don't let them catch your scent, sweet thing; any siren would crawl ashore if only for another chance at you [mc.71]
pairing: macklin celebrini x reader
nickname: precious
word count: 6.5k
summary: Three years into your extremely secretive relationship with a rising hockey star, everything changes.
Macklin Celebrini is a lot of things. He is a teammate. He is a friend. Macklin Celebrini is a son, brother, hockey player, first overall pick, former Bostonian college student, etc., etc. And he is severely offended when, during a random practice media session, his teammates agree that the one thing he absolutely cannot be right now (or maybe ever) is a good significant other.
“Are you kidding?” Will jokes, in front of the camera. “Macklin’s, like, the most single person I know.”
In the moment, he brushes it off. He shrugs. He puts on his skates and hits the ice and plays like he came here to play.
But he knows that it’s going to get posted, and someone out there on the internet is going to see it. There are plenty of people who might want to disagree with the other Sharks’ takes on the matter. He only cares about one – you.
Your message comes not too much later accompanying the Sharks’ reel in his Instagram private messages. It’s pretty simple. “Is Will a really good actor or is he just still in the dark? (Need joke fuel for when we someday meet.)” Dinner has just finished at the Thornton house, which means it’s probably about the time that you’re starting to wrap up schoolwork and head back to your shared student apartment.
Hopefully it’s a good time for a call.
“Yo,” you answer the phone, city noise spilling into Macklin’s ear. “Wassup.”
“Hey, Precious,” he breathes out softly in the privacy of his room.
Almost as if a sleeper agent activated by a code, your voice changes completely. It takes on a sweet tone when you respond in a near-giggle. “Hi, tesoro.” He thinks that might be a complete sentence by itself, but you continue after a pause. “How’s your very single day been so far?”
He groans, flopping back on his bed like the words have injured him. “You’re not going to hold that against me, are you?” Your answer is quick.
“No, but I do think it’s funny.” After another, apparently thoughtful moment of silence you add, “You know, we’re gonna have to tell people eventually. I’m not saying we should right now, but I kinda just remembered that.”
“We both have our reasons for not wanting to,” Macklin responds automatically.
“And we’ll probably always have them,” you sigh, falling into the pattern of a conversation almost as old as your relationship. “But I know, I know.”
Something in your voice gives him pause. “Do you… want to tell people, right now?” he asks. The thought is worrying. He’s always known that there’s some inevitable stress that comes with being acknowledged as the wife or girlfriend of a public sports figure from his mom. From Tabea too, now. And not to toot his own horn too much, but he’s still young and shiny and he intends to play well enough to get attention from the media for a long time. He doesn’t want you to have to go through this crap as long as he will.
Then there’s your own issue with potentially being known as a WAG. You want to make your own name for yourself as a musician and producer. Song credits aren’t going to put parentheses at the end of your name specifying that you’re the girlfriend of #71 Celebrini, so the rest of the world shouldn’t, either. It’s only fair.
“I don’t want it to be public,” you stress the word with a hint of disdain. “Your relationships, potential or otherwise, are not fan business.”
“Of course not.”
“But… maybe soon, we could think about telling our friends? People we trust that aren’t our families?”
Macklin takes his time to think about it before answering. That’s a serious commitment, almost as serious as his commitment to you, and he wants both of you to be absolutely sure that you’re ready to do that after three years of dating so secretly that still only your families know about the relationship. Because he won’t lose you to one person wrongly trusted. He just won’t.
“Precious…,” he trails off, the thoughts overwhelming. “Who all would that be, anyway?”
A dull thud sounds on your end of the phone. Maybe something falling on a pillow? He isn’t sure. He misses you. He wishes he were back in your freshman dorm room, hiding away from the world.
“I dunno, what about Will?” It comes off as an exasperated sigh, but the response is fast enough that he can tell you’ve been thinking about it. “I know it’s probably bugging you that he thinks you’re so single.”
All he can do is hum. Maybe it’s a pain on occasion, like when Will’s talking about his girlfriend of less than a year and saying crap like, “You’ll understand when you start dating,” but most of the time it’s pretty chill. Since he doesn’t even have you saved in his phone as Precious, no one cares when you text. Very little of what he’s been doing is hiding.
“Okay,” you respond to his nothing. “Great chat, Mack. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Precious-” he tries to plead.
It’s like he can feel you pause on the other end of the phone. He knows exactly how far above the ‘end call’ button your finger is right now. So he takes the chance.
“Who do you want to tell?”
“You know. Owen, Lincoln, Tucker.” The list is short, simple. It’s just your best college friends. There’s no reason for him to think that they even know who he is. Despite that, something about it makes his heart leap into his throat. That’s three other people he has to trust with you (more than he already secretly does) and your relationship.
His mouth is completely dry when he attempts to swallow and say, as casually as he can, “Yeah. Maybe we could tell them soon.”
Macklin misses you. He misses you dearly, and you’re on the other side of the country. But your family is still here. This is where you grew up and met him and then grew up some more before you felt comfortable moving that far away with him, so of course they’re still here.
Though he thinks he’s being sneaky after practice when he’s sending a text to your dad to ask if he can have dinner at your house tonight, apparently he isn’t.
“Who’s that?” Will leans over, squinting at the screen. “That’s not your dad’s contact.” His observation is correct. It isn’t Macklin’s dad.
“Some neighbors of my family,” Macklin says. “This guy helps me get out of my head with hockey sometimes.”
“And I don’t?” Taking his friend’s mock offense as a distraction, he slips the phone back in his pocket. He has some time before he has to choose whether to go home or to your parents’ house. It won’t be that hard to wait for your dad’s response.
“Will,” he says, not bothering to sound gentle, “Like all we talk about is hockey or your girlfriend.”
The other Shark just huffs. He probably knows it as well as Macklin does, but he doesn’t have to like it. After all, he loves talking about his girlfriend – and her dog, who admittedly Macklin would like to talk a lot more about after meeting her. The dog is very cool.
Feeling the buzz in his pants pocket, Macklin whips his phone out just long enough to see the words “sure, buddy” on his screen and then he’s getting up and ready to leave. He has to bring flowers for your mom and little sister in your honor, after all, and then maybe your mom will let him in the kitchen long enough to learn one of her secret recipes.
“Where are you going?” Will calls behind him.
“Having dinner with the neighbors!” Macklin calls back.
The reception to your family home is warm. Your mom pulls him into a hug, fawns over the flowers he brought, and your younger siblings greet him verbally from the kitchen table where they’re doing homework.
“Macklin, can you help me with this math?” Your youngest brother, Ricky, asks.
“No way,” your younger sister Regina answers for him. “He plays hockey. He doesn’t know how to do math.”
He sticks his tongue out at her. Your mom isn’t going to say anything – he’s been around almost her whole life. “I do too know how to do math.”
“What about calculus?” Regina challenges. There’s something about the way she says it that reminds him so much of you. He pauses before answering.
“No, I guess I don’t know how to do calculus.” And with that, she sticks her tongue out right back at him.
Properly humbled by your younger siblings and not wanting to distract them any more lest he get scolded by your mother, Macklin follows her into the kitchen. It smells incredible. When you lived in this house full-time, you would joke dryly that you got your cooking ability from your mother, but you could only cook up beats. No one ever laughed. Macklin almost giggles at the memory of your mom’s face whenever you’d say it.
“Did she tell you?” Your mother interrupts him from his reverie with a question.
“Did she tell me what?” he asks stupidly.
“Oh no, I guess I was supposed to keep it a secret,” she realizes aloud. “I probably shouldn’t tell you now.”
He sticks his lower lip out, not even needing any words to persuade her.
“Okay,” she sighs, “but you have to act surprised when she shows up.” Macklin immediately perks up. You’re coming home for something?
It’s taking everything in him to not laugh at your poor pretending that you’re still on the East Coast come Thanksgiving break. Especially when you take five hours to respond to a text. He knows you’re on a plane, but double texts anyway to keep up the little façade. You wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t want to surprise him, after all.
He’s almost late to Thanksgiving dinner. The flight last night got delayed, which meant that he didn’t get back to the Thorntons’ house until the early hours of the morning, and now he’s slept in an hour later than he intended to. But somehow, he makes it.
His dad’s car is already in the driveway of your family’s house when he pulls in. Yours isn’t, but you flew home for break. So it must still be in Boston. When he opens the front door, a chorus of voice spills out of the kitchen and dining room. There’s a split second when he doesn’t hear you. His heart almost tenses, as if it’s preparing to leap from his chest and fall to his feet.
Then your face peeks out from around the corner.
Macklin could shout, he could jump for joy, he could make any declaration about how happy he is to see you. Part of him wants to. But the two of you have never operated like that – instead, he nearly collapses forward into your waiting arms, sighing your nickname into your hair. It smells like cinnamon and flour. He isn’t going to ask.
“Mack,” you whisper back. “Hi.”
“I missed you so bad,” he says, and you just tell him that you know. Over and over, because he repeats the statement like a mantra. Like a desperate prayer. You’re here. You’re here. Eventually, you pull back from him, petting the back of his head gently.
“C’mon,” you invite. “I baked a pie, and it’s your cheat day.”
He wants to tell you that professional athletes don’t really get cheat days like college ones occasionally do, but there’s no room for protest as you lace your fingers through his to lead him to the dining room with your families.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” you announce in the threshold, voice full of mischief, “the number one draft pick and San Jose Sharks star Macklin Celebrini has arrived to our humble abode!”
Your parents’ laughter is full. His parents just chuckle politely. And Regina and Ricky roll their eyes, like they’re so over you talking about Macklin at all. Maybe they are. But Macklin himself isn’t over it, because he hasn’t gotten to hear you talk about him as if he wasn’t present in a long time. He just wasn’t there.
Throughout dinner, your eyes sparkle in the light of a fake candle whenever they flick over to him. He feels his heart sink when he realizes he can’t stay late to smuggle another piece of your pie and help clean up. There’s a game tomorrow.
“Don’t worry,” you lean over and whisper to him. “We all have tickets.” His eyes dart nervously to his parents. “Sitting separately,” you add. “I know.” And you do seem to know exactly what he was about to say – just sharing his concern for the potential publicity of your family sitting right next to his parents at the game, really. It’s for your own good. It always is.
“Precious,” he realizes aloud. “We fly out, like, right after the game. I don’t think we get back until Sunday.” Which means that he’s probably not going to see you again before you have to return to school. He doesn’t say that part aloud. Just like with the game attendance concern, he knows you know. You can pretty much read his mind after all these years together. He thinks so, anyway.
Your smile is sad when you respond, “I know.” He can see how it doesn’t begin to reach your eyes even as you turn away to grab a leftover roll.
Macklin wishes so desperately that he could just stay here for the night with you, but there’s no way. Having you over at the Thorntons’ is a big ask, of them and of you. He’s never had a guest before. And it’s not a short drive from your childhood home. Not like you have your car, anyway. Still-
“What if…,” he pauses, but decides it’s too late to back out now, “you spent the night with me tonight?”
And instead of the bright smile he loves seeing on your face, there’s a frown when you look up from picking at your roll. “Mack, I don’t think… is that even allowed?”
“I’m gonna text Joe,” he declares. “But I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay with it. What about your parents?”
“What about us?” your mom jumps in, smile on her face as she looks between the two of you. “Oh, you look just like you did when you used to scheme as kids. What’s happening now?” Macklin exchanges a glance with you before he hits ‘send’. If your parents don’t agree, this is all over.
He already knows his dad isn’t going to be a big fan of the idea, but it’s not like he can stop it. You’re both adults. Even though — and this is why your parents might oppose — you’ve never spent the night together before at home.
It happened a few times when you were both in Boston, thanks to oblivious roommates, careless RAs and almost boundless patience on your part. Which is something that you’ve always had, just for Macklin. He loves it.
“We just realized how little we’re going to see each other while I’m out here,” you explain carefully to your mom, reaching over to thread your fingers through your boyfriend’s. It’s well within her sight, and this is part of your plan, Macklin realizes. You’re making a play on her empathy. “He was going to ask the Thorntons if I could stay the night. But I’ll come home with you guys after the game. Promise.”
You look like you’re holding your breath as your mom makes her ‘consideration’ face, the same one from when you were kids trying to stay outside playing late into the night or get ice cream after dinner. Macklin is too. He almost can’t stand the tension. It feels so much like that split second after the puck leaves his stick and starts heading toward his teammate or the net. So much could go wrong.
Until she shrugs.
“You’re always going to be our baby, but you are a grownup now. As long as you’re not imposing on Mack’s billet family,” your mom says cheerfully. “And of course, with Macklin’s career and all, you must be careful.”
Her tone changes for the reminder. Both of you know what it’s really about. Which is kind of silly, because there’s absolutely no way that Mack is even going to think about doing that in Jumbo Joe’s house.
And he’s fairly sure you wouldn’t, either. Joe’s just such a legendary figure to both of you.
The text response is fast — he probably didn’t expect to hear from Macklin during Thanksgiving dinner, after all. “We’d be happy to meet her and keep her for a night. As long as we’re not gonna get in trouble with your coach.”
Finally, Macklin can exhale. “They’re cool with it,” he announces quietly, tilting his phone to show you. “I think as long as we’re back at a reasonable hour.”
Your mom reaches across the table to pat your hand. “I’ll tell Dad. You’d better get an overnight bag. I don’t want to sit next to a stinky young lady tomorrow.” The way she wrinkles her nose is playful. Your laugh is all relief.
“Your dad didn’t seem too happy that we were leaving together,” you observe, later, in the car.
Mack just shrugs in the driver’s seat. “You know how he is about the discipline stuff. Worse than Coach sometimes.” Which is true. It’s kind of a simple fact of life to him. Your family are the people who kiss boo-boos and produce artists. His family creates athletes. He used to think that was just how it worked.
You shake your head, perfect curls tumbling over your shoulders with the motion. He can see it out of the corner of his eye. It’s distracting. This isn’t the first time that Macklin’s driven you somewhere, but it’s still so rare that it feels weird.
“Should I be nervous?” The subject change is painfully obvious. “Meeting your billet family feels like a big step even if it weren’t a Sharks legend.”
“You know I’ve known you longer than I’ve lived with them, right? Like, three times the amount, actually.” He smiles at you, hoping it eases whatever nerves you may have. And he’s rewarded with your lips quirking up in response.
“I do know that, silly.” Your voice is quiet. You start looking down at your hands. “I just… we don’t really know how we fit into each other’s lives around anyone but our families. This is really new for us.”
Oh yeah. Macklin hadn’t thought about that. You never had to meet each other’s families once you started dating – you’d been neighbors for a while before that happened. Even the transition wasn’t that hard. The rules about hanging out together got a little stricter, but that was it. Eventually you did meet some of each other’s extended family at holiday gatherings. Still, you’d been around for long enough that it was just a simple introduction. ‘Hi, Aunt Katie, this is Precious. You’ve heard about her. We’re dating now.’
But this is a local hero. And someone that Macklin looks up to and respects like crazy. And also he lives with this guy’s family for most of the year.
“They’ll like you,” he decides aloud. “Probably more than they like me, honestly. ‘Specially the kids. They tease me worse than Ricky and Gina.”
“Have they ever even heard about a girlfriend?”
He just shakes his head. No one has. And honestly, he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to keep it quiet after this. Not that he’ll really be bursting at the seams to tell people after you get the Thorntons’ approval or anything, but… this is four whole other people, people who haven’t known you your whole lives, people who might like to talk freely every once in a while. People who certainly didn’t sign up for the weird secret of his relationship with you.
Maybe he didn’t think this whole situation through enough. But if he turns around and drops you off at home now, he’s definitely not going to get enough sleep for the game tomorrow. There’s no good option.
Because he’s pulling into the driveway now. He only feels halfway in his body as he gets out, opens your door for you and grabs your bag before leading you into the house, where his billet family is watching a movie in the living room.
Joe nods at him. Tabea smiles politely at you. Macklin has no clue how he’s supposed to go about this: interrupt their film and introduce you, or wait until the morning like you’re just someone that’ll disappear soon enough?
Joe’s son makes the choice for him, pausing the movie and squinting at you. “Who’s this?”
All Macklin can do for a second is clear his throat. “Um. Guys, this is my girlfriend. She’s been at Berklee over in Boston.”
“Oh, is that where you met? Boston?” Joe’s daughter asks, suddenly looking more interested in the two of you than in the movie (in which she didn’t seem too interested at all). His stomach lurches. The situation is already souring.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Mrs. Thornton says, “I am Tabea. I’m sure you miss each other, so we’ll try not to bother you-” With this she casts a look at her children. “-but please let us know if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” you respond quietly, maybe the shyest Macklin’s ever seen you besides the day the two of you met. He interjects for you, adding your name and pointing out who’s who in the family even though it’s pretty obvious. Something about it restores your voice a little bit. “Thank you guys for taking care of him for me. I know he’s difficult a lot of the time.”
This makes Joe laugh, and when he laughs, his kids follow. The tension in the room has dissolved. The master of the house declares that he likes you, and Macklin should probably listen to you more often. Then he waves you off with one giant hand, excusing the two of you by reminding Macklin that he has an earlier game than normal tomorrow.
“They were nice,” you whisper to him on the stairs. “I see why you don’t wanna move out yet.”
He shrugs, but can’t hide his proud grin. They really do a wonderful job of making him feel like family.
Sleep comes much easier when he gets to hold you. Macklin might not even need a pre-game nap tomorrow. He forces himself to stay awake, if only so he can cherish the sound of your breathing slowing and your muscles relaxing underneath his fingertips. On nights like this, he remembers even more why he wants to protect everything to do with you so dearly.
But now he’s introduced you to the Thorntons. And he remembers how proud he is to have you, how much the two of you have survived together already. Maybe it is time for a change.
“You can tell your friends,” he murmurs the next morning before he forces himself out of bed. “If you want.”
You shoot up, narrowly avoiding a concussion-causing collision with Macklin’s face. Your eyes are wide when you turn to look at him.
“Really?” He nods. And he hopes sincerely that he won’t regret this.
You’re already back in Boston just days later when it happens.
As Macklin reads the first headline after coming off the ice, it feels like an out-of-body experience. Everything is crashing down around him, and he can’t even move to hide. He wonders if you’ve seen it yet. If you’re panicking the same way he is.
The original publication words it simply: ‘Young hockey star harbors secret girlfriend’. All he can do about it is sit numbly in his spot in the locker room. Next to him, Will takes his phone.
“Dude, is this true?”
And although Macklin dropped his head into his hands once they were free, he lifts it enough to nod. But he still can’t find his voice. His friend reads the article aloud for him.
“According to an anonymous source, Celebrini has been dating the Berklee College of Music student since before either of the two were in college, even influencing her choice to attend school on the East Coast,” Will says in a pretty monotone voice considering the situation. “The two met as children when his family moved to the San Jose area for his father Rick’s job.”
“What’s all this?” Tyler, attention grabbed by Will’s monologue, sounds closer than he would be if he were at his own locker. Will must hold Macklin’s phone out or something, because Toffoli grunts in understanding after a few seconds.
Macklin can feel at least one person’s eyes on him, but he suspects that it’s becoming more and more by the second. He feels like it is. It’s a sensation similar to rising through the ranks of junior hockey and getting the world’s attention, just so much faster. He’s so much less prepared.
“You’ve been hiding a girl from us, Mack?” Tyler’s voice is soft. Maybe even hurt.
“From everyone,” he finally manages to answer though his hands, voice coming out hoarse. “So this didn’t happen.”
Will sets the phone down between them. “How long?”
“Three and a half years,” Macklin answers, realizing only now that you’ve hit that mark.
The locker room – at least, his little corner of it – is silent. Worst possible scenario thoughts are running through his mind at lightspeed. He’s gonna have to look up eventually. He’s gonna have to face it head on. Even if he never answers the world’s questions, he’ll have to say something here. The guys probably won’t understand. They can’t-
“That must have been really tough on you kids,” Tyler says finally. “That’s a long time to keep a secret.”
“She wants a career,” Mack starts trying to explain. “She wants to make a mark without her name being attached to mine, and I didn’t want her hounded by sites like this-” he gestures with one hand at the phone, but doesn’t take the other one off his eyes. “-we thought it was for the best. I was just trying to protect her.” He hates how desperate, how broken, how utterly helpless it sounds.
His phone buzzes. He wonders who’s found out about the article now. Is it his mom, trying to check in and make sure he’s okay? Is it his dad, scolding him? Or is it yours, reminding him that when Mack was entrusted with his little girl it meant this exact thing wasn’t supposed to happen?
“It’s from… José?” Will’s voice is confused.
“That’s her. That’s what her college friends-” Macklin cuts himself off, finally looking up to take the phone. There’s no time to wallow in self-pity if you need him. Or until you break up with him. Whichever ends up happening.
Your text doesn’t say either of those things. Instead, you’re saying that you hope Macklin is okay. That you love him, and you’ll get through this together just like everything else you’ve been through. And that… you’re sorry. You think you know who spilled the beans, and it wasn’t his fault at all.
Only now does he remember why he loves you so much. You’re his girl. You’re tough. And, from what he can tell over text alone, you got this.
“I love you,” he sends back simply, not caring who sees and noting just how free it feels to do that. Your response is just as simple, but it is quick. Then and only then can Macklin return his attention to his friend beside him, who has been waiting patiently for answers.
“So. Three years. You call your girlfriend José and you haven’t told anyone about her. Is there anything else I should know?” Will summarizes everything he’s learned so far almost sarcastically, one eyebrow raised in mock scepticism.
Dragging his hand down his face, Mack sighs. “Not until after I shower, at least.”
“So,” he starts later, at the Marleaus’ house. “I have a girlfriend.”
Will just looks him as if to say, “well duh,” but doesn’t actually say it. Macklin’s kinda grateful that he has space to talk.
“We’ve been together for three and a half years, but we’ve known each other since my family moved to San Jose. Onto her family’s street. Sometimes, even though she’s in Boston during the season, I’ll go have dinner with them if I miss her too bad.” As he explains, Will’s expression starts to shift. The realization hits him pretty quickly.
Mack is nodding even before Will breathes out, “The neighbors you went to see that one day.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I would bring her flowers if she was there, but when she’s not I give them to her mom and little sister. Who’s kinda like my little sister too, at this point.”
He isn’t allowed to keep going. “Wait, so why is she called José? Do you legit call her that?” He shakes his head, laughing to himself before he can explain further.
“No, her Berklee friends call her that. Because she’s from San Jose. It’s what their group does – Tucker’s from Kentucky, Lincoln is from Nebraska, and Owen is from somewhere near Baltimore. I don’t know how they came up with it. I just thought it would be less suspicious on my phone to have a guy’s name pop up sometimes,” he says, feeling the weight on his shoulders get lighter with every word. “I call her Precious. It was teasing, when it first started. And then, I dunno, suddenly she really was precious to me. Still is. Obviously.”
Will is silent for a second while he processes, gaze landing somewhere outside. Maybe he’s thinking about his girlfriend. Maybe he’s putting himself in Macklin’s skates for a second. He really can’t tell.
“What’s she like?” he asks, finally, eyes sliding back to Mack with a hesitant smile.
And Macklin can’t restrain himself anymore. It might turn out to be the longest he’s ever talked in one go – barely inhaling, trying to tell Will everything he remembers you saying or liking or doing. He’s never gotten to talk about you before like this, to anyone. Uninterrupted. No judgment. Just him sharing how wonderful and cool and thoughtful and talented you are.
Now that he can, he catches himself starting to wish he could’ve done it even earlier – that there wasn’t so many layers of bubble wrap around your relationship. But it was your decision as much as his, he remembers a second later. Still he keeps talking.
His friend listens attentively, just like he did when Will was falling for his girlfriend last season. Will teases even less than Macklin did, which is cool.
“She sounds perfect for you,” he comments casually after a particularly long sentence explaining how your voice changes when you realize it’s him on the other end of the phone (because you usually pick it up without checking the caller ID). “How’s she… you know… handling all this?” The gesture is vaguely around the room yet clear as rain.
“She seems pretty okay with it, somehow,” Macklin comments, thinking back to your texts. “Sounded like she was even figuring out how the news got out there.”
“But she only told her three best friends, right?” The other boy’s eyebrows are furrowed even as Mack nods. “That’s gotta be messed up if one of them ended up telling, like, as soon as they found out. Cool that she’s being cool about it, though.”
It’s like he doesn’t realize it until Will says it. But yeah, of course it was one of your friends who had to have said something, or let it slip to the wrong person. The very friends you had wanted to share with so bad. Macklin’s stomach flips. He has to hear you say you’re okay, now.
“Actually, I’m gonna call her real quick. I didn’t think about that,” he excuses himself, stepping into a quiet den-like room off the main living area.
He hears the ringing three times before you pick up. Your voice is thick with – is that tears? – when you breathe out Macklin’s name like it’s an instant relief spell. The sound alone sends him into a state of adrenaline as if he’s catching the puck out on the ice.
“Mack,” you say. The second time, your voice trembles. “Mack.”
“Precious,” he’s trying so hard to keep his voice soft and reassuring to not overwhelm you, “What happened? Are you okay?”
There’s a pause. A sniffle. Something cracks open inside his chest.
“I didn’t go to class,” you admit. “It was… it was Tucker. She didn’t believe that I could be dating a ‘real life celebrity’ and decided to get back at me about it. Or something like that. I don’t know. This is all so screwed up.”
“Yeah, it is.” He can’t not agree with you on that. “People shouldn’t care so much about who’s dating who. But, you know, I’m still here for you. We’re in this together.”
“It’s different for you, Mack,” you say, voice sounding more angry than sad now. “You didn’t just lose two of your best friends about this. No one’s going to comment anywhere that you’re not good enough for me or that we’re incompatible because your music taste sucks.” You sniffle again before continuing, voice softening. “I love you, but it’s really, really different.”
He doesn’t know what to say. I’m sorry doesn’t feel like enough. There are no words to fix this situation for you – to change what you’re going through, to reverse the timeline and somehow take away your apparently fake friends’ resentment and disbelief.
“Two friends?” he asks finally, because that stuck out the most.
“Lincoln decided she’d rather defend Tucker than help me through the social media mess that’s started.” Macklin hears the pain underneath the deadpan delivery. He wishes he could pull you back into his arms and secure you in bubble wrap again.
“I’m-” he starts, before you cut him off.
“And if that weren’t bad enough, now there’s all these people who suddenly want to be friends, because they think I can get them playoff tickets or stupid stuff like that. It’s kinda almost worse. I don’t think I’m ever going to leave my room again before the sun explodes.”
He can’t help the pitying tone. “Precious,” he says, hoping it’ll help calm you down.
“I know. It’ll blow over. It just feels so important and in my face right now.” After a short pause, you speak again, voice sounding curious. Maybe even a little playful. “How did the people on your end take it?”
“I finally got to talk about you to Will. Did it for the last, like, hour, I think,” Macklin is trying not to boast. “He’s probably really sick of hearing me yap.”
Now, the beginning of a smile comes over the line. “It’s payback for how much you’ve had to hear about his girlfriend. I think even I know her pretty well, and she definitely has no idea I exist.” You get quiet after you finish your thought, probably reminded of how people are quickly learning about your existence now.
“Precious, I’m so sorry,” Macklin finally says. “This wouldn’t have happened to you if you weren’t dating me. It’s my fault.”
“Don’t say that.” Your voice is as sharp as he’s ever heard it. “Don’t you dare try to take responsibility for this whole thing, Macklin Celebrini. I’m not gonna stand for it.”
His smile probably looks as dopey as he sounds when he gently agrees, “Okay,” because at the end of the day, he’d do anything you say and both of you know it.
“This shitstorm would have eventually happened as long as I was in your life at all,” you continue. “People would have speculated. Maybe we wouldn’t have as strong of a friendship and it would’ve torn us apart. I’m so glad that, even after I go through all this, I’m still going to have you at the end of the day. And you have me. That’s the most important part.”
“Are you sure it’s not too late to become a motivational speaker?” he half-murmurs, smile just about etched into his face permanently. “I’d try to convince Coach to hire you.”
From the sounds of it and just from how well Macklin knows you, the image of you shaking your head bashfully is clear in his mind as you answer. “No thanks. I don’t even want to remotely be responsible for the kinda stuff that you and Will get up to.” A faint buzz sounds on your end. “I think my mom is calling again. I’m gonna let you go, okay? Just remember that I love you. And we’re gonna be okay.”
“Okay. I love you,” is all he can offer before the call ends.
The media storm does die down eventually. You report a surge in follow requests on your private Instagram page (though you haven’t posted any photos of the two of you since freshman year of high school) and in follows on your music production page that’s over by December. Macklin’s taken to answering random questions about you from his teammates in the locker room almost every game.
Most often, he hears: “when is she gonna come around here for us to meet her?” To which his responses vary between “when I’m not embarrassed of you dummies,” to “when pigs fly.” (They all know that he’s teasing.)
They’re in Pittsburgh on the day that you fly home, but Macklin secured your tickets as soon as you agreed to his idea.
“Mack!” he hears as soon as he steps out of his car the next day.
“Precious!” is his immediate response. Loud. Uninhibited by the fear of gossiping neighbors. Arms wide for you to jump into.
Which you do, letting your boyfriend use the momentum to turn it into a spinning hug. You’re grinning so hard he can see the effort you’re putting into puckering your lips for a kiss. Wow, he thinks, I can’t believe I missed out on this for so long.
“I missed you,” you whisper as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. The response comes easily, slipping out as if he’s never had to be on guard when he talked to you before. Like the two of you have always been able to love out loud. Something about it just feels so natural.
Even catching you in a hallway of The Tank a couple days later seems to be something that’s always happened, more habit than anything. And when he leads you toward the locker room door, shouting, “Hey, fellas! There’s someone I want you to meet!” he feels the last bit of his doubt about opening up dissolve into nothingness.
burn hotter, burn worse; flicker around my fingers like the power of a curse [lh.43]
pairing: luke hughes x reader
nickname: spooks/spooky
word count: 9.3k
summary: On a dark, not stormy night, a small case of mistaken identity changes the entire course of your friendship with Luke... forever.
author's note: Happy Halloween, y'all!
Before you walked into the annual New Jersey Devils Halloween party, you thought you knew who you were looking for. Your friend Luke and his brother Jack were supposed to dress up as T-Birds. At least, you were pretty sure that you had convinced them to do it, as long as one of them had time to pick up the costumes this week. But Luke had said one of them would.
It’s not like you could really blame them if they didn’t, since your costume changed too. Your new costume doesn’t have any pockets for your phone, though, and you ended up forgetting it at home. So all you can do now is hope that Luke isn’t texting you any major updates on his and Jack’s costumes.
Or that they decided not to come, after all.
Instead of letting your mind wander to dark places, you make your way over to the bar. No one greets you as you go. You’re not sure anyone recognizes you under the mask and long white wig. Or the fur-lined catsuit.
The bartender is gruff when he asks what you want until he looks up and sees the way you’re sitting, leaning forward with your elbows on the counter. This is a bar that the Devils frequent. You’ve definitely interacted with this exact guy before, but he’s never treated you like this – voice turning syrupy, attitude eager to please. Almost…wrapped around your finger.
“I’ll have a black magic marg, please,” you tell him, batting your (fake) eyelashes to butter him up even more.
Only when he turns away do you start tugging at the furry neckline of your costume. A low V “meant to make cleavage look marvelous,” it’s definitely outside of your normal comfort zone. And yes, you got the joke in the description. Maybe you’ve become the joke now.
