Logan a gentle shove inside and climbed in after him before pulling the doors closed behind you.
Only thin strips of light slipped through the gap between the doors, leaving the two of you sitting toe to toe on the floor amongst hanging clothes and shoe boxes. For a few moments neither of you spoke. Then Logan's phone lit up, the pale glow illuminated the grin spreading slowly across his face before he typed out a quick reply and locked the screen again.
"Megan?" You smiled.
"Maybe."
"I can tell by the shit eating grin."
"Yeah, fine,” Logan laughed. “It was Megan."
You didn't say anything else; you'd learnt a long time ago that silence was often more useful than another question. Sure enough, after a few moments he sighed.
"I really don't wanna mess this up, Baby."
"How are you gonna mess it up?"
"It's just what I do, ain't it?" He looked down at his hands. "I fuck everything up, say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing."
"You can be hot headed, yeah, sure. But you don't mess everything up. Megan's happy, she likes you."
"Yeah?" He looked across at you. "She tell you that?"
"Yeah, we spoke." You smiled. "You're not messing it up."
"But I don't know how to do this, the girlfriend thing."
"Gotta learn somehow, right? You're gonna be fine. You're a good guy, Logan, however much you hide it sometimes. And Megan knows it too. Stop worrying and just let it happen."
"Easy for you to say." He huffed a laugh.
"Is it?" You raised an eyebrow. "Has Gator got some degree in relationships I don't know about?"
Logan laughed again.
"Nah, but he don't seem to be getting it wrong."
"You aren't getting it wrong either." You smiled. "You're just overthinking it."
Logan began picking absently at the knee of his jeans, his attention settling somewhere on the floor between you. You recognised the look. He was thinking. Really thinking. Outward spiral turning internal. You shifted a little closer.
"I'm gonna tell you something, but it stays in this closet. You tell him I told you or you make a shitty joke and I'll never forgive you."
His fingers stopped moving.
"Promise?"
"Yeah, whatever, promise."
You held your pinky out towards him.
"Pinky promise me, Logan."
"What are we? Ten?" He shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Sure, pinky promise."
He hooked his finger around yours.
"Gator said this thing, and I've thought about it ever since." You looked down at your joined hands. "He said that with me, he doesn't have to think. It all just... comes to him. He said the rest of the time he's always thinking about what he has to do and how he has to be, but with me he just... is."
When you looked back up, Logan wasn't laughing. He was leaning forward now, forearms resting across his knees, listening properly.
"I didn't believe him at first," you admitted quietly. "Then I realised it's the same for me. I think that's what made me set up the date with Megan. I want that for you. You're a good person, Logan, you just do stupid stuff. The fights in bars and whatever, that isn't you. It's you being who you think people want you to be, who you think your dad wants you to be. But it isn't the real you. These past few weeks you've been here, playing with the kids and running plays with the twins... that's you."
He rested his chin on his arms, listening.
"You're the idiot who used to steal Twinkies from the corner store on Elm because you knew they were Noah's favourite."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"You're the boy who'd leave his headphones hanging on the bleachers for me when I had to wait around for you and Gator after practice, just so I wouldn't be bored," you smiled. "That's you.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“What?”
“The headphones,” he shrugged. “That was Gator. He said you hated sitting around with nothing to do.”
You searched through the memory again, seeing it differently now. It had been every Tuesday and Thursday after school, football practice. Noah would be at track and after-school sports had never really been an option for you, so while everyone else practiced, you had to wait for your ride home.
You’d wander out onto the football field, usually huffing at the thought of having to linger around in the cold. Logan and Gator would already be on the field, Coach barking instructions at them from somewhere in the distance. And hanging over the railing of the bleachers, right where you always sat would be a pair of headphones, usually an iPod or a battered Game Boy resting on the bench below. Something to keep you occupied until practice finished.
You’d never thought twice about it. You’d always hand them back to Logan at the end. All those years, how had you never known? That whole time you’d smiled and thanked Logan, never noticing Gator quietly noticing you.
The thought settled somewhere deep inside you, uncomfortable and strangely tender all at once. Not now. There'd be time to untangle that later.
“Okay,” you gave him a small smile. “Maybe I got that one wrong.”
You reached over and squeezed his forearm.
"But I still know you. I know you’re good, Logan. That’s why I know you won’t mess this up."
The bedroom door opened, footsteps crossed the hardwood floor outside before the closet doors were yanked open.
"Found you!"
Nicky looked impossibly pleased with himself. Behind him, Noah smiled.
"We've still got to find Rhodes,” Noah said nervously. “Not gonna lie, I'm kinda worried he's somewhere he definitely shouldn't be."
You laughed as you climbed to your feet.
"Wouldn't be the first time. C'mon, I'll help you look."
Logan climbed out behind you. As he straightened up he slipped an arm around your shoulders, giving you a brief squeeze against his side and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"Thanks, Baby."