“Black Cat,” you hear a low, muffled voice from behind you.
“Correct,” you say before you turn on your barstool to greet the random person who’s decided to start talking to you, repressing the urge to grin when you see that they’re completely covered by a Spider-Man suit.
Maybe it’s not the most detailed version you’ve ever seen, but it’s definitely not the patterned morph suits you’ve gotten used to seeing over your multiple years working in a haunted house. Whoever this is seems decently proud of that fact, seemingly reading your face to understand your reaction.
“I’m going to guess you’re a Marvel fan,” you tell him.
He shrugs, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just a little bit.”
Spider-Man sounds so familiar, but you just can’t put your finger on where you know him from. Probably a Devils player or maybe a prospect. He’s not tall or short enough for you to lean any which way on what his position might be, but he definitely carries himself like a hockey player. You would know, after all – you’re around the team all the time. So you kind of wonder how he doesn’t recognize you. He must be a call-up, then.
When he doesn’t say anything else, you take your margarita from the bartender with a grateful smile and raise a mostly mask-covered eyebrow at him while you start sipping.
“Enough to be Spidey for Halloween, but not enough to admit it aloud,” you muse teasingly. “Never seen that before.”
He chuckles. You can barely hear it over the music. Did someone just turn that up?
“I’m a unique one, I guess,” he replies easily, and once more you think that you have to know him a little bit somehow. But another gulp of your drink clears the thought from your mind. A need to dance takes its place.
So you lean in, bat your eyelashes at him just like you did with the bartender, and ask lowly, “You don’t have to swing from a web to get there, but do you wanna dance with me?” It’s not a great pickup line. But it’ll suffice. Your mysterious hero laughs again, quiet, like he’s trying not to embarrass you.
“Lead the way, Cat.” The way he shakes his head in almost disbelief after offering you a gloved hand to help you down from the barstool is something else that makes you feel like maybe you do know this mysterious Devil, after all. But his confident moves – in time to the music, too – convince you otherwise. You don’t know a single hockey player who has this kind of rhythm.
The temperature of the room increases little by little as the space between the two of you on the dance floor shrinks. As his hands make their way onto your waist, up to your ribs, down to your hips. As your hands migrate from his shoulders to the back of his neck, where you can feel hair gathered under the mask.
But the effects of the tequila start wearing off after only a couple of songs, so you wordlessly lead him back to the bar for something else. Something stronger, that might support you making a bad decision or two.
For a fleeting moment you wonder where Luke and Jack are. If they wore the costume you suggested after all. But a quick scan of the room doesn’t reveal them to you, so you return your attention to Spider-Man in front of you.
“Don’t you need a drink?” you ask, maybe a little too bluntly.
He seems to think about it for a second. You wonder what his face looks like when he’s thinking – you’re pretty sure you can make out a pout changing the shape of the mask. “I guess I do,” he decides eventually. “Any suggestions?”
You grin. Your lipstick is definitely fading from the burgundy that you originally applied – there’s an imprint of your lips on your now-empty second margarita glass. It might look good against his skin, too, once you find out what shade it is. Actually, it’d probably be perfect no matter what. There’s something about this guy – his casual confidence, his clear attraction to you, your easy banter – that’s driving you a little bit crazy.
Sliding a spare Halloween-themed drink menu over to him from your other side where it’s been abandoned, you tap the description of your margarita. “This is mine, but pick your poison.”
The bartender takes the pause to slide your third drink of the night in front of you, nodding politely. It almost makes you feel a little icky as you take your first sip of it, knowing how differently he’s treating you just because he doesn’t recognize you. But Spider-Man interrupts you from your thoughts.
“That doesn’t look too bad,” he says, pointing at the black-rimmed glass in your hand with his chin. His hands reach up to lift the mask over his chin, then under his nose. His lips are fuller than you expected. You have to resist the tequila-fueled urge to reach up and brush your fingers against them to test their softness.
One of the corners quirks up in a half-smile that stirs up memories in your head like dust in the desert. But there’s too many for your addled brain to focus on, so you let them go.
Spidey continues like there hasn’t just been a serious development in your one-night relationship. “Mind if I have a taste?” You nod silently, offering the glass to him.
He takes it, but puts it right back down on the countertop. His hands come up to your cheeks. The air is knocked out of you even before those beautiful lips land on yours. They’re soft. So much softer than you thought they would be. Your eyes close of their own accord, and-
“Luke, holy-” Jack cuts off his own exclamation, his voice flooding into your senses over the pounding bass of the music. “Is that Spooks?”
The noise makes Spider-Man pull away from you, both of you gasping for air. Wait. Chest heaving, Spidey yanks his mask the rest of the way off his face, revealing none other than Luke Hughes. Both of your eyes are wide.
You thought you were fighting urges before, but now you have to resist letting out a comedic shout of horror. Your Spider-Man, who freaking oozed chemistry and charisma, is actually your good friend of something like three years. This is scarier than anything you’ve ever done inside a haunted house.
He starts sputtering just as the image forms fully in your mind: a cheesy styrofoam tombstone labeled, “Here lies the friendship of Luke and Spooks.” Because you just can’t see it recovering from this terminal screw-up.
“I didn’t know that was-,” your friend eventually manages, cheeks a dark pink even in the dim bar lighting.
“And I didn’t know it was him,” you add, raising your hands in self-defense.
Jack looks on the verge of laughter, one hand clasped desperately over his mouth. He seems to think he knows something that you don’t. But as far as you’re concerned, there’s never been any underlying feelings on either side of your friendship. It’s too comfortable for that now. Or, it used to be. Before a few minutes ago.
“But you guys still kissed!” Jack protests through his fingers. “Since when did you like each other?” His voice is too loud. You’re starting to get attention from other partygoers.
You glance at Luke, at the same time as he looks over at you. The expression on his face screams the exact same thing that you’re thinking: you didn’t. But neither of you want to say it out loud.
“What’s happening, now?” A rather drunk Nico Hischier appears out of the crowd, throwing an arm over Jack’s shoulders. Jack leans into him, but isn’t quiet as he tells his captain about Luke kissing you. “Oh! I didn’t know you two were like that. Good for you!”
Heat is creeping up your neck. The wig glue is starting to lose its grip thanks to the sweat beading along your hairline. You don’t know what to do.
Luke is the one to make a move, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the hazy party until you find yourselves out on the street in front of the bar. The claps, cheers and whistles following you echo around the alleyway until the door shuts with a heavy, final thud. Both of you take a minute to catch your breath. Your eyes fall on the Spider-Man logo emblazoned on his chest, moving up and down just like it did when you pulled apart after that damning kiss. When you look back up, his eyes are caught on the neckline of your suit.
“Hey,” you pull his attention to your face, still a little short of breath. Unlike him, you’re not a professional athlete. “What now?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know. Just wanted to get out of there. Figured you did too.”
“Yeah,” you gulp in one last big breath of kind of fresh air, looking around. “But now we’re stuck out here, aren’t we?” The realization only seems to hit him as you say it. His face starts looking a little green in a way that definitely isn’t just the Halloween-themed lighting. Before he can get sick or something, you offer him your hand again. “Come on. Let’s go get food.”
“Yeah,” he agrees distractedly. “Food sounds good.”
It takes a couple of blocks for you to remember that you don’t have your phone. “What time is it?” you question, leaning over to try and see his screen. “What’s even still open?”
“Not much.” The answer is sassy. It feels like normal Luke. Like your friend, not like the guy in the bar who was both shy and self-assured. In a hot way. This is good, you have to remind yourself. The two of you are interacting like usual again.
“Dude. What time is it?”
Luke heaves a big sigh, as if it’s an inconvenience to tell you, but announces that it’s a quarter past twelve anyway. He continues that there’s a place between the bar and your apartment that’s still open, so you can walk there and then he’ll take you home.
“No,” you all but whine. “I don’t wanna go home yet.”
“Spooks, you’re not sober. And I know you have work tomorrow.” Now that he points it out, you realize you are having a difficult time in your heeled boots. But you still don’t want to go home. Something about it feels like giving up.
“Luke, please.” You grab his arm and pout at him. He shakes his head, but his mouth twitches. Your argument is gaining ground.
Finally, he gives in. A little bit. “We can eat in at that 24-hour diner place, but you’re going home after that ‘cause we’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.”
There isn’t much conversation on the way to the diner, just Luke forcing you to let him give you a piggyback ride when your shoes start impeding your gait. But once you’re seated, he starts eyeing you like there’s something he needs to say.
“Out with it,” you tell him, sipping from a cocoa. The tension almost reminds you of earlier, when you were seated at the bar.
Your friend shakes his head in disbelief. It doesn’t remind you of all the good times you’ve had together as buddies, though he’s done it at least a few times before. No, the movement pulls you back to the attractive not-so-stranger from earlier tonight. Something swirls in your stomach. You can’t put your finger on it exactly, but you know it’s not disgust. Or disappointment.
“Okay, so just… I really don’t know how to phrase this,” he admits, “so it’s probably gonna sound bad. But… did you know it was me, earlier?”
This time, you shake your head. It’s not disbelieving; it’s firm. You had no idea. And you don’t want him to think otherwise.
“No. Remember, you were supposed to be a T-Bird?” He makes a face at the reminder. “Did you know it was me? You made the move, after all.”
He scoffs. “Like dragging me to dance wasn’t making a move.”
“I hardly had to drag you,” you point out. This kind of half-teasing argument is nothing new between the two of you. The subtle tension in your words is. And the feelings behind them.
The sharp scrape of his fork against his plate makes you wince. Maybe this isn’t something you should be talking about right now — or better yet, at all. You can’t stop, though.
“Luke, did you know it was me?” you prompt again.
“Of course not,” he says, tensing. “I wouldn’t have- I mean, we aren’t-”
“I know,” you answer. “We aren’t.”
Your eye contact with him is purposeful. His flick back down to his food too fast. Something turns in your stomach. It might actually be your food, flipping and spinning like a gymnast trying to compete with Simone Biles.
But it shouldn’t be, is the part that you keep getting caught on. In the entire history of your relationship, you’ve never had feelings for Luke that go past friendship. Not since you first scared him in the haunted house where you met, not since his friend group grabbed you when you switched to the outside shift afterwards to congratulate you on making him jump. Not even since your “identical twin” actress friend declared that you were “full of spooks” and Luke, in a surprising bout of courage and calm, turned it into your nickname forevermore.
The whirlwind in your head keeps you quiet until Luke’s food is finished. When he looks up, his brows furrow at your mostly-full plate.
“Spooks, you’re supposed to eat that, y’know,” he says, and you can’t fully hide the way his voice startles you back to the present. His brows furrow. You don’t give him a chance to speak.
“I think it’s time for me to go home,” you tell him, not entirely honestly. When he opens his mouth to question or protest, you continue, “Please. I don’t feel good.” Which is the truth. It doesn’t have to be physically.
Silence falls between the two of you again on the short trek from the diner back to your apartment building. A chill has permeated the air. The catsuit is thin. You wrap your arms around yourself to fight off a shiver. Luke notices, and visibly decides against saying something. You decide against interrogating him about it.
Neither of you knows what to say once you’ve gotten into your lobby.
“Um, goodnight,” you try. That’s a start.
“Take care of yourself, Spooks. Tomorrow morning is probably gonna be rough,” Luke attempts a joke. It falls flat.
You respond in earnest anyway. “Will do. Good luck with your flight tomorrow. And the game and all.”
Step by step, you ease away from him. With each one you take, it gets a little easier to breathe. He watches you go. There’s a sadness in his eyes that you haven’t ever seen directed at you before. Not about you, really. He’s made the same face after getting injured or eliminated from the playoffs. You don’t understand it in this context.
“Yeah, we’ll try. Goodnight,” he tells you finally in a sort of choked voice, punctuating it with a jerky nod.
He’s chivalrous to wait until you’re in the elevator to leave. Once you get into your apartment, you watch his retreating figure through the window. You can’t shake the feeling that tonight has changed both everything and nothing between you and your friend. And you can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
At work – haunted house work, not your day job – you tell your work bestie about it. Liz, ever the pessimist, is someone that you can always trust to help ground you. Her advice on this particular matter is dealt casually while she changes her everyday goth look to that of a deranged clown killer.
“Go for it. Ruin that friendship as much as you can,” she tells you.
“Liz-” you cut yourself off with a huff. “That’s really not what I was hoping you’d say.”
Her girlfriend Daisy, who she met through this thing – after all, she was the identical twin who earned you your nickname – chimes in. “It’s so romantic! Two friends, where no one else thinks there might be anything, but secretly you burn for each other.” She drapes one hand across her forehead dramatically as she leans over you, but you know who she’s looking at. Her girlfriend just snickers in response.
“That’s just it, though. There was no burning or pining or anything of the sort until I thought he wasn’t… well, himself,” you insist, shutting up just to apply your lipstick. You check out the final look in the mirror. Then you smack your lips together, rubbing until the makeup is faded at the edges. It has to look messy. You need to look as fresh out of the grave as you feel.
Neither of your friends says anything. Eventually, you look up at them in the mirror. Daisy is affectionate, so you expected maybe a quiet kiss. But no. It looks like they’re having an entire conversation with their eyes.
“I’m not sure what you want us to say about it, Spooks,” Liz says. “Honest. I’ve always found that the best relationships are built on solid friendships.”
“Maybe it’s worth exploring,” Daisy offers.
You bite the inside of your cheek. Not hard enough to break the skin, but just enough to hold onto it. If only you could do that to your friendship — and just friendship — with Luke.
“I don’t know, guys,” you conclude, and they just sigh. In unison. As if they were the creepy identical twins.
“Okay, listen,” Daisy tries a different approach. “When you didn’t know that Spider-Man was Luke, what did you like about him? And I want you to really think about this.”
So you do. Mentally, you separate the earlier-in-the-night Spidey from Luke’s post-reveal Spider-Man. It’s certainly not easy. Both of the girls’ eyes are on you. You feel it more than see it as you stare up at the dimly lit ceiling.
“Okay,” Daisy continues to guide you when it appears that you’ve done it. “What drew you in?”
“He knew who I was,” you answer immediately. “That was the first thing.” Your friends look confused. “Not as in, like, he knew I was me. He recognized the character that I dressed up as, and you only know about her if you watch the Spider-Man cartoons or read the comics. That was definitely attractive to me.”
Liz nods. “Makes sense.”
“And he was just so…,” you trail off, unsure how to phrase it without bashing your friend. “Much more secure in his own skin, I guess. Maybe because he knew people would have a harder time recognizing him. Confident, even. It’s hard to deny good old-fashioned confidence.” Your friends stay quiet, giving you time to add, “And he was a better dancer than I ever thought Luke Hughes would be. Not that I was making that comparison in the moment.”
The comparison makes Daisy giggle. Liz is still thinking, which contorts her clown makeup in a way that almost makes you laugh.
“Okay,” she finally tells you. Her voice is even, measured, her words deliberately chosen. “And you never saw any of that in Luke?”
You shake your head, quickly. “No, he was just… Luke.” A little spindly, sometimes awkward and quiet. He would get homesick on occasion, and usually he would seek you out because he said you treated him like any regular guy.
And you did so even more when he was in the costume, you realize. The way you met, both of you had made an impression on the other even before you’d properly spoken. Maybe this is how it would have gone in a regular situation. If you had met in a bar or club instead of a haunted house, that is. Working in it every year is your regular.
It’s like the realization only hits you after Liz and Daisy’s prompting.
“Okay,” you say, raising your hands in self-defense. “So maybe there’s more to Luke than I expected, and maybe I’d like to know that side. But!” You raise a finger, pointing it at both of them. “Ruining the friendship is a two-way street. If he doesn’t want to, then it’s not gonna happen.”
Luke doesn’t text you at all over the course of the day. Or the next day, when you know he’s not on a plane because they’re playing in Toronto. It makes sense that he’s not texting you when he’s on the ice, of course, you’ve always understood how time-consuming practice and actual games are. And it’s not like you’re texting, either.
Still, you watch the game. The effort you put into sitting on the couch without biting your nails requires near-intensive focus. So when your phone does eventually buzz, you almost jump out of your skin. It’s entirely uncharacteristic. That’s supposed to be your job.
One of your co-workers needs you to pick up their shift on Saturday. Something about an urgent family matter that they’re leaving town for. You work Friday, and you worked last Saturday. You’re supposed to alternate shifts each week.
But it’s whatever. You’ll take it.
The third day of silence dawns cloudy. It’s colder than it has been in a little bit. The cool air reminds you of walking home after everything that night, trying not to freeze under the thin material of the catsuit. So you bundle up a little bit before you go to grab breakfast, putting on one of the hoodies from the hall closet.
Your attention is held fast by your phone. Texting and walking isn’t the best idea, but you’re consulting the girlfriends on what to do if another full day goes by without hearing from Luke. Daisy suggests “seducing” him, and you’re busy replying that you aren’t a witch or succubus when someone grabs you by the arm to stop you from walking out into a street.
“Hey there, Spooks,” Jack grins, hair tucked into a beanie so small it more closely resembles a skull cap. “Where’ve you been hiding since that party?”
You glance down at his hand. He releases you, and only then do you respond. “Been working. Where’s Luke been hiding? Still in Toronto?”
His brows furrow. “No way he hasn’t texted you yet.”
“Way.”
“He said that he didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t think that dummy would just…” Jack can’t figure out what to say, you think, so he just gestures at you and your phone, still in your hand. “You know?”
You shake your head. “No. Not really.”
Jack sighs at the deadbeat tone. “He shouldn’t be ignoring you,” he admits. “But I guess, if you haven’t texted him either, it’s not really ignoring?”
“Yeah, it is.” The tone of the correction is sharper than you meant for it to be. Maybe you’ll get a chance to apologize later. Right now you have a point to make. “We’re ignoring the situation. Letting the friendship fester and rot more with each passing day.”
“Well, that’s dramatic,” he declares after a short pause. “You know, you could always text him first. I gotta get going, but think about that, will ya?”
Jack doesn’t even wait for you to bid him goodbye before taking off. They have a game today, you remember. He probably wants to get his nap in before it happens.
You do think about texting Luke first. For the rest of the day, in fact. But what would you even say? You’ve never had to think about what you would text to Luke before. Sometimes it would only take a few words to set up hanging out. On rare occasions, you would just use emojis.
And maybe you are being a little dramatic, like almost all of your friends have told you by now. Most of the first period of Luke’s game is spent scrolling through photos of you two and everything you’ve done together, starting with that very first night.
It’s distracting, how not-really-stranger Spidey-Luke and Luke, your buddy, are beginning to bleed at the edges. The two are blending into each other in your head. You catch yourself wondering if perhaps, somewhere buried deep beneath the surface, you’ve actually been attracted to Luke this entire time.
Then you receive a text.
“Hey,” it reads simply. “Maybe we should talk about the party. I miss ya, bud.”
Alarms start going off in your head. Something pangs in your stomach. Your heart might just thump itself right out of your chest. Absently, you think to yourself that this is probably how becoming a literal zombie feels.
You blink against the spots forming at the edge of your vision. Your phone, held in a desperate clutch in front of you while your hands turn into withered claws, seems to be typing something out by itself.
“I’m sorry. I think I just need a little more space still.”
There’s no response. He’s probably heading back out to the ice — the second period starts in only a couple of minutes. But in your head, you picture him frozen. Not burning for you. Just shocked. Offended, maybe.
You aren’t sure if what you told Jack earlier will back up your statement or disprove it.
Tomorrow, you vow to yourself, you’ll own up to this in the group chat with Daisy and Liz. For now, you turn your phone off so you don’t feel the need to block Luke’s number altogether.
If the kiss was something that your friendship might ever bounce back from and grow past, what you’re doing now might be the actual catalyst for the end of any relationship you’ll ever have with Luke. For good.
It feels so much more like a compulsion than a choice.
“Okay, but you see how this isn’t healthy, right?” Daisy asks one night (and a few more texts from Luke asking to talk it out) later over a video call to get the approval for your full haunted house costume. You couldn’t stop the conversation from turning to your newly-estranged friend.
Liz chimes in from her spot under her girlfriend’s arm. “You’re pretty much cursing yourself to a lifetime of loneliness instead of just accepting that your relationship with this guy would’ve had to change no matter what.” She stops to think for a moment, then adds, “Just because you have the power to tell him that you need space doesn’t mean that you should use it. Or that you actually need to.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell her, turning to look at yourself in the mirror instead of on your laptop screen.
Daisy gasps. “Oh my gosh, are you not talking to him because you finally realized you like him and now you’re scared of him rejecting you without you even confessing?”
Your head swivels, wig hitting you in the face from the force. “Daisy!”
“She nailed it, didn’t she?” Liz asks, looking back and forth between her girlfriend and her girlfriend’s phone. “I got such a smart one.” Rolling your eyes, you turn away once more. You don’t actually have to dignify Daisy’s theory with a response. But the more you think about it, the more-
There’s a buzz at your door. You’re not expecting anyone. Blood rushes through your ears. Over the sound of your own heartbeat, you think you can hear your friends’ faint voices asking why you’re acting so weird all of a sudden. Or something like that.
Creeping out into the hallway, you grab the baseball bat leaning against your dresser. Liz and Daisy’s voices grow more alarmed. The sounds barely register.
Each step closer to your front door becomes accompanied by a deep breath to prepare yourself for whatever may be on the other side. Honestly, you aren’t even sure what you’re expecting. Or what would be scarier – Luke, or a legitimate Jason Voorhees-style serial killer? (Which, honestly, in your current fake blood-stained getup, you kind of resemble. So maybe they’d be threatened enough to run off. You don’t think Luke would be.)
But when you finally yank the door open, one hand gripping the bat tightly over your shoulder like you’re about to swing for the fences, you find no one.
If someone had been there, it would look like something straight out of a cartoon. Your gaze slides from eye level to the floor, where a big brown paper bag sits, the top folded and stapled neatly. A note is tucked under the staple. Luke’s scrawl is recognizable from here. Huh. You didn’t realize that there would be a stapler in his and Jack’s apartment.
You poke your head out of your door to look up and down the hall before grabbing the back. Just to check if the delivery person is watching for you, you reason with yourself. But deep down you can’t deny the flash of hope that Luke did it himself, and that he might be waiting to make sure you get it.
Daisy and Liz are in the middle of an almost heated discussion when you get back, but they fall silent as soon as you’re back in sight of the camera. Just for a moment. Then they both start talking at once.
“Was it Luke?” Daisy questions, at the same time as her girlfriend demands to know, “What even was that?”
All you can do is hold up the bag. You haven’t even read the note yet, but you can see that it’s addressed to “Spooky, the Black Cat to my Spider-Man.” How is it so new to you yet so quintessentially Luke? It makes you miss him. And that, in turn, brings a tear to your eye.
“Oh,” Daisy says softly. “It’s okay, our little schoolgirl athlete zombie thing. Let those big feelings out.”
It probably isn’t meant to be as condescending as it comes across, but her tone makes you want to suck that tear right back into your tear duct.
“I’m… gonna go now,” you decide, reaching to press the ‘Leave’ button on the call. “You guys have a good one. See you at work tomorrow.”
You don’t even change before you dive into the bag. Obviously, you read the rest of the note first. It seems that Luke has maybe finally accepted that you don’t want to talk right now, but he says that when you are ready he’ll be waiting. And adds in parentheses that it might not be super patiently. But he’s trying his best to wait for you to be ready, he promises.
It’s a relief when the note ends talking about how much he values you as a friend and as a person. That doesn’t seem like he’s preparing to dump you from his life for good, at least.
But it’s what he left inside the bag that makes you feel truly seen and cared for even in your silence. A takeout meal from the 24-hour diner that you ate at after everything started changing, plus a box of cocoa mix with marshmallows to help you warm up after long shifts in the cold haunted house. You barely remember telling him about that, that’s how early in your friendship it was mentioned.
Your girl friends agree with you the next night: it’s probably high time that you start figuring out this whole thing with Luke. So you send him a text that you know probably won’t get a response until very, very late tonight or even tomorrow morning. He has a game, after all. But it’s not like that’s a huge problem – you’re working your regular shift at the haunted house tonight.
Part of the point of the alternation system at your particular “scare factory” is that the same characters won’t be in the exact same places two nights in a row. No one is supposed to be able to expect what’s coming to them. So tonight, you get to be a zombie cheerleader in one of the bedrooms.
And you love working in the haunted house. You wouldn’t come back every year if you didn’t. There’s something about giving people an adrenaline rush that bounces right back to you. Tonight, however, you’re distracted. Illogical as it may be, you keep thinking that every tall guy is Luke. Every couple holding onto each other for dear life is what you and Luke could be. And every person who gets so scared that they end up running away from their group or buddy is you.
Scaring people is harder when you’re sad. If you could unsend the text completely, you would.
“Hey,” Daisy tells you when she comes to relieve you for a short break. “You look… bothered.” The screams of an approaching group alert you to their presence. It’s okay to have two zombie cheerleaders, for maybe one group, but you can’t stay here and chat. She knows it as well as you do. “Talk to me about it later?”
Even though you don’t have time to hesitate, you do. But you nod after a second and jump into one of the fake closets to hide. You’re not going to jump out. You just don’t want to be a part of the experience right now.
In the break room, you slip on a pair of headphones and pull your phone out of your locker. This is now wallowing time. You don’t want to hear the – slightly muffled – sounds of the attraction around you.
Except the first song that comes on is one that Luke introduced you to. And the second. And he’s turned on read receipts, for some reason, so you know that he saw your text at some point during the game. But he still hasn’t responded. It’s only the beginning of the second period, according to a quick check. Maybe he didn’t have time.
Maybe he’s decided that he hates you sometime in the past day. There’s really no way of knowing, after all.
Gripped by a mild panic, you add to the original text you sent him. You tell your maybe-still-friend that he doesn’t have to respond at all, that you know you’ve made the whole situation weirder than it has to be and you’re so sorry. And that, seriously, there is no obligation for him to stay friends with you or pursue something romantic out of pity, if that’s what it is. You’re a proud person. That might just break you. But you don’t actually text him that last part.
By the time your break is over, you’ve sent him another three texts, and you’ve overcome with a wave of guilt.
“I blocked him,” is all you announce to Daisy when you return to your post. “I think it’s for the best.”
The glare she sends you on her way out is nothing short of impressive. Intimidating, even, for someone who usually has so much pep. You know you aren’t going to like what she and Liz will have to tell you when the haunted house closes. But at least you can avoid it for another few hours.
You’re in the middle of chasing a particularly gym bro-looking dude out of your bedroom when the kid appears. Now, you always make sure to go easier on little ones. It doesn’t ever feel like it’s really their fault that they’re walking through a scare-based attraction. Who are you to take it out on them?
“You’ve got pretty eyes,” you tell them, bending down into a ‘sorority squat’ and placing your pom-poms on your knees.
“T-thanks,” they tell you.
“Mind if I borrow one?” you ask, quickly reaching for one of the jars on a nearby surface. “I’ll give it back someday, promise.”
This is when the kid surprises you. She steels herself, taking a deep breath in and planting her feet. Then she looks you dead in the (undead) eye.
“No thank you,” she responds calmly. “But I am lost. I think you’re an adult. Can you please help me find my family?”
Taken aback, you return to your full height. “Come sit on the bed. Give me one second,” you tell her, swapping out the jar in your hand for the walkie-talkie that every one of your co-workers keeps on their person or out of sight in their assigned rooms. The message you put out is simple. “Hey guys, I’ve got a little girl here who can’t find her family. Is anyone looking for a kid or sibling?”
While you wait for a response, you join her on the bed. Maybe she just got ahead of her group. She watches you carefully as you sit. After a moment, she speaks. Her little voice is small, just the slightest shake to it that you can tell she’s trying to hide.
“I like your shoes,” she says. You look down at them.
“Oh yeah?” you reply, trying to stay at least partially in character. “I like yours. Do they light up?” She nods. “What’s your name?”
“Helena,” she tells you quietly.
She relaxes a little bit as you talk to her. “That’s a beautiful name. A lot of my friends around here call me Spooks or Spooky.”
“Hi, Spooky.”
“You know,” you tell her, starting to relax, “You’re being very brave by coming in here. That’s so cool of you.” This makes her smile. Her thanks is quiet, but it’s definitely there. Your walkie-talkie crackles, reports of the other actors and coordinators stopping what they’re doing to help Helena find her family again. “I think my friends have found your family. Do you want me to take you to them?”
It’s silent, but she nods. Her blink is slow when all the lights in the building flick on. You know people are going to complain about it – what can you do, though? She’s just a little kid. Helena takes your hand to jump down from the bed, letting you lead her farther down the path to the “backyard,” where her family is. It’s all cheap astroturf and ceiling projections to create the illusion of a yard surrounded by trees inside the old factory, but whatever.
Your new maybe-friend’s reunion with her family is very sweet. Before they get escorted out of the house, Helena turns back to you. “Thank you, Spooky. You were so nice. I couldn’t have been brave without you.”
She turns around one more time on the walk out to wave at you and stomp her shoes so you can see how they light up in the returning darkness. You wave your goodbye, too. Then you return to your post.
Helena and Luke play on your mind for the rest of the evening. Sometimes together, sometimes separately. She reminded you a little bit of him – seeming so out of place in your environment, trying so hard to stay calm and collected even as you fought to agitate them.
Maybe you should unblock him, you think after cleanup on the drive home. Unfortunately, you’re dead on your feet after the emotional exhaustion of the night. You forget to do anything with your phone at all before you fall asleep.
When you arrive at the warehouse-turned-Halloween-attraction that you call your “home away from home” on Friday afternoon, one of the “managers” of the place comes out to greet you with a nervous smile on their face.
“Listen,” they say, in the kind of tone that implies they know you aren’t going to like whatever they tell you. “We really appreciate you covering Mason’s shift tonight, but we don’t need any more female characters.” Oh no. Yeah, you realize, you definitely aren’t going to like wherever this is going.
Still, somehow, you end up wearing someone’s old football gear under an oversized sweater to hide your feminine features. Your face is covered by a knockoff Ghost Face mask, your hands (and Halloween-themed nails) by gloves. A hoodie is secured over your hair. By all means, you’re unrecognizable. One of the other actors even mistakes you for Mason while you’re sitting in the break room.
The one benefit of being tonight’s slasher is your position: jumping out of a storage closet in a hallway to help quicken pace. You’re so focused on your timing that you almost forget about the catastrophe of last night.
Not just Helena getting separated from her family, about which one of the heads of this place released a short PSA in the group chat, but also about Luke. About you and Luke. And you running away from him yet again.
It’s not too far into the night when you think you see it: a Spider-Man costume. Not too detailed, not too plain, walking hesitantly down the hall past your hiding place. He is going slow, so you jump out like you’re supposed to.
Most people turn around, try not to jump out of their skin, and then take off. One girl laughed. What Spidey does is even more shocking: he turns around and pulls up his mask to see better. You get maybe one second where Luke is squinting at you before he’s pulling you back into your hiding place, shutting the door firmly behind the two of you.
“Spooky,” he says, certainly. “I’m sorry. I’m not that patient.”
“How did you-” you start to say. Your breath is kind of getting stuck in the mask, so you pull it up and off your face. Then you finish asking your question. “Luke, how did you know that it was me?”
And it’s pretty hard to see in the darkness of the closet, but you think he tucks his mask into a pocket in his sweatpants. His tone is almost incredulous. “Come on. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.”
Something about the way he says it stings. You flinch back. Somehow, he notices.
“No- damn, Spooks, I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries again. “I mean… I’m not gonna be stupid enough to let you slip through my fingers again. I was, like, so intense about looking at every scary person tonight. I know I was pissing off some of your friends.”
Finally, for maybe the first time all week, you just wait. You let him say his piece. And you’re determined to stay silent until he says all of it.
“Spooky, I’m being completely honest when I say this: I had no idea it was you at the Halloween party. Before I came over, I could only see your back. I was definitely looking at you in a completely different light than normal. I saw someone who was confident in herself, who I thought wanted to be seen in that kind of way, someone who had shared interests with me. You looked a lot like someone I would want to try something long-term with.” He pauses, swallowing nervously. “After building a solid, foundational friendship, though.”
Even if you can’t see his eyes very well right now, you can feel them. They weigh heavy as the meaning of his words starts hitting you.
“And when I realized that you were you,” he continues, “I was confused at first. I’m not gonna lie about that. But the more I thought about it, the more I just thought it… made sense. You and I.” You raise an eyebrow, forgetting for a second how crappy the lighting is in the closet. “And I think you were seeing something in me that night that maybe you hadn’t thought about before, too.”
This time, you nod. You’re pretty sure that he knows, somehow. Maybe the Spidey-senses are kicking in.
“Spooky, I want to date you. I want to kiss you more and I wanna marathon all those horror movies you like with you tomorrow after my game. And I’d be really grateful if you’d just… let us explore those feelings, instead of running from them. But…,” he trails off for a second, voice growing quieter. Someone screams in the distance. You nearly forgot that you’re shut in a closet in the middle of a haunted house. “...if you don’t want to do that, if you’re still not ready to talk about it, I can just go and we can pretend this never happened, I guess.”
His voice is thick with emotion. You kind of wish that you were still wearing the mask. Even in the dark, you’re pretty sure he can tell that your eyes are getting glassy.
“Spooky, can you please say something?”
Luke sounds as scared as you’ve ever heard him. He didn’t sound like this when he was talking to his friends the night you first met. He doesn’t even sound like this when he talks about facing legends like Alex Ovechkin and Sidney Crosby on the ice. No, this is something entirely new. Different.
Still, you don’t say anything. You take small steps, closer and closer to where he is. There’s nothing on his suit that you can use to get a good grip on him. So you reach up, interlock your fingers behind his neck, and pull him down into a kiss.
Just like they were almost a week ago, his lips are soft. Maybe a little cold. He tries to mumble something without breaking the kiss. You can’t make it out, especially over the background noise, but you can definitely feel his smile. His cold fingers are creeping under your oversized hoodie to twist around the belt loops of your pants.
The closet’s felt chilly for most of the night. Not anymore.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out when you finally part. “I should’ve kissed you so much sooner.” All you can respond with is a small giggle before he’s pulling you back in again, murmuring something else about “should’ve done this that night, too.” Maybe you agree with him. Maybe you don’t. Your fingers find themselves tangling into his hair either way.
There’s a small voice in your head that’s desperately trying to convince you to jump out of the closet at someone. A few people must have passed by during the time you’ve been in here. But the much larger part of you, the one that’s winning, has decided that you’re not letting go of this – of Luke – until someone forces you to.
He must have had the same thought.
“Wait, wait,” he stops kissing you, only pulling back far enough to talk, resting his forehead on yours. “You’re at work.”
“It’s not like it’s my day job,” you try to tell him, tugging at his curls to bring him back to you again.
“No,” he says softly, then stronger. “No. Look at me.”
Your vision feels a little hazy – maybe that’s just some of the fog machine drifting in from a room over – but you do it. Luke places his hands on your face to make sure you don’t look away when he talks.
“You love this job,” he reminds you. “You’ve been here for, like, five years. It would be such a shit move if the first thing I did after you started liking me back is get you fired.”
Most of this encounter has reminded you of Spider-Man Luke, from the Devils’ Halloween party. And you think that was on purpose. But this – this is all Luke, the one you’ve known and loved platonically for years. The confidence, the decision in his words isn’t something you’re quite used to yet. But he doesn’t feel like two different people anymore.
“I think I’d be okay getting fired for you, Luke Hughes,” you tell him quietly, grip on his hair getting softer despite your words.
“I wouldn’t be okay with it, Spooky.” This is when you realize – he hasn’t called you by your original nickname since he first dragged you in here. You’ve changed to him. It’s almost final. Your relationship is about to change.
But it doesn’t feel like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff anymore. This isn’t going to push you over, so that you fall and may or may not land on the cold, hard ground. Luke’s got you. Everything’s changing around you two, together.
While you’re just looking at him, he glances around and makes a decision for you.
“I’m going back out there and finishing this,” he says. “But, after the game tomorrow… horror movie marathon? Just you and me?”
“My place or yours?” you ask simply.
“Yours, duh. Jack’s been annoying me about us all week. I don’t think he could handle seeing it in person.”
The last kiss you get is confident, quick, but full of promise. And then Luke is out the door and lightly jogging down the darkened hallway. You need another minute to collect yourself before you can even right your mask back on your face. Thank goodness he didn’t do any damage to your costume.
You almost sleep through the game. Feeling guilty after getting distracted on the job (even though it was 100% worth it), you stayed late to help clean up the place a little more than you normally do. And you sprayed the costume with disinfectant.
But Luke and his team make it a game worth waking up for, and you’ve even managed to shower during a break between periods so you don’t still reek of cleaning supplies and sweat by the time he arrives. You debate with yourself after the game ends – put something cute on, or remain in your sweatpants. If this were more than a week ago, you wouldn’t even consider dressing up for Luke. Now, you don’t know what to do.
For once, when you consult them, Daisy and Liz are in agreement: stay in what’s comfortable for you. He was your friend even before you kissed. This shouldn’t have changed that.
When he walked away from you, you were so sure that he liked you enough to make something work here. Now, you’re pacing to exorcise the residual anxiety of the whole situation. Any sound in the hallway puts you on high alert. Luke has a key to your place. You could sit down in the blanket nest on your couch, if you wanted.
The knock on your front door nearly makes you jump out of your skin – just like it did the other night. Then, slowly, horribly, the lock clicks. The knob turns. As the door swings open, it reveals Luke, the hallway light flickering ominously behind him. Your breath escapes you more than you sigh it out.
“Spooky,” he says, smile audible as he shuts and locks the door. “Hey.”
“Hi,” you reply. Your voice is quiet. But at least you’ve come to a halt.
There’s a second where both of you remain silent. The tv is still off, waiting for you to direct it to a movie that’s going to unnerve your friend and make you laugh. Luke sets the plastic bag in his hand on your countertop as gently as he can before he surges forward to sweep you up in another kiss.
It takes your breath away. And it reminds you that, while you’ve been trying your hardest to paint this as a serious horror movie, it’s Casper at best. This is you getting a happy ending. This shouldn’t be scary.
“Nice penalty,” you tease him when you eventually part, his hands still tangled in your hair. He huffs out a soft laugh, close enough for you to feel it on your face.
“Ha ha,” he tells you, finally pulling back to show you the goods he brought. “I got your favorites, by the way. You’re welcome.” His voice trails off into a mumble about how nice he was to do that, and how you made fun of him anyway, and something else that’s definitely too quiet for you to hear.
“Yeah, Luke,” you double down on the teasing. “Hi, I’m your friend of several years, we tease each other as often as we’re nice to each other and that won’t change no matter how much we kiss in between.”
He pretends to think for a second. “You know what, that would actually help.” And he closes his eyes and puckers his lips, crouching just enough so you can reach his face. Sighing, you plant a quick kiss to his pout. “Much better,” he informs you in a mock-serious voice, re-opening his eyes and looking at you.
The underlying emotion in his gaze is not one you’re familiar with at all – it isn’t the lust that you felt at the party or in the haunted house closet, but it’s not the friendly affection of years past either.
“What?” you ask him, grabbing for a bag of your favorite candies. “What’d I do?”
“Nothin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I just like you. Feel lucky it turned out this way, you know.”
The admission is sweet. It’s not what you expected. “Me too,” you admit. “Now come on. It’s time to be terrorized.” He sighs, but takes the hand that you hold out and lets you lead him over to the couch. “Pick your poison.”
“Dealer’s choice,” he says, pulling on you until you’re leaning on him more than on the couch and draping a blanket over your laps. “I don’t care. I’m happy.”
“Not for long.” And although your sing-song teasing persists, you pick a movie that you know isn’t going to haunt him as long as some of the others would. You curl into him even more during the scarier parts, because he looks down at you and smiles instead of screaming at the screen.
When he somehow falls asleep on you in the middle of the second movie, you don’t disturb him. You switch it on to something quieter. Peaceful. Not just because it’s the path of least resistance – because it’s right. You think you’ve finally managed to accept that.
as childish as loving you may have been, part of me will remain forever young (just in case) [qh.43]
pairing: quinn hughes x reader, some johnathan kovacevic x reader
nickname: dimples
word count: 10.6k
summary: Life with Quinn Hughes, and what it looks like to recover from your first love-broken heart afterward while holding on to the life that you built, in part, around him.
You stare down at the jersey spread out on your comforter. It’s generic – red, with the name and number of an actual player on the back. The jersey itself really isn’t too offensive.
No, the actual problem is the note that came inside the box. Neatly typed out and printed just so as if it wasn’t sent to you by not one, but two players who wear a similar jersey on a regular basis. Probably luckily so, because most people wouldn’t be able to read the note if it were handwritten by either of them. Obviously, you’re not most people.
And you’re entirely unsure of what to do with the gift. So for the time being, you decide to leave it all on the bed.
Heading out to the living room for a tragic romance movie and snack binge, you let the paper fall back onto the jersey.
Facedown, so you can’t see the inscription: “There’s an ice-level ticket with your name on it. Come to the game. You don’t even have to talk to him. Love, your honorary little brothers… Jack and Luke.”
Let’s rewind a little bit.
You’re fourteen when a family from Canada moves into the house next to your family’s place on the lake. Your mom, ever the gracious hostess, drags you along to greet the neighbors with a candle and a tupperware container full of her secret-recipe chocolate chip cookies.
Standing off to the side as she talks to the woman who answered the door, you try to look around inside without being too obvious. It doesn’t look like there’s going to be anyone new to talk about cute boys with, someone to teach you makeup techniques and binge-watch The Vampire Diaries with.
In other words – it’s a total guy house.
“Yeah, our eldest is about your daughter’s age,” you overhear the lady telling your mom. She turns her head, calling out a name you’ve never heard of a kid your age having. “Quinn! Come here, please!” The moms resume talking during the wait.
And all of a sudden, there he is – his arrival announced by the scrambling of two younger boys behind him, who stay back, eyeing you and your mom like the two of you are foreign invaders. But the oldest boy walks right up to let his mom drape an arm over his shoulders and introduce him with an intense gaze that almost makes you shrink like his little brothers when it lands on you.
“This is my son, Quinn,” his mom tells your mom proudly. The two of them keep their eyes on the two of you, picking up on something you can’t understand yet.
There’s just something about his gaze. Even with the way you’ve stayed half-behind your own mother, Quinn seems to really see you.
You get pulled out of your near-trance by your mom all but pushing you in front of her, sharing your name with Quinn. “But we call her Dimples!” she makes sure to add, just to be embarrassing.
Blushing at the name, you start to turn away and hide again.
“Nice to meet you, Dimples,” Quinn takes it in stride, smiling wide and sticking out a hand like a proper gentleman. “Do you know how to play hockey at all?” He indicates the younger two behind him, still watching and waiting with bated breath. “We could use a fourth.”
“I don’t,” you tell him, adding confidently, “But I’m a fast learner.”
So the two of you finally look away from each other to silently ask your moms for approval. They only need to exchange one glance before his mom is inviting yours in to “cool off while the kids play,” and thus begins your friendship with Quinn. Really, all three of the Hughes boys.
Your friendship remains on pause at the lakehouse after that first summer. When you get your first smart phone after turning fifteen, Quinn is one of the first contacts you put in, at his own insistence.
“Because I need to be able to call you when our games are getting too unfair,” is his excuse. He only finds more as the summer goes on, and sometimes Jack or Luke somehow manage to figure out his password so they can summon you, too.
Everything changes between you and Quinn after you turn sixteen. He looks at you differently that summer. You get away with more while playing various versions of hockey because he refuses to guard you too closely. Jack and Luke complain that their brother’s starting to act like too much of a teenager.
Even worse for them, he stays in Michigan when they go back to Toronto so he can develop his hockey skills at a program not far from you.
The schoolyear is just beginning, the air still heavy with summer warmth. Your new-old car is almost always filled with friends to hang out at your family’s house, and somehow Quinn and a couple of his teammates become integrated into the group.
He sits with you, a little quieter than everyone else, just enjoying the various antics that come from your two friend groups being mixed. The two of you claim to be the token old souls out of everyone.
And one night, after everyone else has found a ride home or moved on to a livelier house, your head falls onto his shoulder during the movie he’s convinced you to watch. Neither of you say anything. There’s something precious here, something that might be broken by any sounds other than the movie.
Still, he adjusts behind you. His arm comes to rest on your shoulders, your body turning and curling into his like two puzzle pieces.
It just makes sense.
When you drive him back to his “dorm” after the movie ends, he sits in your car literally until the last minute before he has to be inside. It’s a more recent habit, only started in the past few weeks.
“You should probably go inside soon, you know,” you’re telling him when you realize he’s watching you instead of looking out the sunroof at the stars. “Quinn?”
“I will,” he says, voice maybe the lowest you’ve ever heard it. “Just gotta do something first.”
There’s some new song about electricity or something playing in the background, and your new air freshener has made your car smell a little too strongly of citrus. All of those sensations go out the window when Quinn’s hand comes up to rest on your face and bring you closer to him.
“Can I-” he’s trying to say, but you cut him off with your permission.
And it’s awkward, because of course it is. You can feel yourself shaking a little bit. Having forgotten to unbuckle when you parked, the seatbelt gets stuck now and you can’t lean into him like you want to.
But it’s perfect. Because Quinn Hughes finally kisses you.
Everything else seems to fall into place in the weeks following your first kiss. Quinn takes you out on a date (where you drive to get him and then he drives your car because he doesn’t have one in the program), and he asks to be your boyfriend officially. Your friends and families start teasing you about the new titles.
Still, you notice your moms’ proud smiles. Quinn’s roommate Brady says he called it. Jack and Luke ask you over video calls if you really want him, of all people, because he’s gross. Then he’ll kiss your forehead in view of his phone’s camera and they start pretending to puke.
The next summer, the two of you are enveloped in young love. It’s something out of a fairytale. You see Quinn nearly every day, and every day that you see him he greets you with a soft “Hi, Dimples,” and a kiss on the forehead. Which always results in you flashing the aforementioned dimples he loves so much.
Where one of you is, the other is surely not far. Whether that happens to be lakeside, playing in the yard, or in one house or another. Though a little farther away, Jack and Luke still keep pretty close too. They invade movie nights after long days out on the lake. They get jealous when Quinn tries to drag you away for some alone time.
And you’ve known for a while, but that summer is when the two of you start using the “L” word. Your parents don’t correct you or call you too young for it – they know it too.
Jack and Luke still pretend to be grossed out, but you know Jack’s started asking Quinn for girl advice. Luke’s getting used to your presence around the house. You’re really becoming part of the family, and so are your parents.
“Oh, we’re already wedding planning,” your mom likes to tease whenever you ask what her and Ellen talk about all day.
They aren’t the only ones thinking about the future. Quinn is a planner – and a worrier.
“We still want to go to UMich together, right?” he asks you one day while the two of you are hanging out in the hammock in your backyard.
“Of course,” you answer, arm over your face to block out the sunlight. “Why do you ask?”
You feel his shrug, even though you don’t see it. “I dunno, just with you wanting to go to great chemistry schools and all, you’ll probably want to go to like… an Ivy League or something.”
This time, it’s you who shrugs. “I’ll get my general ed stuff here, then move on to a more specialized place. I don’t think you’ll be sticking around college too long either, you’re too good for a team not to want you ASAP.” You poke him teasingly with your free hand.
He does laugh when your finger finds an especially ticklish spot. Since it seems like he’s lightening up a little, you keep talking. Keep reassuring him.
“We’re gonna be one of those couples that make it. A couple of years together in college, then splitting up for work or better school purposes, then I’ll graduate and we’ll take a trip with your big NHL bucks. Somewhere cool like London, or Paris or something.”
“I like the idea of London,” he says, a little absently.
You engage with it. “We’ll go ride that giant Ferris wheel, listen to the chiming of Big Ben and eat really sucky food.”
Finally, you get a real laugh out of him. “Goofball. I love you, Dimples.”
“I love you too,” you say, grinning and rolling over to press a kiss to his nose.
The afternoon fades away into laughter and loving smiles, much like the rest of the summer. It all goes by too fast.
By the next summer, the two of you have graduated and gotten into the University of Michigan. Jack and Luke are older now. They spend less of the summer figuring out how to bother you and their brother, more of it with their own friends from respective hockey teams. A new fantasy has formed of the boys owning a lake house on the same lake as their family.
The entirety of your two families are there on move-in day when you and your boyfriend start settling into your dorms. Quinn is preparing to get drafted during his first season, so you make friends with his teammates and their girlfriends. This fact doesn’t stop him from walking you to class and having movie nights as often as possible.
Freshman year just feels perfect. Most of the summer after that is similar, but your heart drops a little when Quinn gets drafted by the Vancouver Canucks. In Canada.
“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him over and over. “First round pick, and a higher one at that. Literally top ten. That’s my Quinn.”
You do your research – Vancouver is over a day’s worth of driving away, or at least a five hour flight. There are good schools on the West Coast, but none of them are close enough. Of course, you remember that there could have been worse teams drafting Quinn. Calgary, or Edmonton.
But this is the team that got him, and this is the team that ultimately takes him from you.
There’s a study abroad program at UMich which you can take over the summer that will more or less finance a trip to London. You tell Quinn about it, but he just looks at you sadly and says he’s not sure he’ll still be a student by the time it happens. So you just promise not to go without him and keep going with your life.
You ignore the way he withdraws from you and your mutual friends. You start making the plans for movie nights and meals together and weekend visits home to your families. It’s harder than it used to be, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love Quinn.
Because he’s still your Quinn. The one who sits quietly with you while you study, the one whose little brothers text you asking what a girl means when she says something specific, the one whose parents check in on you as much as they do for him. He’s a good guy, you keep telling yourself. He’s just struggling with the decision of staying or going.
Quinn thinks it’s merciful when he dumps you prior to leaving for Vancouver. You know he does, just from the way he talks.
“We’re just kids,” he’s explaining to you, defeated, as if you haven’t been by his side long enough to plan for this exact situation. “I don’t want to put the stress of long distance on us.” You start to protest, but his last words silence you effectively. “It’s not going to be worth it, Dimples.”
The taste of iron fills your mouth, so strong you can practically smell it. You’ve bitten your tongue too hard. Quinn keeps talking, leaving you to drown in the sensation.
“I’ll always love you though.”
Your heart clenches inside your chest. What right does he have to say that, when he can’t even look at you to say it? And the more you think, you realize that the distanced coldness of the past few weeks hasn’t been nerves for his upcoming move like you thought. He’s been planning this.
It’s all too convenient to be coincidence – in your dorm room so you can kick him out and don’t have to walk yourself back while you’re so upset, where he knows you have a stash of chocolates and snacks to comfort yourself. A snack collection that he refilled last night.
“Fuck off,” you mumble to Quinn, moving away from him. “Just get out of here, then. Go to Canada. Have fun. Enjoy your new life as a superstar.”
“Dimples-” he tries something. You’re not sure what it is. You don’t even want to see him anymore.
“No!” you shout, remembering you’re still in a dorm and lowering your voice a little bit. “You don’t get to act all high and mighty about this! We’ve been together for years, through highs and lows and even before you got drafted! We made all these plans for the future together, or did you forget that when you realized how close the future actually is?”
Quinn sits in silence. You hear him slump, start to fold in on himself a little.
“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, “I know I’ve earned this.”
“Oh really?” you counter. “As much as I thought I’d earned the right to stay with you even when you went away, or are you even more certain than that?” He flinches. You deflate, letting your head fall into your hands. “I’m sorry, Quinn. This is just… out of nowhere. I thought… I thought we were going to make it.”
You almost choke on the tears building in your throat. A hand reaches over and pulls one of yours away from your face, holding it softly but loosely enough for you to take it back if you want. You don’t want to.
“I’m always going to love you, but I’ve seen a lot of relationships destroyed by this kind of thing,” he explains further. “I thought that this might be easier for us. Just friends, until the circumstances are different.”
He’s on the verge of crying too. You can hear it in his voice, recognize it even though you’ve heard it very little over the years. And both of you know that you’re not really going to be friends.
Quinn says one more thing, thumb rubbing over your hand reassuringly. “I am always going to love you, Dimples. Please know that.”
“I love you too, Quinn.”
And then he lets go of your hand, and tears cloud your vision so bad you can’t even see him leave. Which is for the best, because you don’t want to. You turn over to curl up in a ball. That’s how your roommate Kelly finds you hours later – still crying so hard you can barely get out the words to explain. She takes your phone for you and calls your mom to come pick you up.
It’s a last-minute application. Somehow you get into the program going to London. It’s only six weeks, but they’re some of the best of your life. There’s even a cute guy with the most perfect accent who tries to flirt with you while you’re there, though you’re still too heartbroken to do anything besides smile and blush.
While you’re there, Jack gets drafted. First overall, which is a really big deal. You hear that much, but you aren’t sure where he’s going. Hopefully near his older brother since he’s going so young.
You get back home, and your mom pulls you aside almost immediately.
“Jack’s going to New Jersey,” she tells you seriously.
“Good for him?” you say, trying your hardest not to sound too sarcastic. “I really don’t see why you’re telling me, Mom.”
She sighs. “We know you’re still… reeling, from everything that’s happened in your last semester at UMich, but Ellen and I were hoping that you and Jack could sort of… lean on each other as you both get settled in there.”
“Mom…,” you try to start, but the words for protesting never really come. Jack and Luke never did anything to you. They’ve been as much your little brothers as his for years now. Of course you want to look out for Jack. Even if you’re not completely sure it’d be okay with him.
“Just as a favor for me and Ellen,” your mom says again. “At least while you’re only an hour away. She won’t have the luxury of being that close, and she’s worried.”
So you sigh, but agree to it. It’s not like you’d blocked the younger boys after getting dumped – just the one who did the dumping.
The first time you make the drive from Princeton to Newark, it’s just to take your mom to the airport since she helped you make the drive from Michigan despite you insisting that you could do it yourself. Jack isn’t in town yet – he doesn’t need to be until a little bit later.
You explore the city until the sun goes down, hoping to find places to ask him to try for you or peaceful little nooks for him to hide in. It’s not a horrible place. Ultimately, you’re okay with your little brother being here.
When Jack moves, he first lives with an older teammate. He makes sure to invite you over and introduce you as his “honorary big sister” to the family, who welcomes you almost as much as him.
Initially, he spends a lot of time with his team. He’ll text you on occasion, but he’s a big boy now – he’s doing his own thing. Then it transitions into asking you if you’ll come watch him play at home if he gives you one of his tickets. Eventually, Jack just asks you to hang out with him in Newark on weekend days when he doesn’t have practice.
“I’ve missed you,” he says one day, attention mostly on the NHL video game on the tv. “You weren’t around this summer.”
And he’s not a stupid kid. He knows exactly why you weren’t around, so you just shoot him a look.
“I know, I know,” he confirms, holding his hands up defensively. “Just missed you, all right? Me and Luke got used to seeing you all the time. Trevor was asking about you.”
You roll your eyes. “‘Course he was.” Then, a few seconds later, you add, “But I missed you boys too. Summer was weird without two little menaces running into my house to shoot me with a Nerf gun.”
He laughs at that. Jack’s always laughed the loudest of his brothers when he’s really laughing.
“There are some here if you’d like me to make up for the lost time,” he offers. “But I’m not sure whether they belong to Cory or his son, if I’m honest.” You shake your head. There’s no need for that. Plus, he’s locked in on his game, and you’re busy studying.
A few quiet minutes later, Jack starts talking again. “We all missed you.”
“All?” you question, knowing exactly who fits under that umbrella.
“All of us,” he repeats quietly.
You sit with the knowledge for a minute. Part of you is still angry, and that part wants to tell Jack that Quinn has no right to miss you after ending your relationship. But the more rational part of you – the one that wins the battle – knows that it’s not Jack’s fault that his older brother decided separating would be the best way to handle distance.
Sadness wins out in the end. So you tell Jack, “Me too,” and let that be the end of it.
Lockdown begins not too long after Quinn’s indirect confession through his younger brother. Jack goes home. You stay in New Jersey.
Classes are online, the hockey season is over, and your roommate went home to Connecticut to be with her family. Since Luke has started texting you again as well as Jack, their solution to your distance is often just to FaceTime you.
It quickly goes haywire. Calls are ended abruptly when a certain family member walks into the room, even though literally any other person in the house will go, “Oh, is that Dimples?” in an excited (but hushed) voice and come over to chat with you too.
Then, one day, Luke opens the call with a somber look.
“What’s up, buddy?” you ask, mostly focused on the homework in front of you. Chemistry labs are more difficult when you can’t actually perform the chemistry, you’ve learned.
“Quinn found out that we’ve been calling you,” he says sadly. “Asked us not to do it so much so he could ‘exist in his own home.’” He makes finger quotes as he talks. You see it out of the corner of your eye.
Not really knowing what to say, you decide to just apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that it was making him feel unwelcome.”
“It’s not fair, you’re pretty much our older sibling too,” he shrugs, a slight pout on his face. It’s a pout you know well – all three of them pout in exactly the same way, have ever since you first met their family.
So you shrug in response. What is there to say about it, really? You have less claim over his brothers than he does. And you know Luke knows it too.
A peaceful silence falls over the two of you as you do homework together, with Luke only every interrupting to ask you questions about math problems that he’s stuck on. Then you hear a knock on his door over the phone. Luke lets out a noise that sounds a bit like a yelp, putting himself on mute and shoving his phone under something so you can’t hear or see.
You know you’re in his earbuds, but you still keep quiet until he pulls the phone back out.
When he finally does he has another strange look on his face. Still, he doesn’t say anything about it. The conversation turns to his hockey season and what’s going to happen there. Most of it’s still speculation, so eventually you bring up this new show you’ve been binging when you aren’t on FaceTime calls with your parents or the boys.
You hear Ellen calling him for dinner.
“You better get down there, bud,” you advise him gently. “You know how she hates tardiness.”
“Guess I should,” he agrees, pausing. “Um, Quinn says hi, by the way.” He watches your face through the screen, waiting for your reaction before continuing. “Earlier. When I hid my phone. He still knew. I wasn’t sure whether it was sarcastic, though.”
You take a deep breath before answering. “Thanks for telling me, but you really should go down to dinner. I’ll talk to you later, I guess?”
Luke nods shortly before hanging up. Only when your screen goes dark do you let your head fall into your hands, the pain coming back as fresh as it was a year ago. Luke tries to call again later in the night, but you just let it ring.
That summer, your parents try their hardest to convince you to come home. Instead, you pick up jobs that you can do virtually – like tutoring – and keep yourself in Princeton.
“We can just all hole up in the lake house together,” your mom goads you. “It’ll be so cozy.”
“Sorry, mom, but I’m fine here,” you respond decisively. “This is where my life is now, and as much as I don’t like being far away from you and dad I am pretty happy about it.”
So she approaches it from a different angle. “Ellen and Jim and the boys miss you, but they aren’t even coming around so no one gets sick before hockey season. We just do distanced things in the yard.”
“One of those boys has no right to miss me,” you remind her, making her wince. “And I’m sorry to the rest of them, too, but he really ruined it for everybody.” Your mom isn’t the quietest person, but she doesn’t say anything after that. You sigh. “I’m sorry. I really am. But home is still too painful for me right now.”
“I understand,” she tells you softly. Even over the phone, you know her eyes are turning glassy. “I just wish I could hold you through it. You’re my baby. I’d hold you in my arms and protect you from the world again if only I could. Ellen felt the same way, you know.”
Her words make you start tearing up. “Mom,” you try to start, but get choked up. You take another breath. Ask a question to distract yourself. “What do you mean, Ellen felt the same way?”
“When Quinn moved to Vancouver,” she says, like it’s obvious. “He was in so much pain, so stressed, kept saying he broke something he could never fix.”
The silence hangs heavy over the line. Neither of you knows how to lighten it, and you’re also pretty sure that your mother was supposed to never ever tell you what she just did.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Could you visit me soon?” Your voice cracks on the very last word. “Please?”
Summer comes and goes. You never return to Michigan.
Your parents bring more of your clothes and belongings when they visit to help you move into an actual apartment instead of a student-geared one before your final undergraduate year of college. This one is a little closer to Jack, which doesn’t make a difference until he returns for the delayed start of his season.
Jack can’t really invite you to his games, but he asks you one favor: watch when you have the time. You never tell him, but you make the time. Always.
It’s not their best season, and for some reason people find it fitting to blame that on Jack. You call frequently, reminding him that he’s barely twenty (if that) and he’s playing better hockey than any of those people ever could.
“You’re on a team. Nothing is ever your fault individually, and if it is then something is seriously wrong,” you remind him over and over.
It sounds like he’s shaking his head. You’re not sure how you know that, but you can picture it. “You sound just like Quinn,” he points out.
Silence.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he corrects eventually. “You just… sound older sibling-y. Like, you’re telling me something that I might say to Luke.”
“Okay,” you say, and that’s it.
The two of you stop calling as often, but he still sends flowers when you graduate. The note reads “From the Hughes boys,” and you’d like to assume that he just means himself and Luke. But you know better.
Still, you don’t go home.
You start building your place in New Jersey into a home. No memories except the world starting to recover from a pandemic, no nagging exes or people next door that you used to think would become your family. You substitute in fellow grad students in the area, people who have niche interests and focuses just like you do. They teach you about theirs just like you teach about yours.
Even Jack and Luke fade from your mind until the NHL draft, when you see that Luke’s also coming to New Jersey. Your heart aches for the boys that you watched grow up. There’s nothing to confirm that they miss you just as bad.
In the video of Luke getting drafted, Jack immediately jumps up and hugs him first while Quinn hangs back. Their living room is full of celebratory friends and family members. Had you returned to Michigan this summer, had things been different, you wonder if you might have been there too.
Instead you just send him a congratulatory text along the lines of “don’t be a stranger.” You wish you didn’t recognize the hypocrisy or irony in it.
The young men who were once your little brothers do turn into strangers for a while. Luke stays at UMich through his sophomore season, just like his older brother did, while you go after your graduate degree.
You make sure to watch his first game in the big leagues, even if he won’t ever know that you did, playing alongside a Jack that you can tell is absolutely thrilled to have his baby brother finally with him. And you catch yourself smiling fondly at the screen, nickname-earning dimples still on display when the screen goes dark. It’s the first time in a long time that they’ve been so visible.
There’s a brief period after earning your MS where you do go back to Michigan. Since you haven’t been back in almost four years, now, and lived through a pandemic in New Jersey, it looks pretty different. Your parents are thrilled.
“The boys finally bought a lake house,” your mom tells you cheerfully on the way home from the grocery store one day. “On the same lake as one of Quinn’s friend’s family or somewhere. It isn’t too far from here at all.”