You patted him on the back before turning towards Nicky.
"Did you check inside the washer and dryer?"
"Why would we?" Noah frowned.
"Because it's Rhodes...?"
"I'll go check." Nicky sighed.
・・
Gator had finished his shift over an hour ago, but home never really crossed his mind. Instead he kept driving. Through Lehigh. Out onto the highways. Back onto the quieter county roads that wound between ranches and open pasture. His truck drifted around familiar bends a little faster than it probably should have, muscle memory was doing most of the driving now.
The reports sat folded on the passenger seat. Every time he looked at them, he found himself right back where he'd started. None of it made sense. He knew exactly who Roy Tillman was. Nobody knew him better.
Roy was hard. Cruel. A man who measured strength by how much fear he could inspire. Growing up beneath him had taught Gator that much. The majority of Roy's anger had been reserved for him. Roy believed boys were made through pain, through discipline, through learning exactly where they stood. Bruises disappeared. Lessons stayed.
Karen had never carried those bruises. But he wore her down in quieter ways. Every conversation became a correction. Every opinion became an argument. Every room somehow belonged entirely to Roy the second he walked into it.
Gator had known for years that Roy wasn't exactly the law-abiding sheriff he liked to pretend he was either. Favours got traded. Parking tickets disappeared. Friends found themselves on the receiving end of second chances other people would've never been offered. There'd been envelopes of cash that somehow never became evidence. Jobs quietly handed to cousins or drinking buddies. It wasn't right, but it was familiar small town corruption. The sort people joked about over beers before shrugging and getting on with their lives.
This wasn't that.
Roy loved Stark County. God knew he had a funny way of showing it sometimes, but Gator had never doubted that part. Roy saw the county as his kingdom. Every ranch, every business, every road eventually came back to him. Protecting Stark County was tangled up with protecting himself, but somewhere underneath all the ego there had always been genuine pride.
So why wasn't he protecting these people? Good people. Working people. People Roy actually knew.
It hadn't taken Gator long to find Marshall Beaumont. A quick search. Big money. Agriculture. The sort of man who owned land instead of working it. But why was Roy protecting him? Why was he letting people get hurt for him?
His mind drifted back to William Nesbitt. He'd grown up around the Nesbitts. They were the sort of neighbours every rancher hoped for. The kind who'd appear with feed after a bad storm without ever asking to be repaid. William had lent Roy the horse trailer when he'd bought Leroy because that's what neighbours did. They'd helped one another through harsh winters, shared equipment, traded labour, fixed fences together. That was ranching. That was Stark County.
So why was Roy standing by while somebody put a boot on their necks?
Gator looked across at the reports again. A kid with a broken arm. Threats. Families forced from their homes. Even Roy wasn't that evil...Was he?
His grip tightened around the steering wheel. Maybe he should tell Maggie, the thought had followed him for miles now. This was exactly what she'd been looking for, wasn't it? Maggie would know what to do. She always knew what to do.
But then what? If Roy found out where the information had come from... Gator swallowed. He'd survived Roy's temper before, more times than he cared to remember. But surviving it wasn't the same thing as volunteering for it.
But what would Maggie do if she discovered it herself? If she dug up the truth, what was the name of her hacker you’d told him about? Beetle? What if Maggie found out and thought Gator was involved? Would he rather take a beating from Roy or Jack? Or worse, what if she stopped him seeing you?
He eased the cruiser onto the shoulder and killed the engine. Resting his head against the seat, he closed his eyes. He could picture the Big House; you'd probably be in the living room. Oversized sweatshirt. Flannel pyjama pants. Hair all over the place because you never seemed to notice when it escaped whatever thrown up style you'd started the evening with. You'd be sprawled across Tucker or Walker without the slightest interest in whatever game happened to be on television, more interested in laughing at whatever Rhodes had climbed onto now or making sure Nicky was taking part.
That was the thing he'd never understood until he'd met you. It wasn't the house. It wasn't even the people. It was belonging. Just... existing somewhere without having to earn your place every five minutes. The Heatons had done that. You had done that.
These last few weeks had been the happiest he could remember being. He wasn't pretending all the time anymore. He wasn't waiting for the next criticism or the next fight. With you, he could just be. The thought made his chest ache. Because whichever way he turned this thing over in his head, it seemed to end the same way.
Tell Maggie.... and take the beating, accept the man is dad really was.
Keep Roy's secret... and risk blowing up the only place that had ever felt like home
For the first time in a long time, Gator honestly couldn't see a way through that didn't end with him getting hurt.
・・
You eventually found Rhodes. The laundry hamper in the upstairs hallway was overflowing with dirty washing, and buried somewhere beneath two hoodies, a pair of jeans and what looked suspiciously like one of Tucker's football socks was Rhodes, grinning so proudly with a pile of laundry balanced on his head that you almost felt bad for finding him. You had to hand it to the kid, he was committed.
The football game reclaimed the living room soon afterwards. Ford had settled back onto the sectional with Logan and the twins, their attention disappearing back to whatever had happened while they'd been busy hiding.
You had stayed upstairs. Now you were sitting cross-legged on the landing rug with Noah, Nicky and Rhodes, the contents of two Lego tubs scattered across the floor between you. The castle was... ambitious. Noah had approached it like an engineer, quietly sorting bricks into neat little piles by colour and size before placing each one with careful precision.
Rhodes had absolutely no interest in any of that. His sole contribution appeared to be making the tallest tower physically possible, regardless of whether the pieces actually matched. Every time Noah found the perfect brick, Rhodes would triumphantly stick a bright yellow one on top because it happened to make the turret another inch taller.
Nicky had ignored both of them entirely. He was crouched over the entranceway, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he carefully built an elaborate arch above the front door. Every piece was considered before he clipped it into place.
You smiled to yourself. Your phone buzzed beside your knee, for a second you expected to see Gator's name across the screen. Instead, the notification came from No Boys Allowed 🚫.
Hannah: missed u all this weekend ☹ been soooo quiet
Brooke: Megans too busy with her new man.
Brooke: aint that y u were so mad @ Paige? cos she ditched us for dick?
Megan: i never said anything about Paige? thats what u were mad about?!
Brooke: yeh cos ur just such a good friend?
Megan: im not doing this again.
You sighed, clicked your phone screen dark again and tossed it onto the rug beside you. Noah glanced up from the neat rows of Lego bricks he'd been arranging.
"Gator?"
"No, he's doing something for his dad tonight, ranch stuff, I dunno." You shrugged. "Was the group chat. Megan and Brooke."
"Girl drama?"
"Something like that." You laughed quietly.
Noah looked back down at the Lego, continuing to sort the pieces into little colour-coded piles, but you could tell by the slight tilt of his head that he was waiting for you to continue.
"I dunno," you admitted. "It's all just been a bit weird. It's not really an argument just... I dunno. Paige and Brooke were weird at the funfair and Paige is seeing this guy and Brooke was mad at her but now she's mad at Megan because I set Megan up with Logan and..."
"You set that up?"
"Yeah." You smiled. "They seemed to like each other, at the fair, and he seems happy, right?"
"Yeah," Noah nodded. "He's been uncharacteristically cheerful. I just didn't realise you had okayed it. Thought he was doing it behind your back or something."
"No. Figured he was due a free pass considering I took his best mate." You laughed.
That earned a proper laugh from Noah.
"So they're going at it over... Logan?"
"Brooke had a crush on him in high school." You shook your head. "She's making out like she somehow owned him. I dunno, it's weird. It hasn't been the same since I found out Brooke..."
The words slipped out before you could stop them, you looked down at the castle spread across the rug.
"Doesn't matter. It just isn't the same anymore."
"What were you going to say?" he asked gently. "Since you found out Brooke what?"
"Um..." You rubbed absently at one of the Lego bricks between your fingers. "She knew about... you. Said she used to buy, for parties."
Silence settled between you; out of the corner of your eye you saw Noah's shoulders dip slightly. Before either of you could say anything else, Nicky crawled across the rug holding his newest creation with both hands.
"Can I put this on?"
"Yeah, bud,” you smiled. “It's your castle. Add it on."
Nicky carefully attached the archway above the doorway before crawling back around to admire it from every angle. Beside you, Noah had picked up two bricks, he clicked them together, pulled them apart, clicked them together again.
You looked across at him.
"I shouldn't have said anything, I'm--"
"You ain't got to be sorry." He kept his eyes on the bricks in his hands. "It's on me."
"It just made me feel stupid." Your voice was quieter now. "Like... how did I not know? Why did Brooke never tell me?"
"Because Brooke is an awful person." He said it so matter-of-factly that it almost made you smile. "Don't understand why you were ever friends with her."
Rhodes appeared beside him carrying another handful of mismatched bricks for his ever-growing tower. Noah reached out automatically, steadying him as he climbed awkwardly to his feet before handing him another block.
"You're better off without her." Then he looked back at you. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry."
You smiled softly.
"For what it's worth... I forgive you."
Taglist: [Comment to be added] @keerygirlie98 @mystickittytaco @imdjoverit @lofi-fics @kristywidget97 @janehartt @ms-mountebank @louisbelongstome28 @eller41 @slutforpumpkins @roridemie @mrmountebankk
Like I'm absolutely fucking feral for Dr. Park (I love Lou anyway, in anything, let me sink my teeth into that man's neck) and your girl loves her some Jack Abbott.
But I feel like Tumblr has gas lit me into liking Robby... Because I was not a Robby girl and now tell me why I'm hooked on reading daddy big dick Robby fics?!