“Good for them,” you reply, even-keeled, looking out the window in case you cry. But you don’t. There isn’t even that familiar sting, this time. You’re certainly hurting, though not for Quinn – you miss the other two Hughes boys much more. Your younger brothers, your honorary family, who have grown up so much more in the past couple of years while you weren’t paying nearly enough attention. So you turn back to your mom. “I miss Jack and Luke.”
As if reading your mind, she says reassuringly, “I’m sure they miss you too.” It only takes a glance over at you for her to continue. “I can mention a little get-together with Ellen. Quinn’s out of town for some business with his team.”
Swallowing your immediate refusal, you nod. “I’d really love to see them again.”
They really want to see you again too, as it turns out. So badly that even Jim and Ellen show up to dinner with your family, before the boys are supposed to.
“Congratulations on another degree, Dimples,” Jim tells you as he sits down. “Your parents told us all about it. They’ve had to keep us updated on you for a while, you know.” He playfully wags his napkin-rolled silverware at you. “I don’t care what the kids say, you’ll always have family in Michigan.”
“Thank you,” you look down at your lap as you smooth out your own napkin. “It’s really not that big, though.”
“Your degree? No, Dimples, that’s huge,” you hear a voice behind you, the deepest you’ve ever heard it in person before.
Even though you shoot up out of your seat to throw your arms around him in a hug, Jack doesn’t stumble. He laughs, light and easy, as he squeezes you back. Luke’s hug is a little tamer, by a small margin. They fight for the seat next to you. Luke wins, and something about the way that he scoots his chair in even closer seems to make you think that they missed you, too. Maybe a lot more than either of them wants to let on.
“You’re still in Jersey, right?” Luke asks you halfway through dinner. “Most of the time?”
“Chew with your mouth closed, hon,” his mom reminds him, eyes still focused on your father as he and Jim discuss the upcoming hockey season. You raise your eyebrows. He scoffs.
Jack takes the opportunity to chime in. “Seriously, though, are you still around? You gotta come see a game sometime. Tell us what we’re doing wrong.”
There’s a glint in the eyes of the Hughes boys. You’ve been around a while, and not around for a little bit, but you can’t seem to place what this one means. It feels a little more meaningful than just them missing you. A little less serious than anything to do with their older brother.
“I don’t know hockey that well,” you try to excuse yourself.
“Dimples. Be for real,” Luke nudges you with his shoulder. “If we gotta have an excuse to get you season tickets, we’ll find one.”
You nearly choke on your food. He reaches over to pat you on the back anyway. “Guys,” you manage to say through your coughs, eyes watering, “that is not necessary.”
Apparently, though, it’s completely necessary.
It becomes almost a habit to leave work right at 5 on certain days. You sit in the car for maybe an hour and a half before making it to your third-row single seat donning a black or red hoodie over your work shirt.
Jack and Luke always acknowledge your presence. One or both of their big armored bodies will slam into the glass behind the goal, or a puck will. None of you says anything about it, even when Amanda starts asking them questions about their new ritual. You all know what it really means.
During that period when you were on your own trying to earn your master’s degree, you had started thinking that you were old. Your fellow academics invited you to board game and wine nights. Though you know now it was just a cheap bed meant for students, your back hurt daily. It seemed undeniable to you that some of the hair at your temple was beginning to lighten.
The Hughes boys are breathing life back into you this year, in a way. You meet other local friends of their teammates, who invite you out to bars and clubs to watch the team win or lose while they’re away. One of the younger trainers, Dana, even has you sleep over after games that just run too late.
You haven’t felt this fulfilled in a while.
It all seems to come crashing down on a random Tuesday during a home stretch for the boys in which they insisted on having a little Christmas dinner with you because Jack finally learned to cook. Your phone rings, and since it’s your mom, they let you step out to answer it.
“You’re still coming home for the holiday, right?” she launches right into a barrage of questions. “Your dad and I have your room all ready for you. My new friend Barb has this son, Martin, I think you absolutely need to meet. He seems very interested. And you don’t even have to worry about Quinn or anything, the whole family is going to Jack and Luke.”
Instead of answering like you planned, you fall silent.
“Dimples?” The prompt startles you back to the present. There it is, the one major thing you had completely forgotten after losing Quinn: your love life.
“Mom, I don’t even remember how to date at all, let alone know how to do it as an adult,” you try to excuse yourself quietly so neither of your little brothers hear.
She responds so nonchalantly you can see her waving her hand in dismissal at the phone. “It’s no big deal, honey, we can all have dinner together so the two of you can get comfortable! Barb wants to meet you anyway.”
Jack and Luke save you from trying anything else to wiggle out of it by calling you for dinner. Your mom bids you goodbye, making you promise to pass on her love and holiday wishes to the boys. Shellshocked, you walk back into their kitchen.
“Luke is saying that this isn’t salty enough, but-” Jack cuts himself off. “Dimples?”
His little brother shoots off of his stool. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“It’s stupid,” you shake your head. “Just dating stuff that Mom’s trying to drag me back into. Now, let me try that.” The boys’ obvious glance over your head as you taste the sauce in the wooden spoon carries more weight than you want to get into right now. Of course, that isn’t quite how they operate.
“You’re still not dating?” Luke’s question isn’t meant to come across as harsh as it does. Still, you just glare in response.
He backs off with his hands raised. Classic little brother move. Jack, in another classic little brother move, keeps poking and prodding.
“So, you like… want to be dating again? Or is your mom trying to force you to go on a date?” He plates the food as he says it, even without your stamp of approval, but oh well. There are bigger problems to be dealt with at the minute.
“Guys,” you try to end the conversation one more time, “I haven’t even thought about a date, singular, in…” You pause as you really think it over. “Four years. Look, the point of all this is I actually don’t care about dating and am very happy in my life without it. Okay?”
“Okay,” they chorus.
You still don’t miss the second glance between them.
When you come back from your little Christmas vacation, you don’t see the boys for a little bit. They’re away for a stretch, you’re busy for another. By the time you finally make it to a Monday night game, you’ve almost forgotten the conversation from all those weeks ago.
“So,” Jack starts in the hallway after the game before you head back to spend the night in Dana’s guest room. “We knew you would hate that guy your mom tried to pair you off with.”
Luke slings an arm over your shoulder. “And we’re pretty good matchmakers, honestly, can call a relationship a mile away-”
“-just like Quinn’s crush on-” Jack first cuts off his little brother, then himself, his face paling. The excitement with which he started speaking is gone. You try not to physically react. So Quinn is moving on, if he hasn’t already. Almost five years after the conclusion of your relationship, it’s probably about time you do, too.
“Good for him,” you smile, keeping your tone even. “So. You guys are gonna try and set me up or something?”
Another glance. Then both boys start nodding, slow, cautious.
“We made a list of potential dates, if you trust us,” Luke explains further, handing you an extremely wrinkled, folded piece of paper that looks like it was torn straight out of an old college notebook.
Dana laughs when you show it to her on the couch that night.
“Girl. You’re going to let two single hockey players try to set you up? Please,” she manages to tell you through her giggles, leaning in to examine it with you.
She’s right, the list is kind of ridiculous – ranging from team captain Nico Hischier to random locals they’ve met by chance and not even exchanged numbers with. Dana eyes it for another moment before turning to you, serious despite the laughter that had such a strong grip on her a minute ago. She goes as far as taking one of your hands.
“Seriously, though, do you think you’re really ready to put yourself back out there? Because I actually know some decent people.”
Which is how you find yourself at a Saturday game against Montreal almost a month later, almost bored to tears by the time warmups start. Queston – yes, that’s his actual name and what he goes by socially, you double checked with Dana – insisted on eating dinner at a local restaurant before heading to the game because the food is too expensive.
He’s chasing a PhD in accounting with the ultimate goal of becoming the CFO of a globally renowned company. The PhD is still taking time because he’s “really married to his work” right now.
You told Dana that you wanted the opposite of a hockey player. You said that you needed a guy whose life was boring, who was actually looking to settle, who had goals for himself besides scoring. Now, you think you might need to figure out what a good middle ground would be. Because this guy kinda sucks.
“You know,” he’s saying sometime during the third period, “it’s actually more financially responsible to be a soccer fan than a hockey fan.” The family on his other side is glaring. If you see them at the next game, you’re going to apologize. Really.
“In soccer, especially in European leagues like La Liga…” You tune him out now that you’ve decided there will not be dessert or a second date, leaning forward to watch the guys you actually want to see tonight.
A tall Canadien defenseman hits the glass in front of you. You’re not sure, but you think Luke pushed him, so you jump up and yell as the scrum starts. “Come on, 43! You’re better than this!” You love the kid, but he’s no fighter. You’ve learned that well in all your years of watching him play hockey.
As it turns out, it wasn’t even Luke’s fault, but still. The Montreal player looks up, and you swear he shoots you a smirk before skating off towards the penalty box. You sit back down, hard. Woah.
When your friend asks about the date later that night on your drive home, you shake your head before answering.
“I’d say it was forgettable if it weren’t for that name,” you tell her, maybe a little too honestly. “The game was the best part.” Maybe she can hear how your voice changes. Maybe she wants to know why. No matter the reason, she waits dutifully for you to go on. “I almost forgot how attractive hockey players can be sometimes.”
“Don’t we all,” she comments dryly, before immediately launching into a tale of the injury she had to treat this week so someone or other could play tonight (she never names names so she isn’t technically violating any rules, but sometimes you still figure it out).
Between Dana and the Hughes boys, you rack up enough dates that you start feeling okay about potentially being in a long-term relationship again, whenever it finds you.
You don’t pay much attention to the Devils’ team dealings, especially over the summer. There is one week that you spend back at the lake house with your parents, when you find out that Quinn’s crush isn’t going to be around at all next summer and he’s torn up about it.
And you expect it to pull on your heartstrings. You expect it to bring tears to your eyes. There’s finally proof, solid word that the two of you will not be together again – isn’t that heartbreaking? But it’s really… not. So Quinn’s found love again. Your world has moved past him. He’s hardly even in your orbit, now.
His brothers, on the other hand? All up in your business. They use that week to talk you into accepting season tickets again. You insist on contributing financially to get even better seats – glass or bust. It makes them laugh.
Come the first home game of the season, you’re a few seats away from the penalty box. As your honorary little brothers and their teammates (both familiar and unfamiliar to you) play, you jump up and down as often as the kids who came to your row to catch pucks during warmups.
You and the boys start to fall into the same routine as last year. At least, you plan to.
Someone catches your eye early on in their second home game – in a different jersey than the one you first noticed him in, but sporting the same penalty-earned smirk that he first cast your way when you were on that horrible date. Just for kicks, you lean forward to hit the glass in support.
He winks at you.
You’re completely taken aback when, before you say goodbye and head home for the night, Luke brings him up.
“So you remember that guy who got the penalty for tripping that kid?” he asks, looking a little bored and confused.
“Very specific, Moose,” you tease, still adding, “But yeah, yeah I do.”
When Jack butts in this time, his excitement doesn’t get dampened. “He was asking about you! He figured out you were our friend and he said ‘you know, the pretty one, with the dimples?’ There’s no way it was anyone else.”
“Well, what did he want?” you prompt them as they grin at each other.
Luke glances down the hall. Before you turn to follow his eyes, he looks back at you and speaks. He sounds almost nervous. “He, uh… he wanted your number.”
No, you realize, it’s hesitation in his voice. He’s heard about your luck with dates since Dana started setting you up, he knows why you took another break from it. But you turn, and lock eyes with the still-unnamed defenseman down the hall outside the locker room. He grins at you.
“Okay,” you tell Luke and Jack. “Go ahead and share it.”
Johnathan Kovacevic is not the best with timing, you realize pretty early on in your time texting him. Because he texts the next morning just as you’re clocking into work, and because maybe the only time you’ll both be available is supposed to be the Devils’ annual Halloween party. But that just gives him an opportunity to endear himself to you greatly – he invites you. With no obligation to wear a matching costume, or a costume at all.
“Even if you’re just my date for that night, I know all of the other guys are going to be impressed if I show up with a beautiful intelligent woman like you,” he texts.
So you throw something together that hopefully he can match – you even offer to pick up the matching costume for him if he’s too busy, but he promises he’ll handle it – and you surprise Jack and Luke by walking into the team party on the arm of a not-so-tiny Roman soldier. Across the room, Jack’s mouth drops open. Laughing, you tip your cowboy hat at him. It’s not like there’s anything you can say from this distance.
“See?” Johnathan leans down to whisper in your ear. “They’re shocked that I could actually convince you to come with me.”
“You just didn’t tell them, did you?”
He shrugs, grin spreading across his face. “Guilty. I didn’t want to jinx myself or anything.” You won’t say it now, but you aren’t sure he could have.
As the night goes on with him introducing you to the team as “Jack and Luke’s honorary older sister” and “a brilliant forensic chemist” and “somehow, my lovely date for the night.” It’s made clear that there is no obligation for anything beyond this. Even though maybe you might want at least another night with him.
Despite the chaos of the party, Johnathan’s attention is dedicated to you. His questions are deeper than surface level, his answers to yours are detailed but not overly self-focused. You find out that he grew up not far from Toronto, that he has a degree in civil engineering and that he spent almost four years in Manitoba before making it to the NHL level.
Your life is shared in turn: growing up on the lake in Michigan, the journey to your MS in chemistry and your current job, your former relationship with the eldest Hughes brother turning into something of a siblingship with the younger two. The younger two in question get caught making faces across the bar at you multiple times throughout the night. But he pays them no mind.
It’s not until he leaves you for a minute to refill your drinks that they come over.
“Dimples, you sly dog,” Jack crows. “Sweeping our teammate off his feet right under our noses.”
You shrug. “Today was the only time we could get together in the next few weeks, and he didn’t want to miss the party. So we compromised.”
“Okay, but did he pick the costumes?” Luke asked. “You totally picked the costumes, right?” Trying to play coy, you just grin. You’re a little flattered that he knows you well enough to know how very much your idea this was.
The two, dressed up as Mario and Luigi, part to make room for Johnathan to come stand by your side. His drink is in one hand, yours is in the other. You make sure to thank him as you take it. Then his hand comes to rest on your waist. He hasn’t done it all night – he’s been perfectly respectful, giving you as much space as he seemed to think you wanted – but seeing you with Jack and Luke must have changed his mind.
“Are these two rascals bothering you, cowgirl?” he asks teasingly, giving his teammates a onceover.
“Not at all, general,” you reply, nodding at them. “Thanks for checking in, guys. Enjoy the rest of your night.” When they leave, you turn to your date without letting his hand off your waist. “Getting jealous, are we?”
He laughs. “Not jealous. Just making sure they don’t steal you during the one night I get you, is all. I know the lengths you’d go to for those boys.” You silently watch them annoying another teammate dressed up as Yoshi, pondering his words. They bring back every instance from the past few years where it felt almost too painful to keep looking out for them, where they said or did something that was too similar to your first love, every time that you thought you were giving up on your relationship with them and how you always grew back together. Johnathan’s voice brings you back. “Still with me?”
“I’m with you,” you say, smiling gratefully up at him. “Just got lost in thought there for a minute.”
As the season picks up, you find yourself balancing time between your work, your honorary little brothers, and eventually, your new boyfriend Johnathan. All three of the boys find it funny to act possessive over you, shoving each other out of the way to get your attention after games and calling when they know one of the other ones is already on the phone with you.
Dana teases you about dating another hockey player as much as the young Hughes boys, if not more. But you feel the most loved you’ve felt maybe in your entire life. Your parents even fly in to spend the holidays at your place this year, and they make sure to greet Johnathan after a hard-fought game against the Canes.
You start to remember the comfort in the word girlfriend. You start to make it a point to jump up and cheer for almost anything he does, to check in after every away game and visit with food on your off days. Some of the nights where games end too late are spent at his apartment instead of Dana’s house.
Still, you hesitate to make it too official. Even though Johnathan’s said that pretty much any of his clothing is available to be stolen, anything with a name or number is left untouched at his place.
Luke and Jack bring this up one day at dinner.
“So,” Jack, ever the ice-breaker, opens for both of them, “Kovy’s worried you don’t like him all that much.”
Your head jerks up, eyes instinctively narrowing at Jack. “What? Why would he think that?”
“Dimples, he notices that you won’t wear anything with his name or number on it, even at home. That’s kind of a thing that a lot of athletes like their significant others to do,” Luke points out in a gentle voice.
Oh. Right. Well- “I just…” you start to defend yourself, but trail off. “I’m scared.” The realization that you’ve been refraining from acknowledging hits you hard. “I’m scared of getting too invested and getting hurt… again.” And you don’t mean to call anyone out by adding that last word, but they have to know that’s what you would’ve meant anyway.
They look down, still remorseful over actions that weren’t their own. You see the most guilt in Jack. Luke just looks more contemplative, which is an emotion you don’t really see all that often on him.
“So is he,” he points out. “What if you’re hurting him by not representing him, y’know?”
“What makes you think that? Did he say something?” Suddenly, they can’t say enough on the topic. Air is becoming harder to breathe. Your throat feels like it might be starting to close up.
“I don’t know anything, Dimples, he just mentioned it during practice a couple of days ago. That you wouldn’t wear anything with defining characteristics on it, that is, we have no idea how he actually feels about it. But he still noticed.”
Jack butts in, “And we’re pretty sure you like him enough to not wanna lose him, so we figured we’d help you out here and let you know.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “Gee, thanks Jack. I really appreciate you participating in my relationship.”
“You’re welcome!” he chirps, completely ignoring the sarcasm in your voice.
Dinner continues without another hitch, but you dwell on their words. Could Johnathan really be that upset by you not wearing his name or number? It isn’t planned, but you find yourself confronting him about it later in the night at his place.
“Hey,” you call softly from the door of his bedroom after changing into sleep clothes – some you’d left in his room once while scrambling to get to work, nothing of his. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he replies readily, pausing the game he’s rewatching to study and turning back to face you from his spot on the couch. “Is everything okay, Dimples?”
Trying to avoid shattering the peace, you pad over to the couch, taking a seat on the other side. His eyes never leave you. They reflect the light of the tv screen in the living room darkness. The tiny white gleam, dotted with red and yellow, almost looks like a spark.
It takes a couple of times opening and closing your mouth before you feel that you’re found the right words. “I’m sorry. If I’ve been hurting you by avoiding any clothes with a name or number on them.”
This makes him sit up straighter, turn to face you dead-on. His expression is serious. But maybe that’s because it’s only half-illuminated. Your boyfriend leans in, reaching to take one of your hands in his instead of letting it continue to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. And his eyes never leave yours as he does it. Not once.
“You’re not hurting my feelings,” he says, talking just slow enough to make sure you understand every word but not so slow that you feel talked down to. “I worried about it a little bit, yeah, but I know you wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t want to be. There’s no rush, Dimples. If there’s ever a day when you feel comfortable enough to wear something with my name or number, I’ll be thrilled. But you’re under no obligation to, you understand me?”
So you nod, because you do understand. You understand so much more than you did before you had this conversation with him. Before Jack and Luke approached the topic, even.
The mysterious package arrives two weeks and three days later, when all three of your boys are in Columbus. Two of them are warming up onscreen as you rip off the plastic to find it – a New Jersey Devils home jersey. Somehow, Jack and Luke got the size right.
It isn’t Hughes-branded. It’s not a jersey that would be sitting in a warehouse waiting to be ordered, either. Because the name and number belong to someone who hasn’t even been on the team for a full season. Someone who probably will have a ready-to-order jersey within a year, since he just extended his contract with the team. You carefully lay it out on your comforter to see the back display his name and number, just for you to wear: Kovacevic, #8.
Then you notice the note. It’s encouraging you to attend a game you’d told all three of your Devils that you weren’t sure you wanted to be at, one week from now. The game where they face Quinn. You don’t think you’re ready to face Quinn. Maybe you won’t ever be.
And while you intended to immerse yourself in romantic dramas (winning against Columbus feels like such a given, you know no one will be offended), you actually find yourself wishing you had saved your photos and texts with Quinn after the breakup so you’d have something to look at regretfully now. About Time auto-plays into La La Land in the background.
You text your congratulations on the win to Luke and Johnathan, but send something different to Jack. He must have helped make the decision to send the jersey, after all, probably weeks ago.
“You really think it’s time?”
“Yeah,” he responds without even asking for the context. “Yeah, I do.”
The day of the “Hughesapalooza” game dawns bright. For once, you wake up in your own bed an hour away from everything. You pack a bag just in case, with your game clothes and a charger and your spare toothbrush. If you decide to go through with it, there’s no way you’re staying by yourself tonight.
Despite every cell in your body screaming at you to turn the car around, you make it to the Prudential Center in one piece in the middle of warmups. You don’t even think the guys see you, which is confirmed with one text from Luke.
“Decided against it, huh?”
“Check again,” you respond simply and quickly to ensure he’ll see it before heading back to the ice for the start of the game.
You watch as Johnathan and Luke notice you. Well, Luke notices you. Then he realizes what you’re wearing, and punches his fellow defenseman once in the shoulder to alert him with a jerk of his head. Even with the glass and distance between you and your boyfriend, you see his eyes light up brighter than they did from the tv screen. He looks just as excited as he said he would be. And the wink-accented smile he sends your way is reassuring.
Finally, the last defenseman notices you. He’s on the other side of the ice, clad in mostly white gear. But there’s no denying the shiver that runs down your spine when you feel Quinn’s eyes fall on you for the first time in six years.
Up in the private suite with an injury, you think Jack’s noticed your reaction to his eldest brother when he texts you to check in. The conversation stays light, focusing on how well Luke and your boyfriend are playing tonight. You have to be the one to confront the elephant in the room. It’s very unlike Jack.
“He’s not going to be mad about this, right?” you ask.
Before Jack can text back, you lock eyes with Johnathan, heading to the penalty box. He smirks. It sends the same butterflies through your stomach that it did the first time you saw it. Something happens on the Canucks bench, and something in you just knows that it’s Quinn, but you don’t care to see it. You don’t need to anymore.
It feels weird that Vancouver takes the game. Some of the other fans are filing out of the arena in shocked defeat. Everything is quiet. As you make your way down to where you usually wait for your boys to come out of the locker room, someone almost barrels into you. It’s like they don’t know your routine.
“...hey,” Quinn says when you look up. A duffel bag is flung over one shoulder, hair tousled. College you would probably lose her mind over this. Now, though, it hits different. You’re glad he seems to be doing okay. It doesn’t make much more of an impact than that.
“Hi,” you return the greeting, “How’s it been?”
He shrugs, awkward smile sliding onto his face. “Pretty good.” There’s a pause, but it isn’t as uncomfortable as you would’ve guessed a week ago. “Thanks for looking out for them since I can’t, out here.”
Now you shrug. The words aren’t meant to be hurtful, but they’re true. “I was never doing it for you. You don’t have to thank me.”
“You did it despite me. And I do have to thank you for that,” Quinn points out, looking you in the eye. “And, I owe you an apology. For planning our breakup without you. That wasn’t fair. You deserved to have a say.”
“We were just kids,” you brush it off. “It’s all good now.” And it’s not like you expected the statement to sound empty, but you surprise yourself with just how much you mean it. Down the hall, you spot Jack and Luke emerging from the locker room. Then, behind them– “I’m gonna go,” you tell Quinn, indicating the locker room entrance. “It’s been nice talking to you again. Have a safe trip home.”
Though you feel his eyes on your back as you walk away, though you pass Jack and Quinn, you keep walking. You don’t stop until you make it to Johnathan. His eyes are shining in the dim hallway light when he pulls you into a hug tight enough to lift you off the ground in a spin.
“You wore my jersey,” he says, words awe-filled.
“I did,” you agree, holding onto him even after the hug stops. “It was time. I’m proud of you. I’m proud to be yours.”
“I’m proud to be yours,” he whispers, stepping back into a doorway to press a sweet kiss to your lips.
And he takes you home, wearing his last name like it’s your own, holds you close like he never wants to let go. Right where you’re meant to be, you sleep like a baby.
you are you are you, whether the world sees it like i do or not [ws.2]
pairing: will smith x reader
nickname: goldie
word count: 8k
summary: Sometimes it feels like Will might just disappear into his team during his rookie season. At least, until you come along.
Will Smith (no, not that one) is still trying to adjust to his new city when he meets you. Or rather, your dog.
San Jose is much warmer than what he’s used to in Boston, even into the preseason. His new mentor/kinda billet dad/Sharks legend Patrick Marleau was the one to point him to this park once they realized that he had a few days in a row of just practice. “Appreciate the break while you can still get it,” Patrick had said. So here he is. Just… wandering around the park trails. By himself. Hoping he doesn’t look like a complete creep.
Suddenly, something flies past him on the path. Then he’s on the ground, a blond bundle of fur on top of him. Something wet drags up his face before the weight on his chest eases.
He blinks a couple of times before realizing that he just got checked by a dog. A pretty heavy dog, too. It returns to stand over him, dropping something else onto his chest for good measure, then sniffs his face and hair as if in concern.
Will groans, reaching up to pet the dog anyway. It seems pretty nice, and he’s sure that knocking him over was an accident. Its fur is soft in between his fingers. He’s not used to the feeling. As if on cue, he hears a voice call out when someone approaches.
“No, that’s a bad baby! This is not how we make friends at the park!”
The dog chuffs, then tears off toward what he assumes is a familiar presence. Its toy is long forgotten on top of Will. He gets himself up to a sitting position, rubbing his head a little bit and trying to brush some of the trail dirt off his clothes.
“I’m so sorry,” the voice, much closer now, says. A hand comes into his line of vision. “Can I help you up, sir?”
“It’s okay,” he says, but takes the hand anyway. It’s soft, almost as soft as the dog. Which is pretty weird for him to think, he realizes. Then he looks up and sees the owner’s face, haloed by the sunshine, and every thought he’s ever had flies out the window. “That’s a big guy you’ve got, there.”
Internally, he cringes. Externally, he forgets to let go of your hand after getting up. You chuckle good-naturedly. He remembers to release you when you whistle, calling the dog back over. It comes bounding, waiting for attention from you or Will. The who doesn’t seem to matter that much.
“This is Stevie,” you say, “the troublemaker. Vet says she’s kind of a beast, maybe too big to be pure Golden. Really, I am so sorry for what she did to you. She doesn’t usually try to hug strangers.”
“She was…hugging me?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion and curiosity. It’s kinda cool that the dog knows how to hug, he has to admit. If she really can.
You hum in response. Then your eyes light up. “Wanna see?” He nods, staying quiet and taking a step back for caution’s sake. You face your dog, whose tail starts wagging just at the eye contact. “Stevie, I need a hug.” She rears onto her back legs, front paws landing on your collarbones, tail still wagging. Your arms wrap tight around her.
“That’s pretty sweet,” he comments when the two of you drop the pose. Stevie grabs her toy from next to his foot just to deposit it at yours. “So she just wanted to give me a hug or something?”
“Well, we were playing fetch and I kind of… accidentally… threw the ball right in front of you as you were walking, so that might not have helped either,” you admit, a blush spreading across your face. “That’s my bad.”
“You must have pretty crappy aim,” he observes, folding his arms but still smiling.
Was it the nicest thing he could have said there? No. Is it more likely to keep the conversation going? He thinks so. And he’s rewarded with a slow grin spreading across your face as you shrug your shoulders.
“I don’t usually need good aim. Stevie’s got enough for the both of us.” You throw the ball, almost like you’re trying to prove it. This time, Stevie makes the catch. The eyebrow raise he gets when the dog drops the ball at his feet makes it seem like there’s more to be said, so he takes a turn throwing.
The ball ends up hitting a nearby tree, cutting Stevie’s run short. Will doesn’t care much – he’ll just do better next time – but he doesn’t miss your grin turning to a little smirk.
“Guess we both have crappy aim,” you observe simply.
He lets the comment slide just like you did originally. “So… why Stevie?” Nodding at the dog as she returns the ball to you, he asks the second question that’s been on his mind since you started talking to him.
“Steve Rogers. Stevie Nicks. Stevie Wonder, if you’re my grandma. Steve from Minecraft, if you’re my cousin. Take your pick.”
“I like Captain America.”
“Yeah,” you say, taking the ball from your dog once more, “I could see that…”
When you trail off, he realizes that he never gave you his name. He startles, bending down to take the ball from Stevie and finishing your sentence for you. “Will.”
You repeat his name slowly, as if letting the taste of it linger in your mouth. He likes the way it sounds in your voice, soft and sun-drenched just like the dog who originally introduced you to him. “Will.”
There’s barely a second for him to throw the ball and turn back to smile at you before his phone is ringing. He bites back a yelp as he fishes it out of his pocket, swiping furiously to make it stop buzzing in his hand.
“Hello?” he asks, turning away from you just as Stevie runs back up.
On the other end of the line, Christina asks him how his time at the park has been.
“Good,” he answers, still a little anxious from the cold call, glancing back at the image of you and your dog to help him chill out a little. “What’s up?”
“Dinner’s going to be ready soon, if you want it here. If you’re going to eat out, just let us know and give us time to form plausible deniability for Ryan.”
He closes his eyes for a second, trying not to sigh. His kind-of billet mom’s point is subtle, but solid – Coach would be pissed if he were eating junk food this early into the season. He really should get going. “I’ll be there. Give me like fifteen minutes.”
“We’ll see you then!” Christina’s voice is cheerful. She clearly isn’t aware how she’s upset his new, semi-formed afternoon plans, which may or may not have included a certain fluffy dog and her intriguing owner.
Will turns back to you. You’re pretending that you weren’t listening, eyes directed at the sky. Even though he can tell you’re aware of the situation, he explains it to you.
“Listen, it’s been really nice to meet you and Stevie, but, uh,” he gulps when you make eye contact, stunned by the way the light hits your irises. It’s like the color has completely changed. “…I have to get to dinner. It’s gonna-“
“Be ready soon.” You finish his sentence, grinning easily at him as you kneel to give Stevie a good scratch behind the ears. “I figured. That’s what it sounded like.”
He nods, hating himself a little bit for it. “Maybe I’ll… see you guys around?”
Your nose scrunches a little bit when you smile. How has he not noticed that yet? He gets so caught up in the fact that he almost misses you saying, “Tell Will goodbye, Stevie,” and her complying by coming over to sniff him again.
Just like you did, he crouches to give her some goodbye pets. Or, I’m-not-sure-I’ll-ever-see-you-again pets. But he doesn’t want to think about that part.
Then he’s up, jogging vaguely in the direction of his car. When he looks back, you’re waving at him cheerfully. The sun still seems to beam down on you and your golden dog specifically. So he has to hold a hand over his brow when he does it, but he waves back, as if you’ve known each other for longer than like half an hour.
“So you got her number, right?” is the first thing Macklin asks when Will recounts the experience at practice the next day.
He can tell just by the stricken look on Will’s face that his friend completely forgot that was even an option. Macklin facepalms dramatically, in typical Macklin fashion. Will just lets his face fall into his hands.
“I wasn’t even thinking about that, Mack,” he mumbles through his fingers. “She was just… so chill and funny.”
“You like her,” his newest friend teases in a sing-song voice that really emphasizes the singular year difference between them. “You like Golden Retriever Girl.”
“Mack, c’mon,” Will tries to reason. “I don’t even know her name.”
Silence. Will finally looks up from his hands, only to catch the younger, slightly newer Shark’s shocked expression.
“You didn’t even get her name?!”
Will endures a full week of ridicule before he thinks he glimpses Stevie again in the same park. Macklin and some of the other guys have taken to calling you ‘Goldie’ as shorthand for ‘Golden Retriever Girl’ so they can tease more efficiently.
It’s way too hot out, so the place is much emptier than last week. Mack didn’t even want to come with him. He’s just got good motivation, he guesses.
His suspicion is confirmed. The only warning he gets is a bark before Stevie’s paws are on his chest. This time, he stays on his feet.
“Hi again,” he tells her, avoiding the attempt she makes at face-licking and letting her return to the ground after a second. She huffs in response, taking a few steps in a particular direction before circling back to him.
It’s like she wants him to follow. He knew last week that she was a pretty smart dog, but he didn’t realize that she would have such a strong personality.
“Hey there!” he hears a cheerful call as Stevie leads him over to her ball. “Been a while, stranger!”
There you are again, sunlight wrapped around you like a cape. One hand is already raised to wave to him. A smile is painted on your face.
If Will could take mental pictures, this one would be hung up on the mental refrigerator forever.
“Hey,” he returns the greeting, picking up his hat to run a hand through his hair. He was sure it looked okay before he left the house, but now he isn’t. What if it’s gotten too crazy? Maybe he needs a trim.
“Whatcha been up to?” you ask when you’re close, grabbing Stevie’s ball to throw it since he got distracted. She dashes away to grab it mid-air. Because she’s a cool dog.
“Nothing much,” he shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets to try and play it casual. “Just work. You?”
You shrug, equally casual. “School stuff.”
The two of you fall quiet — a silent standoff for who can say the least about what’s going on in their life, interrupted only by Stevie squeaking her toy or barking for attention. Will thinks he’ll break first. He doesn’t have to.
“What do you do for work?” you ask, at the same time as he tries to (finally) learn your name. “You go first.”
“I, uh- I never caught your name last time we were here,” he explains, looking away as he feels his face heat. “I’d like to be able to think of you as something other than the golden retriever girl.”
You giggle, but give him your name after a minute. “Now. What do you do for work?” He doesn’t answer right away. You notice. “If it’s that big a deal, Will, we can just pretend I never asked-“
“I play hockey,” he eventually decides to confess. “Like, for the Sharks?” And it’s really no question who he plays for, but he tries to lighten the mood by uptalking. Hopefully you know who they are, or else his ego is about to be seriously deflated.
“The local pro team, huh?” The look on your face tells him you very much have heard of them. “So you’re pretty good?”
He shrugs. “I like to think so.”
“That’s cool,” you comment, but don’t say anything else. Not for a minute, at least. It’s a little surprising to Will when you speak up again. “So… not in college, I guess?”
“Nope,” he tells you, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “What about you?”
This makes something spark behind your eyes. “I think I’m going to declare an anthropology major,” you start. Your words come slow and hesitant at first, but speed up as you start getting excited. “I know some people think it’s a lesser science, but it’s a study of humanity and civilization through time – archaeology, theology and sociology all rolled into one. And people are so interesting, you know-” you cut yourself off, squinting through the sun at a few silhouettes across the park. “-I probably sound crazy, huh?”
Will doesn’t think you sound crazy at all. He thinks you sound even cooler than he originally thought you were. So he says, “You just sound like you love it. Everybody should get to love what they do.”
“Like you?”
“Well, yeah.” He shifts on his feet, only slightly embarrassed. “Don’t you think so?”
You smile, though it seems a little distracted. “Yeah, they should.”
Today, unfortunately, your phone rings and interrupts the conversation between the two of you. Will keeps entertaining Stevie while you take the call. But he can’t help checking on you every so often while you talk, glancing over from your dog to you. Stevie notices, and she follows suit.
Then she runs over to you.
“Stevie, wait!” Will calls, nearly tripping over himself in an attempt to follow her.
You turn as they approach, eyes widening. “Yeah, Jen, that was a guy’s voice you heard-” you start to say, but cut yourself off when your dog doesn’t slow down. “-I gotta go. Be home soon.” Then you try to talk Stevie out of it, but apparently, she’s already convinced you need a hug.
“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Will comments, smiling down at you on the ground with the golden-haired dog on top of you and the light bringing out new colors in your eyes. He only takes a moment to mentally capture the image before leaning down to help you up.
“Yeah, yeah, I can’t control my dog. I know,” you sigh, but take his hand with a grin nonetheless.
She huffs like she knows what you said, tail still wagging. Your hand falls to her head absentmindedly for pets. But your eyes land on Will, who suddenly feels nervous under your direct gaze even though you’ve been talking casually for like the past half hour or whatever.
“I… have to go,” you sigh again. He doesn’t want to get too big of a head about it, but something in him sends up a flare of hope that you’re not ready to leave him yet.
“Can I get your number?” he blurts. “I just… I’d like to see you and Stevie again. You guys are cool.”
Even though your eyebrow quirks, you don’t comment. You just hold out your hand expectantly, and Will fumbles to hand over his phone as fast as he can. Just a minute passes before you hand the phone back and start jogging away with your dog, calling back to Will.
“I hope to see you around sometime!”
He waves with phone in hand, then double-checks to make sure he really got your number. And he did. You even put yourself in as “Stevie’s Mom” with pawprint emojis on either side. There’s no way he can tell Mack that part.
Once the texting starts, it’s like it never stops. Will always has something to talk about when it comes to you. His teammates’ teasing gets worse, and your nickname remains. The worst part is, he doesn’t even get to see you at the park again once the season really begins. He’d invite you over, but it’s not really his place.
And he can’t have you thinking that he’s not cool or anything. Even though you know he’s essentially living with a billet family right now.
So when you invite him over to your place one night when the Sharks don’t have a game, he leaps at the opportunity. He texts Mack to let him know that he won’t be free for video games or anything tonight, and his friend figures out what’s up immediately. As he knocks on your door, he deliberately ignores the “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” text he knows is waiting in his inbox.
“Hello?” A girl answers the door, but there’s no way it’s you. Her eyebrows are furrowed, glasses sitting on top of her forehead, a scrutinizing look in her eyes. And most importantly, she isn’t glowing. Will doesn’t have you memorized perfectly, not yet, but he knows there’s always this sort of warmth about you.
“Um, I’m Will?” he offers, hoping that’s enough.
The crease in between her brows deepens.
“Hey!” he hears your voice call from behind her. “Sorry, Becs, forgot you were home tonight. This is my new friend Will. He just moved to town a little bit ago. Will, this is Becca.” You’re panting a little bit, as if you sprinted downstairs to receive him. When you meet his eyes, he smiles. You reciprocate automatically, though you say, “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.”
All he can do is shrug.
Becca nods and steps aside, starting to walk away back to wherever she came from. You open the door wider to invite him in. He’s pleased to find that he remembered correctly – there’s still a sort of glow about you that other people just don’t seem to have.
“How’s everything been?” you ask him, as if he hasn’t texted you every day since the two of you exchanged numbers. As if he didn’t notice the Sharks ESPN notifications from that one screenshot you sent him two days ago. You know, casual.
He shrugs. “As much as I love it, that doesn’t make it not a job, you know? Lot goes into playing that bad.”
Though he’s tried to play it off as a joke, your brows furrow. You glance over at him as you try to grab a cup from the cabinet. He looks anywhere but you. The kitchen is warm; not just in temperature but in feeling. It’s so yours.
“Hasn’t it only been two actual-season games, anyway?” you question the statement. “I don’t think it’s possible for you guys to lose every single one.”
“Not every one,” Will shakes his head, “but we’ll probably lose most of ‘em.”
“And you know that’s not going to be your fault, right?” You wait until he looks you in the eye to repeat, “Right?”
Only now does he realize that he hasn’t even heard Stevie since he’s been here. Which is a little weird, because she was part of the reason you offered to have him over here instead of meeting somewhere else.
“Where’s Stevie?”
You giggle as you pour out a glass of water from some jug thing in your fridge. “She’s just upstairs. Tends to get a little too excited about visitors, you know?”
“Sure, sure,” he grins at you. “And strangers.”
“And squirrels, and cars, and-” you cut yourself off with laughter, shaking your head good-naturedly. “I swear she’s a good girl at heart. She just wants to love everyone and everything.”
It’s a bit of a bold statement, but Will wants his theory confirmed. “Sounds like she loves people as much as you do.”
Your blink is slow when you look up at him, blush spreading across your cheeks. A few strands of your hair are falling over your face in a way that makes Will want to gently secure them behind your ear. Instead, he just raises his eyebrows until you answer.
“Yeah, I- I guess you got me there,” you deflect. “Um. Want any snacks or anything? Are you even allowed to have snacks? Then we can go see Stevie.”
As if on cue, a whine sounds from upstairs. Both of you start laughing this time. Somehow the kitchen has gotten smaller – your shoulder knocks into his arm, so he reaches around to steady you.
“Okay, yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s go see Stevie.”
The night passes too quickly. Stevie is even more of a cuddler and attempted lapdog than she is a hugger, and Will discovers that you’re an even bigger Marvel fan than you originally let on. He hates having to leave you and Stevie that night so he can make it to practice the next morning.
And he knows that Patrick and Macklin and Tyler are gonna tease him when he sees them, but it feels so worth it when you and Stevie give him hugs on the way out.
Will scored his first NHL goal tonight. And his second. And he’s already called or gotten calls from a bunch of his family, but he feels like there’s someone missing from his phone’s history. It probably isn’t too late back in San Jose, but you mentioned that you were going to go out “like every night” for Halloweekend. He’s going to get teased if he calls you at all, but if he tries and you don’t pick up? He’ll never live it down.
Then, like magic, his phone starts to buzz on the shared nightstand of his and Macklin’s hotel room. Macklin sees it first. His eyes fall to the screen, then dart up to Will, a devious grin spreading across his face.
“Better not miss it. Goldie’s calling,” he taunts, picking up the phone and waving it around in the air as Will lunges over his bed for it.
“Give it-” he’s just starting to grit out through his teeth when his friend tosses it over. “Hey, G-!” Will only just manages to stop himself before he can use the team’s nickname for you.
Luckily for him, you don’t seem to notice at all. There’s a flood of background noise for just a second before you exclaim, “You guys won! And you did most of the scoring!”
He laughs, trying to play it cool and maybe succeeding. You paid attention to his game. Even if it was only through ESPN notifications while you were out at the bar. You paid attention. Someone talks to you on the other end of the line. Will doesn’t understand what they’re saying at all.
“Sorry if I’m being loud,” you continue. “I’m already a couple shots in. But I’m excited! You scored two goals! And one of them was your first in the NHL! And the other was your second!” He bites his lip to keep from laughing aloud. He can feel his face heating up just like he can feel his travel roommate’s eyes on him. “Of course you knew that, though. Sorry. Tipsy, you know?”
“Don’t worry, Goldie, I know.” It slips out before he can stop it. Whoops.
Your pause is audible. “Goldie?” The confusion makes you sound even less sober, though you’ve lowered your voice a little bit.
Macklin raises his eyebrows. Will turns away. He’s like ninety-eight percent sure that the other boy can’t hear you, but he seems to know that Will’s messed up somehow, and that’s all it takes. Now he’s resisting the urge to duck into the bathroom to hide.
“That’s- it’s, um, how I referred to you before I remembered to get your name, like, when I was telling my teammates about you and Stevie. ‘Cause, you know, she’s a golden retriever?”
Another pause. Mack’s totally snickering into his hand on the other side of the room.
“That’s a really cute nickname, Will,” you tell him, voice as soft as it can be above the various sounds of wherever you are. “I like it. I like being Goldie.” A breath escapes him, one he didn’t even realize he was holding. The noise from his side of the line gets just a little bit louder.
Once more, someone says something to you. He doesn’t know exactly what’s happening, but he’s pretty sure he hears a sigh.
“I gotta go,” you tell him glumly. “We’re heading over to a party and I volunteered to order the car. But just remember. Goldie is a super cute nickname, you’re awesome and I’m proud of you, friendo.”
He’s starting to smile, until his face falls. Just at that last word. Friends. Right.
“Goodnight, Goldie. Have fun. And be safe,” he adds that last bit when he remembers what you’re doing. He winces at how parent-like he sounds. You just giggle at him.
“Goodnight, Will. Congrats again. Text you later?”
“When you get home?” he suggests, to which you quickly agree before hanging up.
There’s a wonderful, wonderful moment of silence before Macklin decides to start teasing him, one where he lets himself think for just a second that there’s still hope for more than friendship with you.
It’s only a few days later when your schedules line up again just right. This time, when he gets to the door, a different roommate greets him. Her hair is lighter than Becca’s, and she’s a little more dressed up. The way she shoots him a coy smile before introducing herself fails to set him at ease like you always do.
“You must be Will, the hockey player,” she says. Maybe it’s just his imagination, how it sounds like a purr. “I’m Jen, the roommate.”
“Uh, hey,” he replies awkwardly, waving with the hand that isn’t fidgeting with his keys in his pocket. “Am I too early, or-”
He shuts up when you appear, eyes widening. Yours bounce back and forth between him and your roommate uncertainly. Jen seems unfazed.
“Hi, Will,” you greet him after a minute. “I’m not interrupting, am I?” Your roommate just giggles, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be rude, but he also really doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Even if you’re only ever going to be friends.
Still, you turn to Jen to confirm. She must give you some super secret girl-signal because it only takes a couple of seconds before you’re nodding to yourself and returning your attention to Will. He feels himself relaxing under your gaze. Every ache from last night’s loss that he ignored for practice this morning returns as the tension starts seeping out of him.
And when Jen disappears, he pulls you into a wordless hug.
“Oh!” you exclaim softly. “It’s nice to see you, too.” He still doesn’t say anything. He’s mostly pretty sure that he doesn’t need to, but a small part of him worries you might not understand – until you do. Your voice gets even softer. “I’m sorry about last night, but I’m still so proud of you. Also sorry that I look like crap. Halloweekend consequences and all.”
This catches him off guard. What do you mean by that? He releases you from the hug to double check your appearance – the glow is still there, even if you’re in sweatpants, and your sheepish smile has the usual effect on him, like sitting by a fireplace in the dead of winter. But you said you looked bad, so he checks you over again. This time you notice his brows furrowing.
“What?”
“How do you look bad?”
The question is completely genuine, but you roll your eyes lightheartedly. “Will. Come on.”
“No, I’m serious! How do you think you look bad?”
“Okay. Be for real. Stop it.” He raises his hands in surrender, fighting the urge to keep talking. Or digging himself into a hole. Either way, he feels weird about letting you continue to think that you don’t look good.
Nothing else is said on the matter, but Will doesn’t miss the pink dusting your cheeks as you lead him inside and up to your room.
“Come on, you’re down so bad for golden girl,” Macklin is teasing Will one day as they’re getting ready to get lunch after practice. Which gets Tyler’s attention.
“You’re interested in a girl, Smitty?”
Will just scowls. Macklin tries to answer for him, tell Toffee everything he knows about you so far, but Will’s elbow lodges itself in his ribs before he can get too far. Their older and maybe wiser teammate can tell something’s up.
Nonchalantly, he asks, “Has she ever seen you play?”
“Well, I think she watches on tv sometimes, but I’m not really sure she’s a hockey fan-” Will starts explaining himself, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s still sweaty from practice.
“She’s a hockey fan for you, isn’t she, bud?” His younger teammate interjects, earning himself another glare.
Tyler pays little mind to the tension between the two. He just raises his eyes from his laces to Will’s, suggesting, “Why don’t you invite her to one of those home games we have coming up?”
The thought had honestly never crossed his mind. Like, there had for sure been fantasies of being on the ice one day and spotting you on the other side of the glass. He’d deny ever thinking it to his teammates, but not to himself. It’s nice to picture you at a game for him. But him inviting you? Asking you to show up and watch him play for hours? It just seems like asking too much. And it feels like Toffee can read what he’s thinking now.
“Just think about it, kid,” he finishes, ruffling Will’s hair as he passes by.
It’s another thing that he probably won’t admit to, but he does. He really does.
He almost thought about it for too long. But eventually, he worked up the nerve to offer to get tickets for you and a friend, and now his leg is bouncing furiously against his bench in the locker room while the team waits to skate out for warmups. Will he see you? Will you be able to differentiate him from the other Sharks players on the ice?
You accepted the invitation, so he assumed that you knew enough about the sport, but now it hits him: what if you don’t even understand hockey? What if-
A punch to the shoulder stops him just before he can start fishing around in his locker for his phone to see if you’ve texted. And to check on whether you’ll get what you’re gonna see tonight or not. When he looks up Macklin’s there, helmet on, nodding toward the tunnel as if to say we gotta go.
His legs are shaking a little bit as he starts the trek. There have been a lot of high-pressure games in his career so far – like every single one since he got called up here – but never in this way. None for you, yet. Until now.
“Hey,” Macklin says when they’re almost to the ice. Will can feel the invigorating chill from here. “I know I’ve teased you a lot, but she’s rooting for you. All you gotta do is play like it.” Then Macklin’s out on the ice.
The transition from the tunnel to the ice seems more blinding than it’s been before. If someone told him that you were filling the whole arena with your light, he would probably believe it.
Finally, he makes it to the rink. His legs, pushing him to follow the #71 Celebrini jersey in front of him, are running on muscle memory more than anything. He appreciates it. They go through the motions – skate, shoot the puck, shake off the aches and pains that lingered after the last game. As the warmups are cooling down, Will finally catches sight of you.
You’re a few rows back from the glass, almost drowning in an oversized Sharks hoodie. His heart pangs. Who does that belong to? And how does he ask about that without sounding like a complete creep?
But the thought gets wiped from his mind when your eyes land on him and you jump up immediately, cupping your hands around your mouth in a makeshift megaphone.
“That’s my guy!” he sees more than hears you yell. Your revelry continues as you turn to your friend – luckily for Will’s peace of mind, a girl – and point at him as if you’re telling her exactly who he is, too. She smiles. You’re absolutely beaming.
Throughout the game, Will checks on you when he can – which isn’t often, because both the Sharks and the Kraken will not stop scoring. It doesn’t hurt Will’s feelings at all when he scores in the second period. You’ve been on your feet for most of the game, but you just explode when the puck flies into the net off his stick. Nothing else gets a reaction that’s even close.
Not even when the Sharks take it 8-5. It’s like Will’s goal is the only thing that really mattered to you.
Back in the locker room, when everything’s turned into chaos as people suit back up to go home, Will is bent over to tie the laces of his dress shoes. Somebody taps him on the shoulder. He looks up, shaking his hair out of his face to find Tyler looking down at him almost fondly.
“You found a good one, kid,” is all he says before he’s calling out goodbyes to the locker room. He doesn’t have to imply that he knows that you and your friend are waiting outside for Will, nor that Will needs to do everything in his power to keep you. It’s an unspoken agreement.
“Will!” you exclaim as soon as he enters your line of vision. “You played so well!” And as soon as he’s within arm’s length, you’re throwing yours around his neck. In a completely friendly way. Your friend clears her throat, and you step back with a pink face to gesture to her. “This is my other roommate, Amy. She was actually born a Sharks fan. And she’s explained the game to me over and over again since we started being friends, including tonight.”
“Nice to meet you, Amy,” he greets her too, “and thanks for explaining everything to Goldie.”
She barely reacts to the nickname besides glancing over at you. The way the two of you are reading and playing off each other’s body language feels to Will a lot like what he and his linemates do on the ice. He’ll have to remember to ask over text later if she’s your best friend out of your roommates.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Will.” He notices her slight pause. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And I’m really sorry about this, but our other roommate has an early flight in tomorrow morning, and since I’m picking her up I wanna make sure I can get enough sleep before then.”
“Let me walk you out then!” he offers, maybe too enthusiastically.
But your smile is as soft as your voice when you say, “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
Amy turns out to be decent at conversation, especially when she’s next to you, and she does know a lot about hockey for someone who’s never played. Will definitely likes her the most out of your housemates. He’ll tell you that later, though. When she gets into the car first, you take an extra minute to pull him into another hug.
“I know we don’t hang out all that often, but I’m gonna miss you,” you mumble into his shoulder. “And don’t even worry, I promise I’m gonna watch every single game while I’m home over break.”
He forgot that this is the last time he’ll see you before you go home. Damn.
“I’ll miss you too,” he says, adding in a teasing tone, “Who else is gonna be my personal cheerleader here?”
You roll your eyes, but still let him go. He kinda hates it.
Some alarm is blaring within him, like a warning that if he lets you walk away tonight he’s going to lose you. He doesn’t want to trust the alarm. He wants to trust you – put his faith in your friendship and its ability to stretch over the distance between your college town and your hometown.
“I can still be your cheerleader from home,” you reassure him. “You’re just gonna have to check your phone on break instead of talking to Mack the whole time.”
Your words drown out the alarm. He blinks at you stupidly. You keep talking like you don’t notice, one hand lingering on his arm.
“Congrats again on the win, Will. See you when I get back?”
“Definitely. Have a good break, Goldie.” Your face splits into a grin that lights up the parking lot better than any of the streetlights. Then your hand slips away, leaving a cold spot where it used to be.
He opens the car door for you like a gentleman. Amy starts saying something to you as soon as it’s closed, but you keep your eyes on Will and wave while she pulls away into the night. Will stays put and waves until you’re out of sight.
Besides Amy, you’re the last person in your house to get back before classes start again. On the night you get back, Will has a game, but he pledges to come visit the next day. And he does.
“Sundays are just your days to be with Goldie, huh?” Amy asks in an amused tone when she meets him in the driveway.
“The nickname’s catching on, huh?” he replies instead of answering her question.
She shakes her head. “Had to. She got off the phone with you and introduced herself to everyone at the frat party as Goldie. Would hardly answer if it wasn’t to the nickname. Felt all special that you and your ‘entire team’ were calling her that.” Amy makes air quotes with her fingers before grabbing the handle of her suitcase. Will remembers the situation he’s in.
“Can I help you carry anything?”
She raises an eyebrow suspiciously, but nods after a second and indicates a laundry basket. “Thanks.” It’s silent between the two of them as she shuts her trunk and leads him up to the door. Before she unlocks it, though, she gives him a once-over. “Listen. You seem like a pretty good guy and all, but I’m morally and legally obligated to tell you that if you hurt her, hockey player or not, you will end up in Stevie’s food bowl.”
“What?” Will has to force himself to act completely confused, though this definitely came out of nowhere for him.
“C’mon, dude, you clearly like her as much as she likes you. I mean, inviting her to your game, walking us out? That’s hardly casual friendship.”
The defense comes easily. “It could be!”
“Yeah, she said that too. But I know how she felt about it. And now I know exactly how you felt about it.” When Amy lets go of her suitcase to unlock the door, she shoots him a look. He readjusts the hamper in his arms. She’s still his favorite of your roommates, for sure, but she’s also somehow the most intimidating.
As soon as the door opens, your voice spills out. “Amy!” Then a dramatic gasp. “And Will!” As if you didn’t expect him to come over like he said he would. Then one more, even more dramatic (if that was possible) gasp. “Stevie, no!”
Something crashes inside the house. There’s a loud, excited bark from the living room. Nails scratch against the floor for just a second before Will realizes the inevitable. Time slows to a crawl. Amy’s eyes widen as he drops the laundry basket to jump in front of the door that she stepped back from, probably to avoid what he catches – a 100-something-pound dog directly to the chest.
When he opens his eyes in the aftermath, Amy is giving him a look that he can’t read.
“Good catch,” she all but deadpans, propping the laundry basket on one hip and making her way inside without him. Stevie stays wriggling in his arms on the concrete of the porch, trying to twist around just enough to lick his face. If he had to guess. Something is digging into his back. But he can’t let go, not until you get to the door, because he has no idea what Stevie’s plan was or what she wants to do next besides lick.
“I’m so sorry, Will, I was trying to-” you sound much closer now. When he looks up, you’re leaning over him and Stevie, holding up a leash. He moves one hand from around your dog’s neck so you can clip it onto her collar. “Thank you.”
As soon as Stevie gets off, he’s up and brushing himself off to hide how bad that felt on top of the impact spots from last night.
“Hold on,” you tell him, reaching up to pluck a piece of mulch or something from his shoulder. Stevie is leaning into your legs so hard he’s afraid your knee might buckle. “I really can’t thank you enough for that, actually. She has a terrible sense of direction.”
“You know from experience?”
Shaking your head, you look down at her with a big sigh. “Too much.”
Then you redirect your gaze back to him. Your face is flushed, probably from running after Stevie, but the easy grin is for Will. He’s pretty sure, anyway. Luckily you confirm it.
“I’m so happy to be back,” you say, throwing your free arm up to pull him into a hug. “I missed you. I missed being here and hanging out and stuff.”
“I’m happy you’re back too. And I missed you,” he admits, trying to keep his voice low as he squeezes you just a little bit tighter. He knows he wasn’t quiet enough, though, when he opens his eyes and sees Amy in the living room making a motion like “go on”, as if they made a plan for him to tell you how he may or may not feel.
But she might be right.
“Do you wanna take Stevie on a walk, or something?” he asks, gesturing at the excited furball who’s started wrapping the leash around your legs. He can tell you then – maybe ask you out, offer to pay for a fancy dinner or something, go see a movie. Anything’ll be fun as long as you’re there with him.
“Sure,” you agree, letting him out of the hug to start unwinding the leash. “Let me just-”
“You’re bleeding.” He doesn’t mean to interrupt you, really, but there’s a trail of blood running down your hand as it clutches the end of the leash. That’s important.
It seems like you’ve only realized it now that he’s pointed it out. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I am. Stevie knocked this vase over when she started making a run for it and I was in a hurry trying to clean it up and get to you guys out here. Didn’t even notice.”
Will is gentle as he takes the leash from you to lead both Stevie and you back inside. There’s no way you’re going on a walk while you’re actively bleeding. He lets you show him the first aid kit under the upstairs sink so he can clean out the scratch and put a bandage over it, just like his mom used to do when he was a kid. He pulls you into another hug when he’s done.
“I’m okay, Will.” Your voice is muffled in his shoulder.
“I just don’t like seeing you hurt,” he tries to excuse his behavior. When you look up at him, you nod like you understand, but there’s something in your eyes that’s curious. Maybe even a little hurt by the curt dismissal. He can’t stand it. He really doesn’t like seeing you hurt, after all.
He shakes his head, correcting himself. “No, that’s not just it. But can we maybe, I dunno, talk in your bedroom or something?”
Your nod is slow, but the walk to your bedroom is fast. It doesn’t smell as strongly of you as it did the first time he was in here, but that makes sense. You’ve been gone for almost a month. The room is still undeniably yours – warm, with posters all over the walls and mismatched decorative pillows on the bed.
Something new catches Will’s eye. Two things, actually. A stuffed shark is sitting on your bed. An unofficial Sharks sweatshirt is hanging from the closet door. It isn’t the one you wore to the game.
“Christmas gifts from my family,” is the simple explanation he gets. Even from behind him, he can hear the smile in your voice when you continue, the thinly veiled excitement that he’s seeing them now. “Told them I’m a Sharks fan now, you know.” And he realizes that you must have put them on display just for him to see. For him to know that you’re a fan of him.
His mind is so full of words that he can’t get any out. Instead of trying to force them, he nods. And he hopes so bad that you understand how much he appreciates you – always a fan of just him, proud of his accomplishments, never comparing him to any other rookies or draft picks or teammates – from his eyes alone. But he knows he’ll have to tell you sometime.
“I saw that the Bruins were playing tonight, so if you’re still a fan of them, I was kinda hoping I could get another little hockey run-down… but from you instead of Amy, if you’re not just completely hockey’d out?” Your eyes and your voice are hopeful when you turn back to him after opening your laptop and placing it gently on the bed.
He’s mostly not responsible for his answer.
“I have a crush on you!” The way he blurts it out is loud, almost panicked, eyes widening as soon as the third syllable escapes his lips. And his mouth just keeps going. “I mean, I thought you were really pretty at the park when I first met you and Stevie, but then I got to know you and couldn’t stop talking to you and couldn’t stop wanting to talk to you, and I thought you only wanted to be friends so I tried to be chill with that-”
You interrupt him. “I don’t.”
“What?”
“I don’t wanna just be friends, Will,” you tell him. “I like you too. I thought it was so obvious.”
He shakes his head, hair falling into his face. When he stops you reach up to brush it back into place. Maybe someday he’ll explain that he’s spent the last few months getting used to not being the golden boy, the favorite, the first pick. But not right now. Right now, he is your choice, and you’re his.
And you’re meeting his smile with one of your own, shining on him like the sun. He wraps his arms around you again, resting his hands on your lower back so you won’t leave him. But he has a feeling you wouldn’t anyway.
“Goldie-” he starts, and somehow your grin gets brighter at the nickname, “can I please take you out sometime?”
Your arms loop around his neck. “Will, you absolutely can.”
The two of you stand there, just smiling at each other in almost a daze, until the voice of an announcer starts filling your room as the game starts. Even though the Bruins go on to lose that night, Will can hardly find it in himself to care. You’re cuddled up against his side. Stevie’s head is resting on his feet. Maybe you understand the game of hockey a little better now.
Above all else, though, Will is just as much your biggest fan as you are his. No matter how the rest of the season goes, he’ll have you cheering him on from wherever you are. And just him alone. More or less.
only magic like yours could thaw a heart like mine [jh.86]
pairing: jack hughes x reader
nickname: honey
word count: 5.1k
summary: You thought you had everything you ever wanted. So why does it still feel like something big is missing?
general timeline: fall 2025-early winter 2026
universe: lake house summers
After returning from an all-too-short summer in Michigan with your friends, you think that the moment when you introduce yourself to your very first class will be the moment when everything clicks into place for the rest of your life. The payout, of sorts, for making all the right choices for yourself. Even if something’s felt a bit off since your first step into the Newark Liberty International Airport.
It wasn’t just that a now-familiar face was plastered on the walls, welcoming you to the home of the New Jersey Devils. You can’t exactly place your finger on it, but you know it’s not that. Not entirely.
The general “off” feeling seemed to go away more when you focused on your new full-time job: preparing to teach fifteen third graders age-level appropriate math and English. So you think, on the first day of school, that it will dissipate completely when you greet them all and remind them of your name.
It doesn’t. An outgoing girl named Layla pipes up after you introduce their first “assignment” of writing about their summers.
“What was your summer like, Miss Honey?” You knew since you met her at orientation that she was clever. You did not realize that she would be the one to distract the class from schoolwork by talking. At least you’re finding it out early, right? So you put on a thoughtful face.
“I spent a lot of my summer tutoring,” you tell your class, “and living in a lake house with my friends.” Before anyone can comment, you continue with a smile. “Did anyone else go anywhere fun?”
Hands raise across the classroom. You consider it a mild success. And you spend the rest of the day getting to know your kids, putting in a special effort not to avoid a little boy named Jaxon with bright blue eyes. You worry that he can see right through your façade when, at the end of the day, he stops on his way out.
His little face is serious.
“Miss Honey,” he says, the last one lingering at your door.
“Mister Young,” you greet him back, just as serious. “How can I help you?”
There’s a pause. Your palms start to sweat. This eight-year-old is about to call you out like it’s nobody’s business but his.
“You seem sad. I hope you feel better soon. I think we’ll all have more fun when you’re not sad,” he says, and he’s out the door before you can even fully register his words.
After packing up for the day and walking out with a fellow third-grade teacher, you find yourself thinking about your summer hosts on the train. The twins — Callum and Irene — had been thrilled when they found out that you had gotten the full-time position. But you haven’t spoken much since.
Only when you’re back in your tiny overpriced apartment do you pick up the phone and actually make the decision to call them. It rings once, twice, three times. You picture them ignoring the call. You picture them not hearing it over Cal’s guitar, around an end-of-summer bonfire at a friend’s house. You imagine a lot of scenarios where they never pick up again and you’re permanently severed from the wonderful summer you’ve had.
Before the fourth ring ends, it’s cut off.
“Hello!” Irene gasps into the phone delightedly. “Aren’t you a sound for sore ears!”
“Hi, ‘rene,” you sigh more than say. There’s a pause on the other end of the line. It’s like you can feel her go completely still, can sense Callum’s eyes narrowing at the phone.
“What’s wrong, Honey?”
Callum’s voice is firm. He’d make a great teacher, you think to yourself. Outwardly, you say, “I’m maybe a little torn up about… about Jack?” It ends like a question not because you aren’t sure of your own feelings, but because this is the first time you’re admitting it aloud. To anyone.
“He misses you too,” Irene responds immediately. You hear some kind of activity resume in the background, maybe cooking or food prep of some sort. Callum sighs. His sister continues. “Why didn’t you exchange phone numbers or something?”
You shrug despite knowing they can’t see it. “The notes were cute. Unique. And we kind of had a routine anyway.”
“But why not leave it in that last note?” Callum’s question rings in your ears, pulling you back through time to when you were scribbling it out as fast as you could before the twins took you to the airport.
“He said something.”
“He said not to contact him after you went home?”
“… not exactly.” You put the phone on speaker and rub at your temples, trying to prevent the headache you can already feel building behind your eyes. “He said that he’d never forget the summer, like in a way that seemed to imply that we wouldn’t exist outside of it.”
Callum retorts, “Well, you don’t,” too fast for Irene to stop him. You hear the smack on his arm even through the phone.
“Don’t listen to him,” she insists. “Jack is still pining for you. But he thinks you didn’t want to see him after the summer ended.”
Sighing, you close your eyes and fall back onto your bed. “I appreciate it, Irene, but please don’t lie to me. He’s not even around anymore to tell you that.”
Her voice is faint. Still, you hear it. “He didn’t, Luke did.”
“That doesn’t mean he wants to see me again.”
“It doesn’t mean he doesn’t,” Callum returns to the conversation, much closer to his sister’s phone than she is. You turn down the volume on yours.
“Guys, this isn’t helpful. Anyway, my point was going to be I have this student that reminds me of him so much, and he caught that I was sad today even though I was smiley and cheerful as could be. None of my coworkers even noticed but he told me he hopes I feel better soon.”
“Honey,” Callum’s voice is finally soft, coaxing. “When someone can read you by your heart and not your face, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
You don’t ever plan on admitting it to the twins, even with their questions becoming more frequent as summer turns to autumn, but life is beginning to feel dull without Jack. It’s like you’re a plant that’s been tucked away in shadow. The city is colder. There’s less of the noise that you so love. And the worst part is: you know he’s maybe an hour away. It didn’t have to be like this. It didn’t have to be like this.
His face is on passing strangers as often as it’s on passing buses. You think his eyes are on every subway car. You’re being fucking haunted. There’s no other explanation.
Even worse, the notes. The ones you still have are hidden safely underneath his hoodie in a dresser drawer, but you can’t stop thinking about them. You wonder if he wrote out a last note for you. If anything you wrote is still concealed amongst his belongings.
The thought possesses you. It sits patiently in the back of your mind as you grade math homework and eat dinner accompanied only by the noise from some rerun on the tv. You’d like to talk about the situation, you really would, but not with the twins. Not with any of your friends here.
No, the only person you want to talk about this with is Jack.
It’s almost embarrassing how easily one glass of wine coaxes you into his hoodie. The smell of him lingers, and for some reason it’s stronger tonight than it has been in a while. Maybe you’re just remembering it better. Returning to the city made you feel old after a summer of life akin to adolescence, but the oversized sweatshirt takes you right back.
So does finding a barely-used notebook from college and ripping out the few pages with writing on them. They can’t be that important.
You have to scratch out the first few tries: “Jack Hughes,” “Dearest Jack,” and “My precious Jack,” among them. But eventually you fall right back into the rhythm of writing to him as if he’ll someday see it.
~~~
“Dear Jack, it’s me again. Honey. I know you’ll never see this or probably hear from me again, but I realize now how much I left unsaid when I, well, left. I regret how I did it, but I love my new job. That kinda seems like something you’d understand. But that’s not the point of this notebook letter. The big thing is, I’m missing you more than I think I should, so I’m trying to let it all out here. I wonder if you’re here – near – yet. I wonder if you still miss me too. Is it bad that I hope so? - Yours, Honey.”
~~~
Over the years, you started to think that you had gotten used to the twins’ occasional strange requests. Even more so over the summer. And once more, you have been reminded that you actually don’t know the extent of their possible requests. Because Irene just sent you money to go visit a particular coffee shop at a certain time today, so she can “predict traffic” for it on her next visit.
The half-cafe, half-florist would be unassuming with its plain black exterior if it weren’t for the floral arrangements above the door. Of course this a place that Irene wants to visit. Just the thought of her being here helps you perk up. Most of those doubts about her and Callum not wanting to see you after this summer get lost in the overwhelming smell of coffee and roses.
Irene is checking in on you frequently throughout the process of browsing, ordering, and waiting for your drink to arrive.
“Are you still there?” she asks just after your name gets called.
You grab your drink from the counter before responding, “No tables available. Might head to a nearby park to sit down.”
Her “No!!!!” catches you off guard, so you pause in the doorway. Even through the phone you can sense her alarm. She needs you to stay, but you haven’t the slightest idea why. “Just enjoy the vibes,” her next text encourages you.
“Not if I have to do it standing,” you send back.
Your scone almost goes flying when someone tries to slip inside past you. They grunt. You suppose it’s meant to be an apology of some sort. Still, you move out of the way and start heading toward the park that you mentioned.
Behind you, you hear a squeal rise above the usual city noise. You spare only a glance to the small group gathering down the street before shrugging it off. It was probably just wishful thinking, but you could’ve sworn that random girl’s shriek sounded a lot like she was saying “Jack.”
~~~
“Dear Jack, I’m going a little bit crazy. If you ever read any of this, you probably already know that I’m crazy. But I’ve been finding you or something that reminds me of you everywhere – from my students to random people on the streets of Manhattan who most definitely are not you, because why would you be there on a Sunday afternoon? You’re probably in practice. Or flying across the country. Or something. I know I said good luck with the season, but I can’t make myself watch. I still hope your team is winning. - Honey.”
~~~
The last day of school before Thanksgiving break comes faster than you ever imagined it would. Jaxon lingers just a moment in the room as all the kids leave.
“Have a good break, Miss Honey,” he says. “Do lots of stuff that makes you happy and thankful.”
“You too, Jaxon!” you try to call after him, unsure that he’ll even hear. When you are sure that he’s gone, you shut the door to your classroom and collapse into your desk chair, shaking your head to yourself. It never fails to amaze you how well this third grader can read your emotions. And how much you’ve found yourself liking this kid.
When your phone starts buzzing on your desk, you expect it to be one of your coworkers asking you to go out and celebrate a semester almost finished. It isn’t – Irene’s face fills your screen, beautifully bright smile adorning it.
Obviously, you pick it up. She sounds out of breath, like she’s been trying to run through a thick crowd.
“Hi, Honey!”
“Um, hi?”
Callum cuts in. “So we went to the Red Wings game last night and had dinner with some friends after, and we got some very interesting information.” You hear Irene huff over all of the background noise.
“Jack still misses you too!” She finishes for her brother, sounding almost smug. “Heard it straight from the source.”
Your heart leaps into your throat. Still, you sigh around it, “Guys…,” but trail off. What is there to say? It doesn’t feel like anything can happen here. The way you left it, it would be so awkward now to just… try to start talking again.
The twins pause for a moment. They must have been so caught up in the news of Jack’s lingering feelings that they forgot about the necessity of you having lingering feelings for any scheme of theirs to work.
“But what do you want, Honey?” Callum finally asks, voice soft even above the crowd that they must be stuck in.
“I just… want it to not hurt anymore,” you say. “I wish it were still summer.”
“Ah,” your friend sighs, and you can picture him shaking his head against the phone on the other end of the line. “Two of the only wishes we cannot grant.”
You smile, fighting back the glaze threatening to take over your eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.” But you shake off the emotion. Something’s going on with the twins, and you want to know what. “So, what are you guys doing that’s so loud?”
“Oh!” Irene gasps, as if she nearly forgot herself. “We’re catching a flight and spending Thanksgiving in Plymouth!”
Because of course they are.
~~~
“Dear Jack, I’ve reminisced a lot about the time we spent together. Did you realize it was only a month and a half? At the time I’m writing this, I’ve spent almost twice that time mourning us what we shared everything from this summer. What we did have together, what could’ve been. And what does that mean for me now? The twins said you still have feelings for me, but what are they? Love Like? Hate? I mean, I couldn’t even blame you for any of them. I have no idea how I would feel if I were in your place that day. I’m still so, so sorry. - Honey.”
~~~
Irene’s little cafe and flower shop has become something of a frequent visit for you in the months since she originally asked you to visit. You’ve sent photos of the various pastries and coffees you’ve tried, but nothing has seemed to matter to her as much as on that first day. Today she changes the subject so hard it gives you whiplash until you realize that Callum has stolen her phone.
“If you got the chance to reconnect with Jack what would you do?” seems to glare up at you from your screen.
“I don’t know,” you try to answer.
“Incorrect,” Callum shoots back, this time from his own phone. Irene must have taken hers back.
You sigh aloud, giving it more thought. “What do you want me to say here?”
His response gives you pause: “That whatever happens next, you’ll be open to it.”
It’s too vague. It’s definitely on purpose. And you have no idea what to make of that. You try texting him to ask for further clarification, but both he and his sister have gone dark. So you look up from your phone, trying to find anything out of the ordinary in the cafe. Sure, the interior is a little more crowded than usual, but that’s not a big deal.
Someone with their head down and hair sticking out of a dark knit toboggan sidesteps around you. The crowd all begins to move, seemingly at once, in a million directions.
“Order for… Honey?” a barista calls, setting the takeout cup on the counter. You wait a moment for someone else to come grab it, but no one does. So you approach.
The girl beams at you when you get to the counter. “So you’re Honey, huh?” she asks, a playful glint in her eye. “Gosh, you’re one lucky gal.”
Before you can even ask what in the world she means by that, she leaves. By the time you’ve picked up your coffee (apparently), she’s returning with a bouquet and an envelope.
“He left this for you- and don’t worry, we didn’t open it, he just wanted to add something. Have a great day!” With that, she heads back to the coffee bar. You’re left, baffled, in the middle of a very busy cafe, arms full of flowers and a mystery envelope and coffee. It was the coffee you were going to order anyway. But still. You have no idea what’s going on.
You don’t even have the ability to pull out your phone to call the twins about it until you get home and lay the flowers down on your table. When you finally pull it out, you find that you’ve already received several texts from them, asking whether you’ve gotten ‘it’ or if ‘the delivery’ has been made.
So this wasn’t a completely random occurrence. That’s pretty nice to know. Callum and Irene must have gotten someone to buy you coffee and flowers to cheer you up. Is this something that DoorDash does now?
Irene’s latest message interrupts your thoughts. “READ THE NOTE,” she is strongly encouraging you.
The scent of cologne hits you as soon as you slide the paper out of the envelope. You had almost forgotten it, but you place it immediately. Of course you do – it’s the same smell that you so cherished on the hoodie you had acquired in Michigan. But the paper doesn’t hold any lingering smoke.
You close your eyes for a second and raise it to your nose, taking a deep breath in. Oh, you’ve missed this. Feeling completely surrounded by Jack’s presence, physical or otherwise. Your phone buzzes again on the table. Almost as if you know what your friends are telling you to do, you unfold the paper. Slowly.
Just like you knew the cologne right away, you know the handwriting. It matches everything hidden in your dresser underneath the hoodie.
“Dear Honey,” you think you can hear Jack’s voice reading it aloud to you. You wish you did.
“I heard that you got the job! That’s awesome. I wish I got to say goodbye, but I can’t blame you for leaving or anything. I’ve had to give up a lot of stuff last minute for my job. It just means you have a passion for it. And those kids love you. I bet they feel so lucky to have you as a teacher.”
You pause to press the paper to your heart when the tears start threatening to spill over. If this were a conversation, you would take this moment to tell him about the little boy that reminds you so much of him – from the way he can read you like a book to his shining cerulean eyes.
“I felt lucky just to know you for part of this summer. You coming into my life felt like seeing color for the first time. I never realized how gray my life was until you took the color with you when you left. But I want you to know I’m not mad. I was never mad. But I missed you. A lot.”
The words escape your lips before you can stop them. “I miss you too, Jack,” you confess to your empty apartment. It’s not something you’re proud of, but it’s better than a sob.
“I got so used to spending like every day with you, just telling you even the dumbest stuff that came to my head because I always wanted to be talking to you, that I didn’t know what to do with myself after you went home. My head just got so full of all these thoughts. I can’t tell you how many times Luke’s caught me just voicing them to myself now that we’re back in Jersey. Or how badly he wants to make fun of me for it.”
Well, you can relate now, can’t you? Even if it wasn’t always aloud, you’ve been maintaining one-sided communication with Jack, too.
“I guess the point of me writing all this is this: I’d really love to be able to see you again. To talk to you again. If you don’t want that, that’s ok, but I’ve kind of been hearing differently. I’m really hoping you feel the same. So here’s my number. And my address, if you’d rather just write again. Either way. Hoping to hear from you, Jack (from the lake house).”
True to the barista’s word, there’s a scribbled addition at the bottom of the paper, in different pen.
“P.S. You look just as beautiful in a crowded New York coffee shop as you did during that birthday dinner with our friends. I’m glad I could see you again. Hope you enjoy your coffee.”
And that does it. You burst into tears, pushing the paper out of the way so none of Jack’s words get caught in the crossfire. Like a dull ache that’s finally gone away, you didn’t realize how painful missing him was until you got this – until he told you just how badly he missed you too. There’s so much you could’ve done differently. But it’s not too late to fix it.
The last letter you write is carefully drafted. It takes a few pieces of paper, crumpled up and tossed in the general direction of the trash can, before you feel like it really encapsulates everything you’ve been feeling over the past few months.
You send it off as soon as possible, but just in case, you also type out a hesitant text the next morning.
Jack’s request to meet at a small bookstore in Manhattan caught you off guard. But as soon as you walk in, you understand why he likes this place: it’s quiet, it’s nondescript and it’s cozy. You must have arrived first, because you can’t see him anywhere. You hear the cashier greet someone casually, though.
Almost as soon as you catch sight of him, Jack’s face lights up. He hastens his pace to meet you where you’ve been kind of hiding behind a bookshelf.
“Honey,” he greets you simply, making it sound both like a sigh of relief and a gulping inhale of clean air.
“Jack, I’m so sorry-” you try to say, but he cuts you off.
“Can I please kiss you?”
Quieted by his boldness, you just nod. His hands are still covered in thin red gloves when they reach up to your neck to pull you in. He steps closer, giving you little choice but to press yourself against the bookshelf behind you. And when his lips finally land on yours once more, they’re still chilly from outside.
Your instinct is to move away, to hide from the man that you left out in the metaphoric cold all those months ago. You ignore it. Tugging on his coat to prompt him even closer, you make a pact with yourself: despite his career being largely on ice, despite your respective cities both being covered in snow, you will never leave him cold again.
“There’s no need to be sorry,” he tells you earnestly when you part, gloves still cupping your face. His eyes find yours in the dim light of the store. For a second you think he’s searching for something. The thought passes as quickly as it comes. “I wrote that I understood, and I meant it. I do.”
“I could’ve tried to maintain contact, I just-” you cut off your own excuse. “I got scared.”
Barely visible underneath his hat, Jack’s eyebrows furrow. “Scared?”
Nodding, you turn away to start browsing another shelf. “Scared. This might be hard to believe, Jack, but I don’t have the easiest time facing my own feelings. And I only ever make it harder on myself.”
One corner of his lips jumps. It’s like he’s suppressing a smile. “It isn’t. Not really.” But he accepts the simple explanation anyway and lets you lead him through the bookstore to pick out some new books for your classroom.
Jack surprises you by pointing out a few – with the clarification that he doesn’t know what a third-grade reading level is, but he liked that series when he was growing up. You learn that he still likes reading, but only during the season when he has long bus rides and flights to read on. On top of that, you find out that he’s at this bookstore so often that most of the cashiers know him by name. And that he started reading romance novels in the months that you were apart, the latest of which was picked up right after he bought your coffee less than a week ago.
“It’s been okay so far,” he admits, “But I think our story is better.” You raise an eyebrow. “It’s happening outside of a single summer, but it’s a good one.” He reaches down to squeeze your hand with a wink.
Neither of you expect to talk as long as you do. You still weren’t sure Jack would want to talk to you at all when you entered the bookstore. By the time you leave, though, a bag full of new classroom books in hand, Jack’s invited you to pick up dinner and eat it back at his apartment with him.
The conversation turns more serious after dinner, on the couch. It’s just an offhand comment when you remark once more that feelings are intimidating, but Jack holds onto it.
“Honey, why were you scared of your feelings…,” he trails off, squinting as he makes sure he’s saying it the right way, “...regarding me? Did I do something?”
You gulp. There isn’t any good option for this admission. No matter how you say it, it’s going to come out wrong.
“Remember when we met?” you ask him. He winces. So he definitely remembers. “That first impression of you that I formed, the guy I thought was just a playboy who was only interested in me because I was something new, it mostly faded away as I got to know you better.”
“Mostly?” Jack’s face betrays his feelings – this hurts. You speak softly as you continue.
“Are you sure you want to hear this?” Steeling himself, he nods. It reminds you exactly why you stopped thinking he was a player like his jungle juice-loving friend. Because he wears his emotions on his face. Because he’s willing to have these talks. “Even though it started feeling more and more irrational as the summer went on, there was always this underlying fear that I would end up being… just another girl or something. Maybe I even hoped it was true, just so that I could walk away when all was said and done with no regrets or guilt.”
You look down at your hands, trying to avoid letting him see you cry. Not because you still want it to be true at all, but because of how guilty you feel on the other side of everything, knowing what you do now. He takes your hands in his so you look up at him.
“Honey, no. I want you to hear this when I say it: you could never be just another girl, not to me. You are such a special person and I knew it as soon as I saw you,” he says earnestly.
“As soon as you saw me, huh?”
“Okay, I was interested as soon as I saw you. I knew you were special as soon as I realized who you were,” he corrects, chuckling a little at himself. He gets quiet for a second. “Seriously, though, every moment we were together at the lake house felt more and more like we were in our own little world. I came back here, and I got homesick for it.”
This strikes a chord in you. You hadn’t thought of it like that, but he was right. You were homesick for him – for the entire summer you shared with him and your friends – in your own city. That was it.
“I missed you too,” you tell him, running your thumb over his hand. “I missed summer, Michigan, all of it – but you most of all.”
Jack smiles. He smiles, and despite the chill that runs down your spine, you feel warm all over.
“Jack?” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
And he does. Like something probably out of one of his romance novels, he practically lifts you across the couch to pull you into his arms. This kiss isn’t quite like your first kiss with Jack – that one was fireworks, heat, an explosion of color. It isn’t like your second kiss with him, either. The kiss in the bookstore was cold, painful yet so reassuring it was almost comfortable.
This one? It feels like coming home.
On the first day of school after winter break, you stand at the door of your classroom to welcome back all of your kids. Layla goes for a high five, her best friend Kylie wraps her little arms around you in a hug. Jaxon is the last one in. He stops in front of you.
“Miss Honey?” he asks.
“Yeah, Jax?” you answer, wondering what he’ll say now. It’s only been a few days since what Jack is now calling your first date, but the homesickness has almost evaporated. If the twins were nearby, everything would be perfect.
“I’m glad that you got better over break,” he announces. “It’s nice when you can be happy.”
The grin that spreads over your face is easy. “It is, isn’t it?” you agree with the boy, ushering him into your classroom to start the new semester.
~~~
“Dearest Jack, I have accepted Callum and Irene’s offer to spend the upcoming summer in Michigan on the lake. Because of school, I can’t arrive until the first few days of July. Still, I can’t wait to be there with you. Hope practice is going well! Love, Honey.”
at the end of the day; at the end of the aisle [mb.13]
pairing: mat barzal x reader
nickname: ma belle
word count: 1.6k
summary: A peek into the best day of your life.
These past few months have been among the most stressful of your life. Yesterday, you were nitpicking anything and everything you could get your hands on, mind divided between steaming the wrinkles from each piece of fabric that would be touched today and trying your hardest not to burst into tears… for the third time today.
You woke up weirdly calm despite it all. It’s too late now. Whatever’s going to happen will happen – your bridesmaid’s fake tan could stain her dress, the weather might go south – but no matter what else happens, you’re going home tonight married to the love of your life.
There’s a comfort in the knowledge, weighing on you like a blanket over your shoulders.
The entire estate venue is abuzz with activity. People are wandering the grounds where the ceremony is to be set up, makeup artists and hairstylists keep coming and going from the bridal suite as they exchange tools and tips. Every single one of your and Mat’s family members keep ushering you back inside with mischievous grins when you try to leave.
“It’s tradition,” they urge you.
“I’m hungry!” you protest, on occasion.
This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you and Mat started planning your big day – in fact, a lot of this wasn’t. You dreamt of a smaller affair. Somewhere that was so far away from anything that you could forget big cities like New York existed. Somewhere that motivated people to make the journey only if they truly loved you.
But you love the place you’ve chosen. It feels right, for what the two of you have ended up doing. The bridal suite seems to cradle you as you spend the morning hiding away so everyone else can take care of business outside. You’re getting your makeup done when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders.
Resisting the urge to jump, you open your eyes. Your mother stands behind you in the mirror, already finished with her preparations for the day. Dress and all. You reach out absentmindedly for a hair caught in a sequin; you helped pick it out because you knew it would be perfect for her bubbly personality and it needs to look just as perfect today. She lets you.
When you finally glance up at her face, you realize how misty her eyes are. Her gaze is soft, though.
“Mama, no,” you plead weakly. “I can’t cry right now-”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she turns away to fan her face. You notice the makeup artist has paused her work. “I’m just going to miss you so much.”
You slump a little in your chair despite yourself. “Mom-”
“I know, I know,” she interrupts you. “You’ve been giving me the spiel this whole time. You haven’t really lived at home for years anyway, the two of you are practically married, I know.” Her pause is heavy with words left unsaid. “Go easy on this old lady, I’ve never done this before.”
“You’re not old,” you tell her, scrambling to find anything else to say. Something comforting. But there isn’t anything good enough. So you just hold onto her hand while the makeup artist applies the finishing touches.
Eventually, she speaks again. “I’m so happy for you though, baby, I’ve never seen anyone look at each other the way you do. Always knew he was the one.”
And as much as sadness is filling the room right now, something sparks in your heart. The same way it did when you first made eye contact with Mat across a crowded bar over five years ago. The same way it did when, almost two years ago, you turned around on a beach trail to find him with one knee in the sand.
You can’t wait to see him again at the end of that aisle.
“Are you nervous?” is the first thing your dad asks when you see him by the doors. He’s smiling, but avoiding eye contact. You choose to believe in his façade. “You look so beautiful, honey.”
By now, though, the tears have gotten to you too. “Thank you, Dad.”
He clears his throat, offering you a handkerchief out of his suit pocket. “I just want you to know, if you ever need anything – a weekend away, or financial support, or anything at all, really – your mother and I are here. You’ll always be our little girl.”
“I know, Dad,” you whisper, voice thick with tears. “I love you too.”
You’re sure there’s more he wants to say, but all he can manage is a sniffle. Someone by the door signals to you.
“I love you, honey. Are you ready?” your father asks, tucking the handkerchief away somewhere.
All you have to do is nod before he’s leading you outside.
When the doors open, your breath catches. You had picked out music especially for this walk – you know you did, you had to confirm it with the pianist via text at the rehearsal dinner last night – but you can’t hear it at all. There are so many people filling the seats. Mat’s used to that; you’re not.
And maybe you’re supposed to be nervous right now. Maybe even scared. But you see him, on the other end of the floral path lovingly scattered by your little cousin, and you inhale. This is the breath you haven’t been able to catch all morning. This is it.
There he is.
Every cell in your body is on fire. Every atom within you wants to take off running just to get to him faster, to pull his face into your hands because you’ve missed it today – oh, so horribly – and press that finalizing kiss to his perfect lips.
They’re covered up right now. You see it better as you get closer, step by agonizingly slow step.
Just beyond your friends and family, Mat has a hand pressed to the bottom half of his face. His eyes are glistening in the sunlight. He swore for months that he wouldn’t tear up when he saw you for the first time today, even when Liana threatened to reach over and sock him to make it happen, but you see it now. You’re holding back the tears too.
If the people in the seats weren’t blurry before, they certainly are now. You choke back a sob when you finally get close enough to see your mom next to the empty front-row seat waiting for your dad out of the corner of your eye. It’s not the loving smile on her face masking the sadness that gets you. It’s the fact that the smile is directed at your almost-husband, and that he’s too distracted to return the grin. But you know he would, if he noticed.
After passing your bouquet off to Liana and hugging your parents, the first thing Mat does when you finally reach him is shake his head. You’re confused before you realize he’s chuckling to himself, his longtime best friend grinning behind him just like he did the night that the two of you met.
“Ma belle,” he greets you. “Truly. I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous.”
You’d like to flirt back, but there’s something more important you need to say first. “I missed you,” you blurt, softly, hoping no one can hear you so they won’t tease you later.
“I missed you too,” he admits. In the background, the officiant says something. There’s a shuffling from the seats. “But don’t worry, we’ll never have to do this again. We’ll get to do it to other people.” He squeezes your hands as he reassures you.
The smile that overtakes your face is so natural that you don’t even realize you’re doing it at first. You lose yourself in the moment – Mat grinning back at you, excitement flooding your veins, the officiant’s voice rising and falling to direct you through your vows.
And finally, the moment you’ve been waiting for all morning – once you’ve made enough promises to last a lifetime (with the intention of doing just that), your officiant steps back.
“Mister Barzal,” he announces, “you may now kiss your bride.”
Mat surges toward you, giving you just enough time to wrap your arms around his neck as cheers erupt from the small crowd gathered for this moment. Tito or someone must have stolen some of the flower girl’s petals, because they fall over and around you like something out of a film as you finally part from your newly-declared husband.
Liana hands over your bouquet, which you hold up in the air as her brother escorts you back down the aisle. He leans over to high-five an old friend sitting in the third or fourth row. You take the opportunity to finally look out at everyone who showed up for you today – elementary school friends, coworkers, family you haven’t been able to see in years.
Halfway down, Mat stops you. He uses your grip on his hand to tug you in, spinning you around to lower you gently and press his lips to yours once more. It prompts an even louder cheer than before.
For once in a very, very long time, you don’t think about whether the catering crew is on schedule. You forget that your hair might be falling out from the wind blowing off the lake. Not even how the “Welcome to Our Happily Ever After” sign has been knocked askew crosses your mind.
Even though you’re supposed to take a few minutes in a room to yourself, Mat stops just inside the doors. You’ve only just begun to furrow your eyebrows in confusion when he explains.
“I know we’ve got all the time in the world, now,” he tells you, “but I just need one more right now.”
He pulls you into one more kiss, imbued with all the emotion since you parted last night, before the two of you disappear for a quiet moment to begin your happily ever after.
ice me out at summer's end; i refuse to drown in your wake [jh.86]
pairing: jack hughes x reader
nickname: honey
word count: 11.3k
summary: You were surprised when your friends offered to let you spend the summer with them in a lake house community. You're downright shocked when you start to connect with one of their friends and neighbors. Then, maybe the biggest surprise of the summer: a sudden phone call asking you to go home.
general timeline: mid-late summer 2025
universe: lake house summers
This has been maybe the longest school year of your life. Sure, you’re not a student anymore. You’re not even technically in a full-time position. But you’ve been able to feel the excitement building in the kids since you came into their classroom as a long-term substitute, and when the bell rings to signal the beginning of their summer, it hits its peak.
Children scramble through the classroom door, backpacks half-on and a great number of water bottles almost forgotten. A few of them stop to talk to you, to ask if they’re going to see Mrs. Rivera next year after she has her baby or if they’re going to see you. The sweetest ones stick around long enough to tell you how much they enjoyed having you as a teacher. And as excited as you are to get out for the summer and start your virtual tutoring job from your friends’ lake house in Michigan, part of you wishes you could stay longer.
“I might come in for a few days,” you try to reassure one of the lingering kids. “If I’m here, I’ll make it a point to say hi if we pass each other.”
“Me too, Miss Honey,” a little girl named Ellie pipes up. “I’ll miss you over the summer though.”
You smile, crouching to her level to pull her into a hug. “I’ll miss you too, Ellie. But you’re going to have so much fun on your trip to Nap Town!”
The misnaming makes her giggle. “Siesta Key,” she insists. “It only means nap in Spanish.”
“See?” you tell her, taking her hand to lead her to the door. “You’re practically a local already. And you’ll have to tell me all about it when you come back to school.”
She pinky-promises that she will as long as you come back, too. Then the classroom is empty, and you heave a little sigh of relief to yourself. When you open your eyes, you realize you’re unsure whether you have to come back tomorrow and clean the room out or not. It’s technically not yours.
In your roughly six years, now, of knowing Irene and Callum, you have learned well their most cardinal trait: spontaneity. The twins are more different than they are similar, but both of them are generally free spirits with a knack for impulsive decisions. You think their biggest one lately is inviting you to spend the entire summer with them at their inherited lake house when they realized you were looking for a place to adventure to.
And as much as you double-checked, fearing their minds would change, they didn’t budge. So you find yourself going from navigating a hectic LaGuardia as the Fourth of July dawns to a possibly more hectic house party hosted by a “semi-local” friend of the twins as the sun sets.
“Welcome to the community,” Callum grins, nudging you with an elbow to help direct you to the kitchen once the three of you have made it through the foyer (to you, a horrifying preview of the extent to which the whole house is filled). “This is probably one of the best first impressions you could get, honestly, Honey.”
“Pick your poison,” his sister invites in a bored-sounding tone, arm sweeping out to the side to indicate all the possible alcohol you could drink tonight, eyes scanning the room in a similar manner. She’s looking for someone. You don’t know who it is.
Hesitantly, you sidestep around someone pouring themself another cup of jungle juice to grab something in a closed can from an open cooler next to an island. You resist the urge to jump up on the counter just to get away from the crowd.
“Hey there,” you turn to the jungle juice guy when he speaks. He’s a little tipsy already. The potency of his drink makes his breath hang in between the two of you like a dew-covered branch, but it’s certainly less pleasant-smelling. “You seem new. I’m-” Just as your nose begins to wrinkle at the implications of his heavily scented words, someone’s arm wraps around your waist to pull you along with them into the next room.
The sudden splash of color on your friend’s tongue implies that he’s enjoyed at least one patriotically layered Jello shot, which explains his urgent need to dance with you. Or anyone, really. But you’re closest and he’s already comfortable with you.
Irene has made her way to the makeshift dance floor too. “Spin me!” she calls with a giggle, though the move doesn’t suit the music at all.
So you do, and the force of it sends you twirling too, landing against a muscular-feeling chest of reasonable height. You pull away as fast as the position registers, as if the guy had burned you.
“Hey,” he says, reaching out to steady you by your elbow. “Are you okay there?”
When you meet his eyes – so clearly an oceanic blue even in the poor lighting of the party-filled living room, you startle again. He’s kinda pretty. But he asked you something. You nod. Seeming to notice your nerves, his face splits into a grin that hides the pretty behind a mask of something much less appealing. Something expectant, arrogant. Your foot takes a step back without a second thought.
“I’m Jack,” he continues, gesturing with both hands once the one slips off your arm. “Welcome to the party, if someone hasn’t told you already.”
“Thanks,” you tell him shortly. One of the twins’ distinctive presences appears behind your shoulder, and you prepare to be dragged away again. Back into the crowd, back into the party mood. But Callum’s arm drapes casually over your shoulder, and his voice makes itself heard over the noise with a similar ease.
“‘Sup, Jack,” he greets the other boy like they’re familiar. “Thanks for inviting us. Nice place you got here. Even better to see it hopping again.”
Your eyes dart between your friend and your host, eyebrows furrowing before you can really help it. “You know this guy?” He doesn’t seem like the kind of person Callum and Irene would truly “vibe” with, in their terms, at least not that cocky smirk he graced you with. It did relax a little when Callum jumped into the conversation, you notice now. The grin your friend is getting is much more laid back.
“Known him ‘bout as long as we’ve known you, Honey,” he explains, squeezing you into a friendly hug. Jack looks back and forth between the two of you a couple of times, smile taking on a slight undercurrent of nervousness.
“Honey? Is this your-” he starts, but gets cut off by laughter – yours and Callum’s.
“Absolutely not,” Callum explains, waving his free hand. You take a long drink from your seltzer-thing as you watch him. “This is the friend who came to stay with us for the summer, remember? We get some nice Honey-time until, what, late August?”
You shrug when he looks at you for confirmation. “Maybe later, I think. Depends on the job market back home.”
Finally appearing to notice your chilly demeanor, Callum waits for Jack to say something about how nice it is to meet you before he politely ends the conversation and drags you out onto the deck, catching Irene and pulling her along from somewhere in the crowd.
“Okay,” he starts once you’re in a quieter place, folding his arms and leaning back a little. “What was all that with Jack? Am I detecting tension? Did he do something to you?” His twin’s eyes are wide as she glances at you.
“I just… wasn’t a fan of the vibes he was putting on, is all,” you say awkwardly. “Seemed player-y.”
Irene nods. “Oh, of course he comes off that way as first. But he’s a sweetie inside, deep down. All three of his brothers are. Good kids. They completely wooed Grandma when she was spending her last summer here,” she says. Your eyes narrow. It better explains the first few seconds of your interactions with Jack, but that doesn’t quite excuse the cockiness that overtook him, in your book.
She continues, “All three of ‘em play big-league hockey, which explains how they could afford to buy this place, but Jack’s kind of the biggest deal. Seems to think he needs to put on this act with most people. Not us, by now, but…” She trails off, looking at you earnestly. “Obviously he doesn’t know you yet, that fakeness is the last necessary thing around you, sweetness.” Her hands wrap around yours, at least, the one not holding your drink.
“We can just try to hang out with them while you’re doing your tutoring thing,” Callum pipes up to offer. “Or not at all if he makes you really uncomfortable. But maybe if you two gave each other kind of a real shot, you could get along pretty well. We’ll listen to what you want, Honey.”
You sigh. “I talked to him for maybe thirty seconds. I guess it could be worth another shot… but only after we get a couple more songs in!”
Utilizing Irene’s grip on you to your advantage, you lead the twins back into the living room fray, jumping along to the pounding bass beat almost as soon as you’re inside. They protect you from the crowd. Jack remains on the outskirts of the room. Once or twice, you meet his eyes, and a hopeful light overtakes them. Maybe there is more to the boy than your first impression revealed.
He catches you while the twins are dispersed – Callum hunting down more jello shots, Irene caught up with something in the bathroom. And he nervously asks for your attention using your real name.
“The twins talk about you a lot,” he explains, worry flashing across his face. “Sorry, did I not-”
“You can just call me Honey,” you reassure him. “Everyone does at this point.” Though the house isn’t silent, nowhere near in fact, an awkward silence overtakes the space between you. Then both of you open your mouths to speak at the same time.
“Ladies first,” he insists.
So you swirl your drink around in your can before taking a sip and apologizing. “I think I may have judged you a little unfairly earlier. I didn’t realize how close you are to my friends, and obviously I trust their judgment. So, y’know, it’s nice to meet you and all. I look forward to spending the summer here and I guess getting to know the whole community or group.”
He laughs. You look up at him, wondering what about that could possibly be funny. “I’m sorry but, well, that’s convenient,” he finally says. “Because I was going to apologize for getting weird and probably scaring you off earlier. That wasn’t great host behavior in the first place, and it’s so much worse that we have mutual friends like that. Especially since they seem to think we’ll be friends too by the time summer’s over.”
His admission lets a little of the built-up tension seep out of your muscles. “They said that to you too, huh?”
“It came up a few times, yeah.” For a second you think he’s going to slip back into that persona, with the forced chill-ness, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head, readjusts his backwards hat. “How’d you meet the twins?”
“New Year’s Eve, Times Square,” you begin the story. “I was there all alone because my friends got food poisoning from a brunch spot we went to the day before.” Jack winces. “So I’m there by myself, already a little nervous about the crowd, and then everybody shifts and suddenly my perfect view of the ball is gone.” His eyes light up with an idea, like he knows where this is going. “I have to lift onto my tippiest toes to do it, but eventually I tap this absolute tree of a man on the shoulder and ask as politely as I can if he wouldn’t mind switching spots with me because while he can see over me, no problem, I’m having a little bit of trouble here.”
He giggles a little. “It was Cal?”
You roll your eyes fondly. “Of course it was. We play spot shuffle, he and Irene strike up a conversation, and next thing you know one of them is kissing each of my cheeks to ring in the New Year. We’ve been buddies ever since.” The tall guy in question is back, but he’s still across the room pulling strangers into a dance with the same charisma that had originally drawn you in. “How about you?”
“Well, obviously they’ve been around here for a while,” Jack says, “even when their grandparents still owned the house. So the first summer we were all here, Quinn and I had just bought this place. Apparently Grandma Jolie was super close to the previous owners, so she sent them over with these coconut cookies-”
“The ones that she taught Irene to make?” you ask excitedly when he pauses. Something about the way he does it makes you think that he’s reminiscing about them right now.
“The very ones,” he continues, smiling at you. “With a note that said not to be a stranger if we needed anything like plants watered or the mail checked, because she and her grandkids had been doing it for ages. And you know how they are – we were kinda just buddies from then on. So now, when our hockey friends aren’t here, we spend most of our time with them and a couple of other locals.”
Maybe he’s expecting you to say something, but all you can really do is nod. It’s past time for you to find one of your actual friends – the crowd has gotten to be way too much.
“If you’ll excuse me, Jack, I gotta-” you start, pushing off the wall to start wading through the crowd towards Callum, the only twin that you can see at the minute. His brows furrow, and he looks at all the people in his living room before realizing.
“Do you want to get out of here? Somewhere quiet?” he offers. As quick as you think it is when you search his eyes for any hint of mischief, Callum has disappeared by the time you turn back around. You’ll never know how he manages to do that. So you swallow around the quickly-forming lump in your throat and nod to Jack.
Despite technically being the host of the party, he doesn’t seem to hesitate at all when leading you by the hand out to the garage, ducking around greetings and a couple of attempts at flirting that get thrown his way between the living room and kitchen. He grabs a pair of keys off the wall next to the door.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I think the most away place from all of this would be, like… a little drive away, you know?”
Still lacking the proper breath to speak, you nod again. You feel a warm hand land on your back, rubbing up and down gently.
“This way,” Jack narrates as he leads you down the driveway to a car. “That one with the tinted windows, yeah. Here we go. I think we’re gonna be okay, right?” And like a proper gentleman, he even opens the door for you.
The interior of the car is still warm from the sunny day, but it feels like the first gulp of fresh air after you resurface from holding your breath underwater anyway. Jack was right. This feels a lot more away than anywhere else on the lot could’ve felt. He lets himself into the driver’s seat, glancing over to check on you before starting the car.
“Don’t forget to let them know where you are,” he reminds you, cracking a small smile. “Trust me, especially around here, it can cause a little panic. Not fun being on the other end of it.”
Finally, your breath catches up with you as he pulls out of the driveway, once you’ve texted the twins that you left the party for a little bit with Jack. “You’ve been on the other end of it before?”
“Oh yeah. We’ve got this cousin who likes to spend part of her summer here with us, and a couple years back she went missing while we were out on the boat. Made all of my friends search the whole house for her. Turns out her phone just died as she was on an ice cream run. One of my buddies found her on her bike on her way back.” His grin only widens as he talks, as if it’s a fond memory now.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like… there might be a little more to it?”
Jack laughs. His eyes are sparkly when he looks over at you, one hand on the wheel, one gesturing more or less to his window. “Well, they are dating now, and we’re pretty sure it kind of clicked for both of them that day.”
You can’t help but smile back at him. “That sounds like a hell of a story.”
Time slips away from the two of you as he drives around the lake, pointing out familiar houses in the dark. Only once the fireworks start going off do you realize that technically, both of you are supposed to be somewhere. But the way he looks at you and not the sky makes you think that maybe he isn’t ready to return just yet either. You might not be ready to go back at all.
“Think you could drop me off at the twins’ place?” you ask him before it feels too late. “No offense to your party, but…”
He shrugs. It’s laid back, but not in a forced way. “Can’t blame you for being partied out. We go pretty hard for the Fourth. Do you have a way to get back in?”
“Yeah, Irene sent me the door code. I don’t think they expect me back.”
“Sounds good,” he says as he turns onto their street. “It’s not expected, but if you ever do want to come back, it’s open invitation whenever the twins are gonna be there. Or, assuming you didn’t drive here yourself, if you ever want a late night drive…” The look in his eye is like what you first saw from him – earnest, excited. Maybe hopeful.
It’s slow, but the nod comes. So does the grin, as you open the door and step out into the night. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we Jack?”
You check over your shoulder when you make it to the house, expecting him to have driven off already, but he’s waiting for you to get inside. It’s sweet. He seems sweet – much more than you originally thought. He gets a thumbs-up when the door opens, but still waits until you close the door behind you to leave.
The first time that the twins see Jack and his brothers after the party, you have at least three hours of tutoring work to do. Selflessly, you wave them on without you and promise that you’ll text as soon as you’re done. Almost as soon as you send the text – after spending a surprisingly delightful afternoon with some former students – they’re back. Irene enters the house in a whirlwind of tropical-smelling sunscreen and flying hair. Callum is outwardly calmer behind her, but there’s an energy buzzing beneath his skin. Sometimes you aren’t completely sure that they’re human.
“Honey!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around you from your position at the kitchen counter, “We missed you!”
“So did Jack, it seems,” her brother comments wryly, barely audible from inside the open fridge.
You look back and forth between them. “What?”
Still hanging onto you lovingly, Irene takes it upon herself to make Callum’s comment make more sense. “Well, our dearest party host from the other day was wondering what you were up to, is all. Maybe even seemed a little sad when you didn’t show up.” She spins you around on your stool to face her. Her eyes are bright, smile wide. “So you two are friends now?”
“I don’t know that I’d say friends just yet, ‘rene,” you tease. “He definitely did save me from getting too overwhelmed at the party though. Like I told you about.”
“Well, if you want to be friends-” Cal holds up something. You squint at it. A napkin, maybe? Leftover from the party, if you had to guess, based on the stars-and-stripes print. “-he sent this along for you.”
“A napkin,” you deadpan. The statement amuses Callum, who laughs, more than Irene, who gasps dramatically and floats over to deliver it to you.
She holds it out, unfolding it with the anticipation of a kid at Christmas. And she clears her throat to begin reading it in a voice that you think is trying to imitate Jack’s, “Dear Honey…” then interrupt with her own squealing voice, “Wait, you told him he could call you that?”
“Everyone does now,” you defend yourself. “I’m just more used to it.” But you take the napkin anyway, slip it in with your tutoring supplies and excuse yourself to tuck them away into what, for the time being, is “your” room.
You make sure to lock the door before pulling the napkin out from between a notebook and your laptop. And you fall back on the bed to read it, holding the napkin up against the light as if there might be a secret message underneath the messily drawn ink.
It reads, “Dear Honey, I guess I underestimated how busy you’d be. We probably have to invite the twins to hang out more now. :) Hope you’re enjoying your summer, Jack (from the party).” Something about it is incredibly endearing. Maybe it’s his apparent determination to see you again, or the obvious humility in specifying that you met at the party instead of assuming you’d remember who he is. One might even say cute. But they’d have to be a lot less practical, and a whole lot more hopeful than you.
Eventually, maybe two weeks after the party, things seem to align for Jack. Because your only Friday tutoring appointment cancels, which means you’re a last-minute addition to the group of people going out on the Hughes boys’ boat. You aren’t necessarily a boat person yourself, but since tutoring has taken so much of your time so far you’d rather be with your friends than not.
“Honey!” Jack exclaims when he sees you approaching the dock with the twins. “You’re here!” Then he catches himself. His tone changes. “I mean, we didn’t expect you. Hi.”
“Sorry, it was a very sudden change!” Callum calls in lieu of greeting his buddy. “Tutoree canceled.” He pulls away from you and Irene to reach the young man first. And when he does, he leans down to murmur in Jack’s ear. You only catch the tail end, which is “...better when you’re honest.”
Jack nods distractedly, trying to avoid looking at you by focusing on the house. Shrugging it off mentally, you continue toward the boat where one of Jack’s brothers and jungle juice guy are already on the boat, debating something. Upon noticing you and Irene, they fall quiet.
“Trevor, Quinn,” she says, gesturing to each of them in turn, “This is our best shared friend and summer guest, Honey.”
“You really are a honey, aren’t you?” Trevor blurts, and Quinn reacts immediately by throwing a life jacket at him.
Saved from the awkwardness of scolding this near-stranger yourself, you shoot the definitely-more-polite guy a smile. “Thank you, Quinn,” you hum, taking Irene’s hand to steady yourself as you step onto the boat. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to let it go until you get back off, but you know that’s unreasonable. So you plop down somewhere and lay your arm over the back of the seat to create the illusion of calm despite your fingers scrambling to grip something, anything on the side of the boat.
Maybe someone would notice or say something about it, but Jack and Callum and probably Jack’s other brother cause a wonderful distraction with their arrival to the boat, carrying a large cooler between two of them. There’s some chaos as everyone gets themselves sorted. Eventually someone is picked to drive the boat and the rest of the seats fill up as it pulls away from the dock.
You let your eyes fall shut as the vessel begins to pick up speed, trying to imagine that you’re somewhere else – on a plane, in a spaceship, maybe, but the spray of freshwater on your face keeps pulling you out of the fantasy.
“Hey,” a low voice startles you as a body joins you on the bench, “you okay?” It’s not either of the people you consider to be your friends out of this group.
“Perfect,” you mumble, fingers tightening on the cushion. “You really don’t have to worry about it.”
“Of course I do,” Jack counters. Finally, you open your eyes. Once more, his face is painted with such an earnest expression that it almost hurts to look at. You don’t think it’s on purpose. But how on earth does he do that, you wonder? Let himself crack open for the briefest moments, apparently just for you to see? The look clouds over as he speaks. “And something’s wrong with you.”
“Gee, thanks,” you manage to mutter dryly, ducking your head away from the spotlights that he calls eyes. There might not be anything you can do to escape this interrogation, but you’ll be damned if you stay looking at him all through it. No one else on the boat seems to have noticed your exchange yet.
He huffs. “Obviously that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine, Jack,” you say with a little more force than you mean to, then add in a softer tone, “I just get seasick, okay? Nothing to worry about.”
“Of course it is,” is his response, but he’s up and off the bench before you can shoot back. Trevor calls out to him while he’s moving across the boat. You feel his steps more than see them. Just as quickly, he’s back, offering you a couple of tablets of medicine and a freshly-opened water bottle. “It would have worked a little better if we took it earlier, but it can’t hurt to try, right?”
You only need to think for a second before taking it, smiling hesitantly at him. “Thank you, Jack.”
He nudges you with his shoulder as he sits. “If you need something, Honey, all you gotta do is ask.”
His attention is stolen by everybody else’s conversation soon enough as Quinn directs the boat out into the middle of the lake. Some parts, you catch. Like how the “Fourth of July rush” has finally calmed all the way down and people are starting to head out of town again. And the different training regimes that the hockey players are trying this summer. And Luke’s girlfriend, which is a hot topic as it’s been under wraps until recently but their families have known each other for a long time. Or something along those lines.
At some point, it gets interrupted by Irene’s exclamation of, “Hey, I can see our house from here!” which earns a giggle from you and chuckles from most everyone else. Callum brings the previous topic back to the forefront of the conversation.
And you? Well, your lids grow heavier with each word, and somehow, the voices blend together into a gentle rise and fall that lulls you to sleep when paired with the rocking of the boat.
“Hey, Honey,” are the first words you hear as you come back to. Slightly amused, slightly concerned, Irene is shaking your shoulder with as little force as she can. But your pillow is warm, and the thin blanket covering you is soft. You don’t want to wake up. “We’re back at the Hughes house, hon. It’s time to get up and go.”
Your only response is to grumble, and the pillow shakes – shakes? – beneath you as someone breathes out a soft laugh. But of course, pillows don’t laugh, and they’re not warm and yours certainly doesn’t smell like assorted man soap scents. So you shoot up, eyes opening way too wide against the bright afternoon sun.
When your vision finally returns, you can distinguish your pillow as Jack. “I-” Your voice gets caught in your dry throat. Somewhere on the dock, somebody whistles. You cough, then manage, “I’m so sorry. I think the medicine got me.”
He shrugs, a seemingly subconscious grin spreading across his sun-pinkened face. “I think so too. It’s okay. As long as you’re feeling better, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for everything, Jack.” Irene helps you off the boat just as she helped you on, but this time her full attention is on you as you call back to her friend, “See you later!” as if you know you will.
The twins are kind enough to wait until you’re in the car to say anything. Callum starts it off.
“We know that you were only that tired because of the meds, but you seemed awfully comfortable when Jack pulled your head off the seat cushion and onto his shoulder,” he teases, looking over at you from the driver’s seat.
Averting your gaze out the window, you shrug. “There’s not much to say. I was asleep,” you respond.
Still, Irene’s gaze weighs heavy on you through the rearview mirror. When you finally meet it, she grins. It’s as if she knows something you don’t.
Not even a few days later, a note shows up in the twins’ mailbox: “Hey Honey, was thinking – since you don’t like boats, maybe we should hang just on land again sometime. Just lmk. - Jack.”
The next morning, on a run that you took on a whim, you leave a note for him. It’s simple – consisting solely of your weekly tutoring schedule and the days you already have plans with Callum and Irene – but it’s enough.
Jack’s routine this summer isn’t as predictable as yours, really. Or at least it shouldn’t be. But once he gets the note, things start to change. He drops off donuts from a local bakery that’s “unbelievable” one day, comes to hang out after tutoring finishes the next. You get used to his presence in the twins’ house almost as much as theirs. Even more so when their vacation time ends and they return to work. Callum jokes that Jack’s family must miss him. He laughs it off, says they were probably getting sick of him anyway or that Luke is completely wrapped up in his girlfriend.
And nearly four weeks after meeting him, you close a Zoom call to find him just off to the side, leaning against a countertop like he belongs there, arms folded and content smile on his face.
“You’re good with kids,” he notes, nodding pointedly at your laptop screen where Landon had been grinning just moments ago.
“I’d sure hope so,” you tell him as you close it, making his grin grow wider because he knows your attention is about to be focused on him, “but thank you. I try. It’s as much a learning experience as anything, you know?”
The cabinet next to him has cups, and you intend to get yourself a glass of water after talking for several hours straight, but Jack’s words give you pause. “I think all the best things are.” There’s a deeper meaning there, something meaningful buried under layers of job talk. For you, it’s especially hard to miss.
“Yeah?” you prompt, resuming your business with only a glance at him.
But he just repeats your word, dipped in the same layers as the last. “Yeah.”
Even though you narrow your eyes at him, push your lips out into a semi-pout and furrow your brows, he doesn’t elaborate. Just keeps smiling at you like what he said was exactly that simple. Like you’re not waiting for him to do something just for you to realize that you wanted him to all along. Again.
“Water?” you offer, letting him shake his head before you go on. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what Cal said the other day.” His smile drops a little bit. His beautiful blue eyes, almost turquoise in the warm light of the twins’ kitchen, only manage to thinly veil his nerves. “Are you sure nobody’s missing you at home or work or anything while you’re over here? Feels like you’ve hung out every day this week.” When the corners of his lips seem to fall even more, you add, “Not that I’m complaining or anything. Just wanna make sure I’m not getting you in trouble.”
His grin returns as if the only natural response to you liking his presence. “All good, promise. I golf with my brothers and buddy Cole some mornings while you’re working and go out on the boat on others. Easier to do that stuff when it’s not too hot out, anyway.”
You want to probe deeper, you really do. You know that he’s not just here for the twins, or because he got bored at his own house, which has a basement’s worth of recreational items and a big yard to play around in. But at the same time, you might not want an answer. Because what if it’s not that he likes being around you just as much as you think you’re starting to like being around him?
“We’re thinking about having a bonfire tomorrow night with some other local friends,” Jack offers suddenly, like he just remembered. “Think you and the twins can make it?”
There’s only a second for you to think before answering. Honestly, you’re not even sure that you do. But “we’ll be there,” slips off your tongue even before you can reassure yourself that nobody’s going to be out too late to go to work the next day.
A bonfire in the middle of summer initially seemed like kind of a weird idea. But sometime during dinner with the twins and learning to bake Irene’s cookies with her, a cold front swept in. Suddenly a bonfire feels like a great idea. Unlike when you came for the boat, Irene and Callum sweep inside the Hughes’ house before you all start to make your way outside.
“Welcome back, guys,” Quinn greets you in the kitchen. “We grilled out for dinner, so you can heat up any leftovers you want if you’re hungry.”
“It was an old recipe night for us,” Irene answers proudly, holding up her own plastic case. “Speaking of-”
“Cookies!” Luke blurts excitedly as he enters the kitchen. “You’re the best, dude, thanks.”
She giggles. “Anytime, kiddo.” The way she pats his back is a little more than friendly but definitely not romantic. Maybe older-sisterly. You wonder how they got to be so close. Callum holds up his guitar case, nodding toward the backyard.
“Am I good to take this out or has it not been started yet?” he asks simply, and Quinn smiles in a way that feels simultaneously comforted and comforting.
“Jack got it going. You guys should head on out.” Irene stays back, but Callum leads you through the basement to the firepit. He tells you that everybody comes in and out this way at night because the patio lights are more reliable than the deck lights, and that the basement fridge also holds any drinks you might want while you’re breathing in smoke.
This event, like a few others throughout the summer, seems to be something that the Hughes brothers and the twins have been doing forever, from the way Callum knows their safety precautions to the comfort of Irene and Quinn exchanging cooking stories in the kitchen. And you’re thinking about how maybe you should feel like an outsider in all these situations, but-
But the way Jack smiles when you appear out of the darkness at the fire, pats the seat next to him and sets it closer to his under the guise of shaking the ash off fills you with such a familiar warmth, the magnetism of wanting and being wanted, that he clears your mind of the doubt all by himself.
Callum picks a chair across the fire from you, pulling his guitar out to tune it. “You should hear these guys, honey,” he teases as he shoots a look at Jack. “Nobody loves campfire sing-alongs more.” Jack’s eye roll is good natured, and the old friends descend into banter while you enjoy the warmth.
Your chair somehow makes its way closer to Jack’s as everybody starts to settle in and get introduced. Luke’s girlfriend Fawn and her older brother Brock, a longtime friend of Quinn’s, must arrive later than you and the twins. Luke brings her down to introduce her to you. She seems sweet, but she doesn’t hesitate to roast Jack about something he did wrong while setting up the fire.
Irene introduces you to another local, Emily, and her boyfriend Devon, who bartends at the Hughes’ favorite bar. “Emily’s parents own a house up the road, and they always make her watch it at some point during the summer,” your friend explains, “but their family has probably been here longer than any of us.”
Emily engages you in conversation while Callum and Jack rope her boyfriend into theirs. She’s a little more socially enthusiastic than you, is how you would phrase it, but she’s nice as she launches into her tale of meeting the Hughes brothers out on the lake last year.
Quinn and Brock, who you observe are kind of similar in demeanor, are some of the last to make it to the fire, along with their part-time local friend Anthony.
“Okay!” Callum calls over the chatter once everyone’s seated with a drink nearby or in hand. “Does anyone have any requests to start us off?”
“Hey There Delilah!” Emily shouts out, snuggling back into her boyfriend with a pleased grin as your friend starts strumming.
The music starts out slow – just Cal’s melodic voice over the guitar, him casting a knowing glance at you during the first line. But by the second chorus, Irene and the younger Hughes brothers have joined in. Jack makes eye contact with you sometime during the bridge. You shiver, but join in quietly to sing that you can do whatever you want to. His eyes light up.
More people start singing along as the drinks hit, and as the songs get more upbeat. The cold wears off for a little while. Callum takes short breaks in between each song, though some grow long with conversation.
“Is this what going to a summer camp would feel like?” Fawn jokes at one point, trying to hide how she and Luke are holding hands in between their chairs. Her older brother raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
“Definitely not,” Irene speaks up. “A summer camp would be full of bugs.” She wiggles her fingers menacingly at the younger girl, who giggles.
“And much more chaotic,” you add. “No matter what you do, kids always are.”
Various people chime in with their agreements. Someone gets up to throw another log onto the fire. Even though the sparks fly when it lands, you feel another chill run through you. Michigan is getting a lot colder than you expected. And Jack notices. He reaches over to pat your leg, covered only by your thin leggings. His hand is warm. You’d love nothing more than to lean into the touch right now.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, just for you to hear, then he dashes off. People call after him, asking him to grab them another drink or bring Irene’s cookies out. He doesn’t seem to hear.
“I’m gonna need some help with this one,” Callum declares. “Who here can whistle?” He demonstrates a little tune himself, and Irene joins in easily. So do Emily, Anthony, Brock and Fawn.
He starts singing, and finally you recognize the song. But you only know the chorus, and when you join in for “let me come home, home is whenever I’m with you,” you look up and lock eyes with a very flushed Jack. There’s something big and soft in his hands. It doesn’t look like he grabbed anything for anyone else. You’re confused. Was he cold too?
No, he must not have been. Because he holds it out to you, and you unfurl it to find a hoodie that slips over your body like it was meant to be there. It’s much warmer than your own shirt. You scoot your chair even closer to Jack’s, positioning yourself over the arm rest to tap his arm.
“Thank you,” you whisper when he looks your way. “I thought I was going to very slowly freeze to death.”
“We couldn’t let that happen, could we?” he grins back, leaning into you like you wanted to do earlier.
By the time Callum closes out his performance with Irene’s help on a somewhat haunting rendition of Rivers and Roads, you feel like you and Jack have simply melted into each other. You’re not sure where his arms stop and your torso begins, or your head and his shoulder. Still, you know you have to get up and give his hoodie back eventually.
“You can keep it,” Jack tells you when you’re back on your feet, pulling the hood up for you and glancing at the remnants of the fire. “I know you’re still cold.”
Which makes no sense, because you haven’t mentioned it all night or shivered in a while. Tiredly, you shrug it off and hug him goodnight and make your way to Irene’s car.
“Gosh, it got late,” Callum remarks when it starts. “I don’t feel like I sang that long.”
“It’s only been a few hours, right?” you ask through a yawn.
“Not quite, Honey,” Irene says in a way that makes her seem much older than she is. “It’s past two.”
The statement doesn’t even really register until you wake up the next morning to find a now-wrinkled note in the front pocket of the hoodie that you slept in. Hastily scribbled, it seems to whisper to you in Jack’s voice, “I don’t know if I’ll see you over the weekend. I hope I do, but if I don’t, feel free to write back. This is fun. I like hearing from you.”
Before the ‘like’, there’s a black hole where a word used to be. Furiously scribbled out, drawn back over in loops and diagonals to the point where it can’t really be deciphered, but you think you know what it said before. And you can’t deny how your heart picks up the pace when you think about it.
Supposedly, Irene’s been doing this or something similar by herself for years. But this year, she decided that celebrating Grandma Jolie’s birthday needed a little more pomp and circumstance. At least, that’s Callum’s phrasing. She says that she was influenced by a dream to incorporate the joy of the summer by inviting a few more friends around for the occasion. It’s still going to be a small party. And you still need to dress up a little.
So you help her cook the best of Grandma Jolie’s old recipes while Callum is at work, then leave the two of them to discuss dining room setup while you get “a little spiffy,” in Irene’s (and Grandma Jolie’s) words. Your friend is going to wear one of her grandmother’s old pieces, an adorable empire waist mini dress with big flowy sleeves completely reminiscent of the late 60s. Your dress is more modern, but in your defense, you didn’t come prepared for a sixties party. Which Irene said was completely okay as the dreams did not give her much warning either. Still, you try your best to look better than normal.
Which feels completely justified when you sweep downstairs in your pretty dress only to find Jack and Quinn in literal suits.
“Wow, guys,” you tease, taking as large of a step back as you can to give them a once-over. “I didn’t realize that I was supposed to pack for a black tie affair.”
His older brother smiles in an almost shy way, preening himself a little at the compliment, but Jack is completely frozen. Quinn has to nudge him before he remembers to stop gaping at you. The way he shakes his head to snap himself out of whatever little daze you must have put him in is so cartoonish, it’s nearly comedic.
“Honey…,” he stutters out. “I-” Quinn must see Jack’s renewed ability to speak as an excuse for him to join Callum and Anthony in the kitchen. His departure is abrupt, but neither of you pay much attention. Shyly, slowly, you twirl under Jack’s gaze, letting him drink in the sight. He just admires. Something about it feels so irreplacably special; something about it feels so incredibly normal. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
“Not so bad yourself, Hughes,” you tease, sending him a wink and turning to follow his brother into the kitchen. You only make it a couple of steps before his arm shoots out and grabs your wrist. His grip is just firm enough to keep you in place. His eyes are pleading.
“Honey! Can you come help me with something, please?” Irene’s voice floats down the stairs, hazy with a tinge of panic.
You feel your face fall from astonishment to an apologetic smile as you ask Jack, “Catch up later?” before darting back up the stairs. Thankfully, you make it most of the way up before the events of the past minute or so catch up with you and your face goes up in flames.
Once you help Irene with her stuck zipper, the two of you make your way back downstairs arm-in-arm. Callum whistles appreciatively as you reach the bottom step. Jack’s head turns in the living room, just enough to keep an eye on you. Irene ditches you to greet a girl you’ve never seen before with a kiss on each cheek. Her brother offers you his elbow instead.
“Here to break hearts tonight?” he jokes lowly in your ear, eyes darting over to Jack as the two of you pass.
“Of course not,” you admonish dramatically, lightly slapping his arm. “That would only be coincidence.” But you know your old friend doesn’t miss the way you look back at the hockey player when you think he might not be looking at you anymore. He is. Of course he is.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone yearn as hard as the two of you have been this summer,” Callum murmurs. You aren’t sure you’re meant to hear.
Before dinner, you get introduced to Maja, who is apparently Irene’s girlfriend, and their mutual friend Harmony. Anthony introduces himself to you as if you won’t remember him from the bonfire night. Emily and Devon know that you remember them. It’s a lovely group. Maybe you could picture yourself returning for a summer to hang out with all of them, if you were ever invited by the twins again.
During dinner, conversation flows freely. Callum and Irene recount with ease secondhand stories and firsthand accounts of Grandma Jolie in all of her joy and eccentricity. A lot of their memories center around the very house you’re in. At one point, you help Irene clear dishes before the honorary birthday cake.
“How do you live here and think of her so often without just… drowning in grief?” you ask her quietly the question that’s been weighing on you all night as she gently places a stack of plates in the sink. She pauses.
“I think… just because I miss her, doesn’t erase how much I enjoyed her when she was around, or overrule the joy that she always brings me. I love her too much still to be sitting around being a sad-sack about it.” Her smile is full of mirth when she looks at you, eyes a little misty and distant. “Does that make sense, or am I talking crazy again?”
You shake your head, voice falling quiet. “No. No, it makes perfect sense. I just never thought of it like that before, I guess.”
Your friend’s eyes finally focus on you, and somehow you have the feeling that they’re not only looking at you but straight through you. Maybe at a layer of yourself you can’t view on your own. “Love has a way of bringing new things to mind, doesn’t it?”
She leaves the room in an airy, probably unintentionally dramatic swish before you can fully process her words. Before you can deny the addition of love to your life. Before you can overthink it and ruin a good thing for yourself.
Despite Irene’s ease in recalling her beloved grandma most of the time, she and Callum take a moment to themselves in the kitchen before they bring the cake in. Time seems to fly after that – cake is served, then it’s gone, then you and your friends are walking various people to the front porch as they make their way home.
Quinn has to take a call from his girlfriend, so he ducks out to the car after a quick goodbye. His brother lingers. Callum and Irene, distracted in the kitchen with Maja and Harmony, let you escort him out by yourself. Your hands brush more times than you can count just on the short walk from the dining room to the front door.
When you open it, something rushes in. Not just the air, heavy with the scent of trees and lake. Something light. You can only describe it as freeing.
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” Jack says softly. It reminds you of a first date. “Always do, now that you’re here.”
“Me too,” you reassure him. He takes a step outside. You follow. You aren’t quite sure why.
“Honey…,” he whispers, voice catching more than trailing off. Looking up, you realize why – there are inches at most between your faces. A shiver runs up your spine unlike any you have felt before, because your entire body has been flooded with heat, from your fingertips to your chest to your bare feet on the concrete.
Jack’s eyes are just as caught as his voice. But they linger on your lips, not your nickname. You wonder faintly if he tastes as sweet as your namesake with the word still on his tongue. And some part of you knows how this is going to look to anyone looking on: your silhouettes, framed in the doorway by the warm light of the twins’ house.
Still, you whisper only loud enough to be heard by him. “Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
Then he does. It feels like a rush of hot and cold air all at once. Colors are exploding behind your eyelids, reminiscent of the fireworks from the night you met him. Every part of you wakes up under his touch, as his hands land on your waist and his mouth caresses yours as softly as you’ve ever been graced by a pair of lips before.
Eventually, somehow, maybe by the strength of Jack’s willpower alone, you part. Breath mingles in the minimal space left between your faces. You imagine that it’s visible to any onlookers.
“I’d kiss you again,” Jack offers, a smile playing about his mouth, “but I don’t think I’d be able to stop, and I’m pretty sure Quinn is ready to be home.”
So you relent, unwrapping your arms from where they found themselves around his neck and in his hair, stepping back as far as you can with his hands still on your waist.
“Jack, please.” He heaves a sigh but listens to your silent request. And only makes it three steps down the front path before he’s turning back, hopeful smile lighting up his face as bright as you’ve seen it.
“Can I see you again tomorrow, please Honey?”
You glance back at the foyer. There’s no one in sight, so you race down the single porch step to Jack and he catches you, holding you tight in his arms, only taking one step back from the force of you. You press another kiss to his lips.
“I’d be a little offended if you didn’t.” He smiles.
And almost instantly it feels like you’re back inside, sighing against the closed front door behind you in a dreamy manner that your friends would most certainly tease you for if only they could see it. You don’t think you’ve been this excited for tomorrow since school ended.
Not much changes between you and Jack following the kiss. He still comes over every day. He appears in your peripheral vision sometime before tutoring ends and hangs out, more or less, until one of the twins gets back from work. The only slight adjustment is the affection.
It feels as natural as the rest of your ritual – he shows up, gives you a hello kiss, the two of you make yourselves comfortable outside or on the couch with his arm slung around your shoulder as if it belongs there more than at his side, and he kisses you in the pauses between conversations and at least once more before he leaves. The topics you discuss become deeper, more future-oriented than an explanation of the past.
You’re pretty sure that your friends realize something is different, but they don’t comment. On anything besides your happiness, anyway. Neither Irene nor Callum could resist that. Jack asked almost first thing Wednesday if you could come over to his on Saturday – you noted then that he didn’t mention the twins at all in the invitation. So, you’re trying to think about how to ask them for a ride over when they just… offer you one.
“We’re going out on the boat again,” Callum explains. “But Jack knows you didn’t like it last time, so I guess he made other plans for the two of you.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I didn’t realize…”
“How much we knew?” Irene finishes for you. There’s no judgement in her tone, just plain curiosity.
Something about it still causes you to trip over your next words. “Well, yeah.”
Callum’s lips quirk up into a half-smile. “We’re intuitive, Honey. Got it from Grandma.”
That’s all that needs to be said. When the time comes, they drive you over without a word about your little situation with Jack and bid you goodbye in the driveway.
“Have fun on the boat,” you tell them.
“Have fun with Jack,” Irene sing-songs, eyes twinkling like she knows something you don’t. “And they said you could go in through the side.” She beckons to the open garage, arm swishing as if she’s wearing her grandmother’s dress again. Actually, no. You’re pretty sure she just always moves like that – as if she’s meant to be wearing a chiffon dress underwater, gifting swords and magical abilities to only the most worthy of men.
Either way, she drifts more than walks past you, Callum following with his usual slow swagger that seems to ground them both. You head into the house. The garage connects to the dining room, you think, but you call out anyway.
“Jack?”
And he comes around the corner, practically skidding into view on a particularly slippery pair of socks. His face is split into a wide grin.
“Honey!” He takes your chin in his hands gently, but kisses with the same amount of enthusiasm that he showed in coming to greet you.
“Hi, Jack,” your smile bleeds into your voice before you can stop it. One of your hands comes up to cover his as you nuzzle into the touch. If anyone asks, you can’t really help that, either. It all just feels so right here. With him.
“I had a couple of ideas for today, and I think we could make a few of them work together, but I wanted your take on it,” he approaches the subject carefully. “Some of them might sound a little… kiddish.”
Your eyebrows raise a little bit, but you just smile. “I happen to love almost all things kiddish.”
The first order of business is on their little backyard beach. You have no idea where Jack got them, but he pulls sandcastle building supplies off a shelf in the garage like it’s no big deal and tries to build one with dry sand until you teach him to put a little water in it for stability. This is a tip you actually remember from a student of yours who was going to spend the summer with their grandparents in Florida, and you mention that as you pour a small bucket of water into the sand bucket. Jack looks up at you with a mischievous grin.
“Oh yeah? Well, did they teach you about this?” And he follows you into the shallow part of the lake to splash you as you go back to refill the bucket.
Obviously, you retaliate.
Post-water fight, you’re stepping out of someone’s shower in borrowed sweatpants to find Jack in the living room surrounded by a shockingly large pile of pillows and blankets. The blush on his face when he sees you taking it in is telling.
“Okay, so I raided a couple of rooms for all the pillows,” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t think just the couch cushions were good enough.”
“We’ll never know now, will we?” you tease.
He leads the blanket/pillow fort charge, since he’s definitely had more experience with it. When he’s almost done, he sends you to the kitchen to gather snacks while he puts the final touches on it. And he makes sure to tell you exactly where the popcorn is in the pantry.
By the time you get back, he’s crawling out the entrance with a self-satsfied grin and standing up to dust off his hands dramatically.
“Ta-da!” he declares, gesturing to the fort spanning most of the living room. “And now, we are officially kids again.”
You can’t help rolling your eyes, but acquiesce. “I wish.”
The two of you re-enter the fort, avoiding the coffee table used to maintain the integrity of the side closest to the deck. Jack keeps a close eye on you as you make it to the central space, finding a little nest of bed pillows and blankets in front of a small tv on top of some video game console or another. You turn back to him questioningly.
“Movie marathon?” he offers, the genuine happiness on his face at surprising you finally making you feel just as young as the fort is supposed to.
Something about the way he already has some of your favorite movies pulled up makes you want to kick your feet and giggle. So does his habit of watching you watch the movies, and how as the credits roll after the two protagonists finally get married, he speaks in a voice that’s a little too tight to be nonchalant.
“My mom made me watch this movie once,” he shares, then clears his throat. “In a pillow-and-blanket fort a lot like this one.” He waits until he knows he has your full attention before he goes on. “She told me about how when she and my dad were first starting out after getting married, they didn’t have a ton of money to spend on dates and stuff. So they’d make forts in their first house and watch their favorite movies together. ‘s where I got the idea for today.”
You’re taken aback by the admission – how nervous he seems as he picks at a thread on the blanket, the quiet that falls in the fort. The way you can tell there’s something more he wants to say.
“It was a good idea,” you reply, trailing off because you don’t know how to get the last part out of him. “How did you know I would like it so much too?”
The shrug is a deflection. You know it is. He knows you know. So eventually, he sighs, breath rippling a near-hanging blanket.
“I dunno, just… the way we’ve been this summer, just how we get along and all, it…,” he trails off, voice turning into a mumble. “It reminds me of what I’ve been told about Mom and Dad.”
You reach over, taking one of his hands in yours. “Jack, that’s so sweet,” you reassure him. “It’s cool that your parents have a relationship like that, that you wanna be like them.” His face is still pink, but finally he can look at you.
“Yeah?”
“Of course.”
You snuggle a little closer to him as the movies come back on, trying not to show your excitement as the meaning of his words sinks in. He’s been thinking about you. He’s been thinking about how you’re like the first relationship he ever saw. Maybe he’s even considering a future with you where you get to be like that, like them.
Neither of you realize that everyone has gotten back from their boat outing until someone draws near to the fort and announces, “knock knock,” in a familiar voice that, for once, makes dread swirl in your stomach. You’re not ready for the day to be over. Jack looks at you with wide eyes, seeming all too much like one of your students, scared to do something without their best friend.
“Hey, Cal,” you call back, starting to move towards the fort entrance. “Gimme just a second.”
Just like the night of the twins’ dinner, Jack grabs your hand. But this time, he manages to whisper. “Stay.” Your brows furrow and twist, trying to battle the confusion taking over. “Stay. I can drop you off later, if you want, or you can stay the whole night. We can get the good donuts in the morning. I’m not ready for this to end.”
Wordlessly, you nod. And you continue out, just to let Callum and Irene know that they won’t need to wait up for you. You blink in the darkness outside of the fort. The time had passed so quickly that you hadn’t even formed an inkling of suspicion that it was dark out yet. But it is.
Your friends bid you goodbye and see you later with only a smirk and a hug, then shoo you back into the fort with Jack.
A couple of movies later, yawns have overtaken your rapt silence. Jack gives you the choice: sleep in his bed or in the fort. As cool as sleeping in your unnamed fort would be, you prefer the comfort of a mattress, and he promises that his is high quality for all of his job-standard aches and pains.
Being wrapped in his arms comes to the two of you just as naturally as everything else has. There’s only a second of awkwardness when he asks if you’re a cuddler, and you admit to it, and he opens his arms for you without a second thought.
He murmurs into your hair as your eyes close. “Goodnight, Honey. I can’t imagine this summer being so special without you. I’ll never forget it.”
Your last thought before falling asleep is that it sounds a little bit like that word – the one that was crossed off and blacked out on the note he left for you in his hoodie – but also, that his statement sounds like everything is about to come to a close.
The sleepover changes more than the kiss did. Even though Jack has training and can’t spend as much time with you during the workday, everything feels more open. More real. The nerves from his half-asleep musing have started to fade with donuts dropped off on his first day of pre-season prep, accompanied by a note: “Pls don’t mention that one of the donuts is missing. I’ll try to come over later, but we’ve gotta do extra stuff on Wednesday so maybe dinner that night?”
Nobody is really doing tutoring this week since the return of school is starting to loom over the kids. A couple of people pop in on Wednesday just to check that their summer reading assignment looks okay. Then the time frame is about to end, and you just about jump out of your seat when your phone starts buzzing furiously. You aren’t sure you recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Miss Honey,” your kind-of ex-boss says in an amused tone. “Do you have some time for a quick chat?”
“Of course, Principal Weiss,” you respond automatically, closing the video chat window and your laptop. “Is everything okay?”
“More than okay. How has your summer been?”
It kind of sounds like he’s deflecting, but you go along with it. “It’s been wonderful. I got some time with my friends and got to see some of our kids in tutoring, and I think it’s going very well, not to brag.” He chuckles a little.
“I’m sure they are. Miss Honey, I’ve called with an offer today. We’d like you to be with us, full time,” Principal Weiss says, sounding assured like he knows you’re going to say yes. Which, you are. You’re preparing yourself to answer when he continues, casually as if you’re not a two-hour flight away, “But we’d just like you to come in for another interview tomorrow first, if you can.”
“What- what time?” Cringing internally at the stumble, you start pacing the kitchen, free hand coming up to fiddle with the ends of your hair.
“How would 1 pm work for you?” Your eyes flick to the microwave clock. 10:47 am. This, at least, gives you some time to get back.
It doesn’t give you much time to wrap things up here or pack, but you love Principal Weiss’ school and all the teachers you got to know last year. You’d be crazy to pass this up. So you tell your future boss, “That sounds perfect. Thank you so much. I’ll see you then,” and re-open your laptop to book a flight home.
To your (slight) surprise, both of the twins come home early from work to drop you off at the airport. Callum brushes you off when you apologize for not being able to fully clean your room. Irene promises that they’ll take a detour on the way home to deliver your one last note.
“Thank you for everything this summer, you guys,” you say, holding back tears. “I’m so sorry that it had to end early.”
“Don’t be,” Irene shakes her head, pulling you into a comforting hug. Another thing that Grandma Jolie must have taught her. “We’re so proud of you, you know. Finding your place, getting that whole school to love you like we do.”
Callum ruffles his sister’s hair so she’ll let him get his turn in. “You sound so old, ‘rene.” He mumbles into your hair, though, “But we are. Keep being the sweetheart Honey we know and love and they’ll all be wrapped around your finger in no time.”
Both of their words have made you a little teary by the time you step back, but you thank them again for the wonderful summer and introducing you to all their friends and declare that you’ll never forget it, and make them promise to come visit you again – maybe even for New Year’s Eve. Then you’re rushing off to catch your plane.
Anticipation and excitement lighten your heart. You weren’t sure when Principal Weiss called if you were ready for the summer to end, but now? Now you’re almost sure that you’re going back to the best school you’ve ever taught at, to all your beloved students, to a door opened for your future that you didn’t dare consider when you left for the summer.
And you can’t wait.
~~~
“Dear Jack, this summer really was the best. I had to go – work stuff – but I’ll never forget any of it. It was magical. Thank you for that. Enjoy the rest of your off time and good luck with everything. - Honey.”
summary: You get to spend your whole summer with your older brothers breaking in the new "family" lake house. Even better, your long-distance boyfriend is finally going to be in the same place as you for more than a few days. It should be a dream... right?
warnings: established relationship, lake house crew, trevor zegras flirting, jealousy, nosy and overprotective brothers, references to sex, slight cowardice on reader and luke's parts
general timeline: early-mid summer 2025
universe: lake house summers
Your brother Cole has never really fit the insanely overprotective stereotype. Caught up in his own whirlwind of hockey and traveling and development team buddies, there have always been far more interesting subjects than whether his baby sister has a crush or a boyfriend or not. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t realized that you know romance exists.
Just for the record, you’ve had plenty of crushes – some on Cole’s own friends, in fact, despite the fact that you would never be more than “Cole’s younger sister” to them. And you grew into being what your mom politely refers to as a “heartbreaker” by your junior year of college. He never paid any attention, and you never felt the need to share it with your older brothers – either of them.
Then you stopped.
Not like Cole or Brock had any idea why, but they knew you were acting different. You talked less about drama in your friend group, asked a few more questions about their lives and games played, went as far as snapchatting pics of yourself just… studying. Alone. For hours on end.
You were on your phone a lot more than you’d ever been over summer break, but that still didn’t raise any alarms for your brothers. They just figured that you had some besties that you were missing. Which… you were missing someone, but they weren’t just a friend. (Your mom knew exactly who it was, and she approved. Still does.)
And it’s not like you’re putting in a ton of effort to hide it, but Brock and Cole still haven’t realized that you’re in a committed relationship by the time you show up to Cole’s new lake house all ready to help break it in.
“Fawn!” Cole yells as soon as he catches sight of you unloading your car outside. “You’re finally here! Brock and me need a ref.”
“Already?” you tease, pulling your duffel bag out of the trunk. “For what?”
Brock appears out of the house too, ready to help you carry in your bags and the groceries that you stopped for (at Cole’s request). He breaks into a smile just like your middle brother at the sight of you. And he makes it a point to hug you first.
“Just can’t decide what to grill for dinner tonight in your honor,” he answers. “‘s not often that we get Mom’s little princess back in the house now, is it?”
You laugh. “You guys are some to talk about not being home!”
Between the three of you, your bags and the groceries are brought in easily. Brock starts putting things away while Cole is proudly showing you the room that’s meant to be yours.
“You can do whatever you want with it,” he says, leaning against the door frame. “Long as you’re not disturbing anybody or trying to make me pay for, like, new clothes to fill the closet or something.”
“I’ve got enough clothes, thanks,” you tell him, and he reaches out when you’re walking past to ruffle your hair.
“That’s my baby sister,” he says proudly, then freezes when he sees what you’re tossing into a drawer. “Wait. What’s that?”
You hold it up. “Um, a bikini? I know you’ve seen them before, you’ve talked about how much you love ‘em on models and stuff.”
“Yeah, but-” Cole sputters for a second. Eventually, he gulps and shakes his head. “I just… didn’t think you wore that kind of thing. You’ve never really liked that stuff before.”
Raising your eyebrows, you drop it back into the drawer. “Swimming? I’ve always loved swimming.”
He gestures helplessly at the open drawer and your bag on the bed. Then he sighs. “Clothes, I guess?”
“Oh. Claudia and May introduced me to some really cool stores,” you explain. “There’s this one that has an app where you can take, like, style quizzes and stuff-”
“Okay, okay.” Cole raises his hands in surrender. “Just because you’re into it, doesn’t mean I have to be. Come on down when you’re unpacking. We’ll have food.” His voice turns sing-songy at the end, trying to tempt you.
“I know,” you say as he walks out, raising your voice so he hears you even in the hall. “I had to buy it!”
Both of your brothers notice quickly just how much time you spend on your phone once you’re at the lakehouse. Brock can tell you’re happier, so he’s not super inquisitive. Cole is just plain confused.
He especially likes to shoot you a look while you’re on your phone and shake his head, brows furrowed to let you know he doesn’t really approve of whatever you’re doing on there. Sometimes he’ll ask about May and Claudia and their summer plans (and you’re pretty sure he only remembers their names because they’re who you mentioned most recently). It might be a trick to get you to spill about whoever else you’re texting and calling.
But his friends are just down the street, so they distract him plenty. After all, it was the Hughes brothers who brought Cole into this lake community, though you aren’t sure if it was on purpose.
“Why are you here?” you ask bluntly the first time you have to answer the door for one of Cole’s friends.
Jack smiles, an easy kind of grin to show he knows you don’t hate him. Not really. “Housewarming get together. Did your brother not tell you?”
“No,” you grumble, but step back to let him in the door anyway. Then you see the figure behind him, and you almost freeze like a deer in headlights. Almost.
“Thanks, Fawn,” Jack continues as he heads inside. He pats your shoulder once in a familiar, friend-of-your-family-for-years way.
When he’s made it past the entryway and disappeared into the living room, your expression softens into a gentle smile. Your boyfriend stands there. He has one hand tucked into a front pocket, half-leaning in like he wants to make a move but knows he can’t.
“Hi,” you greet him. His lips quirk up into that smile you love so much as you finish talking. “Missed you, baby.”
Luke pokes his head into the house just briefly to check that no one’s watching before he pulls you out onto the little porch. You let him, giggling as he tugs on your hands and closing the door behind you. And when it’s fully shut, no sound or sign indicating that either of your brothers might see you, you reach up to fix one of his curls.
“Missed you too,” he finally says. “Like crazy. Jack and Quinn thought I was getting cabin fever.” When you smile at his little joke, his widens. “There it is. That’s my smiley girl.”
“You cut your hair,” you observe, running your hand through it. “Didn’t like it long?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t know you liked it long.”
And you’d like to say that you like it however he likes it, but something slams inside the house. Luke ducks down to kiss your forehead quickly before re-opening the door and heading in, yelling something about being hungry.
Stunned for only a second, you eventually roll your eyes and follow him.
“So,” Brock says one day while your family is out on the boat.
“So,” you repeat, not even opening your eyes from where you’re stretched out on a bench to tan.
Cole stays quiet, for once. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know what Brock’s going to say. You only have an inkling. The boat rocks over the waves for about a minute before he continues.
“You spend a lot of time on your phone now,” Brock observes in a forced casual tone. “Everything alright? New friends or something?” You were going to sit up, but this gives you an out. Because clearly, apparently, your brothers are not going to be able to handle this situation like normal people.
“Pretty much,” you say simply.
No one else is in your head, especially not your brothers, but you’re almost embarrassed by how much you wish your boyfriend was with you for this conversation. Maybe it would be a little more awkward, but he’s calmed you down before far worse things – final exams, driving home through wintery Chicago traffic by yourself, and the end of everyone’s hockey seasons at once. Just the thought of having him by your side makes your face a little pink, so you throw an arm over it to help block out the sun too.
“We heard that Moose might be talking to someone-” Brock starts again, trying to approach the topic from another angle. You know what he’s going for now.
So you cut your brother off. “Good for him.”
“Didn’t you have a crush on him when you were kids?” Cole points out. This makes you shoot up, face flushing defensively (even if he’s much more than a crush to you now).
“No. Shut up.”
Your middle brother grins, leaning back and dragging out his words just to annoy you more. “Yeah, you did. Had the biggest crush on little Luke Hughes. You upset? Jealous?”
“Doesn’t freaking matter if he has a girlfriend, does it?” you challenge, rising to your feet to jump off the boat. Maybe you can swim all the way home. Maybe you can swim all the way to Luke and let him baby you until you feel better about having had a crush on him as you were growing up together. Current boyfriend or not.
In a perfectly eldest brother-y way, Brock intervenes before you take Cole with you off the side of his new boat. “It’s okay, Fawn, we’re not gonna tell him. We’re just wondering, you know…,” he trails off awkwardly, casting a look at your other brother before finishing his sentence, “if you might have someone… like that.”
The expression that gets sent his way is almost withering, your arms folding over your chest defensively. It’s not that he’s wrong – it’s that you’ve had someone for like six months now and have felt too weird to tell them about it. Because you knew they were gonna be like this.
“And if I do?”
Cole raises his hands in surrender, nearly yelping, “And nothing! We just have an interest in our sister’s life, is all!”
You soften both at the panic in their body language and the hint of sadness in their eyes. They are your big brothers. This is something they deserve to know. Because you know they love you, and because you’ve been heavily invested in their love lives since forever. Cole was even gracious enough to take you out for dinner with his girlfriend when his team came to Chicago. Luke said at the time that he wasn’t sure Quinn would have done the same.
“If I did have someone in my life like that…,” you trail off, biting your lip as you return to your seat. “How would you guys react?”
“Well, we’d have to give them a proper talking to, obviously,” Cole starts.
Once more, Brock is the voice of reason. “We’d really like to meet them, eventually, and welcome them into our family if it’s that serious. Just… y’know, know who has our baby sister’s heart.”
In the moment, you respond with coos and hugs, teasing them both for being big ol’ softies. But when you’re on the dock, much closer to the safety of your room, you acquiesce, “I think I really would like you to meet him sometime. Maybe I’d even let you have that talk, Cole,” before dashing off to change before dinner.
Your brothers make the decision to spend Saturday night out with the Hughes boys before the rest of Cole’s and Jack’s friend group gets into town, and now you have to pay the price. There’s something extra cruel about walking into a bar with your boyfriend there, looking gorgeous and tanned, and hardly being able to talk to him. It gets that much worse when your brothers talk him and Jack into a round of pool. Because then the girls start approaching.
Quinn hangs back at the booth with you, watching you pick and peel the label off your beer bottle. It tastes so much more bitter than normal.
“Awful lot of tourists in here tonight, huh?” You ask him, knowing that his mind is off with his girlfriend back in the Vancouver area.
“Mmh? Oh, yeah.” He only half-glances up at his brothers. Jack is talking to someone; Luke is doing his best to avoid someone else. “Lukey’s got a girlfriend, though. I don’t think he wants anyone here.”
Having received such an easy opening, you press for more. Subtly. Lightheartedly. “Oh? Did he tell you guys about her?”
“Not much. Sorry, Fawn. Brock and Cole said you’ve always had kind of a thing for him. I didn’t-” he cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Nevermind. I just didn’t think him having a serious relationship would go quite like this, I guess.” His gaze falls back down to his phone, where he’s just gotten a message from a contact with star and purple heart emojis next to the name.
Almost as if drawn by magnetic force, your eyes are drawn back up to your accidentally secret boyfriend. He’s already looking at you through the haze of the bar. Despite the dim lighting, you can see the sparkle in his eyes as he mouths, “you okay?” like he knows you’ve been getting jealous of the other girls who’ve been hanging around him during the game.
Not because you think they’re going to take him. Just because they’ve been getting to lean in, hear his voice, smell the cologne you know he put on before going out. One particularly bold and definitely drunk girl even got to run her hands through a curl or two before he had gently pushed her away.
“Bartender!” you call as you push yourself to a sudden stand, though you know none of them will be able to hear you from across the bar. “Something harder, please!”
When you return to the booth with a dry martini, your brothers exchange a worried glance. You can feel it behind your back. You grabbed another beer for Quinn, too, so you cheers with him before raising your glass to your lips.
And just before you take your first gulp, you catch the concerned gaze of your ever-loving boyfriend.
The rest of the night blurs itself away in a mix of vermouth and olive. At some point, you get up and dance with a stranger – some guy who sounds even more (possibly French-) Canadian than your brothers and their friends with the classic hockey accent. During another part of the night, you get distracted in the bathroom trying to help someone fix a bow on their shirt and Cole admits when you come back that he was on the verge of threatening to go in there. Maybe a minute and a beer away, he phrases it.
But you know you won’t forget the end of the night. Quinn has been talked into a round of pool, and there are only a few turns left before your brothers are going to take it. Then it’s home time.
“Lukey,” Cole calls in a sing-song voice, “Be a dear and help get our baby sister to the car, please? We just have to close our tabs.” He snickers a little bit at his own pun. You’re too gone to notice anything but how the room is tilting beneath the booth.
Luke’s voice is muffled at first as he responds to your middle brother, then it comes into sharp focus with his face when he bends down to meet your eyes. “Hey, baby. Let’s get you out of here, okay? You’ve definitely had too much to drink.”
His touch is gentle and familiar on your skin. It feels simultaneously like static and like pins and needles. Big hands are pulling you up to a standing position, staying in place on your upper arms to keep you upright all the way to the door.
You only make it a few steps or so before you’re reaching up to tug his hand to where it’s supposed to be – wrapped around yours. Normally good at following your nonverbal cues despite your mostly-distanced relationship, Luke is seemingly refusing to listen tonight. His grip tightens marginally on your bicep. Your steps come to an abrupt halt in the middle of walking. Luke’s enthusiastic pace almost pushes you over before he realizes what you’re doing.
“Fawn-” he tries to whisper-shout as you finally manage to push his hands back to his sides so you can fold your arms and pout. The half-glare, half-pout that you fix him with would probably manage to get you your way in any other situation.
But it just can’t do that here.
“Why are you being so weird?” you ask him, all context for your current situation apparently having slipped away sometime in between the martinis.
“Fawn, please,” he tries to say, placing one hand gently back in the wrong spot on your arm. “Let’s go talk outside.”
With one hand on your back, just low enough to keep you somewhat satisfied but still high enough to not raise a ton of questions, Luke is starting to succeed in escorting you back to the car. Of course, you have to start tearing up now, making him look all kinds of shitty in front of the other patrons.
“Do you not love me anymore?” you ask just as he gets you through the front doors. “I don’t know what I did, but I love you. I promise.”
“And I love you too, Fawn, but we haven’t told our brothers yet and they dragged us out here tonight, remember? Even if we want to share our relationship with them, this is not the time or place.”
His tone is patient, and his explanation is simple. But that plus the cooler night air help snap you back to somewhere bordering on reality.
“Oh my gosh,” you gasp through the tears that managed to escape your eyes. “This sucks so bad.”
Your boyfriend finally, finally gives in to what he’s seemingly been wanting to do all night and pulls you into his arms just around the corner of the bar, where you can hear someone coming before they see you. He holds you tight, resting his chin on top of your head, breath ruffling the hair you had so carefully parted while getting ready.
“I’m sorry,” you say suddenly. “I love you. I really wish we didn’t have to sneak around, especially not here.”
“I know baby. I’m sorry too. Maybe we’ll figure everything out, but you need to get some rest first. Tomorrow’s going to be a nasty hangover, and I don’t think I’ll be around to cuddle it away.”
Even though your face buries itself into his chest at his words, he still manages to hear your muffled whine of “no,” against his shirt. So he pats your head. It’s about all that’s left that he can do to reassure you in the moment, and the both of you are lucky it works, because as soon as you step back to look up at him in the moonlight the sound of four rowdy young men starts spilling out into the parking lot. It’s the only warning you get before the elder Hughes and Caufield brothers round the corner of the bar.
Drunk as you are, you don’t miss the way Quinn looks at you and his youngest brother. But you are still drunk. So you brush off the odd expression, bid them goodnight, and vow silently to figure out how to tell your brothers sooner than later.
Trevor got in while Jack was nursing a hangover the morning after your least favorite bar trip ever. Cole goes to visit him the next day, but the day after that the Hughes boys bring him over to Cole’s place.
You distinctly remember the inner conflict you felt when you realized at the ripe age of 13 that you had a crush on both Trevor Zegras and Luke Hughes. They were so different despite the major shared interests – Luke, quiet and thoughtful; Trevor, charismatic and bright. In the end, you knew which one you would really want around forever.
The crush faded away with a little bit of time. Then a dash of luck brought you and Luke back together at the right time, and everything’s felt on track since. Besides the whole telling-your-families part. Despite this, you can’t deny that Trevor has remained both cute and unfortunately all too aware of it. Between him and your secret relationship, you’re reduced to an anxious, pacing mess when you’re alerted that the Hughes boys will be over in approximately five minutes so Trevor can see the new house and boat.
“You’re welcome to join us on the water,” Brock continues talking as if you don’t have a million things to do in the next five minutes, “and you’ll probably have some time while we show Trev around, just make sure you lock your door if you’re in a… compromised position. I think Cole would kill all four of them if anything happened, girlfriends or not.”
You pause your freakout to look at him over your shoulder. “Have you guys ever considered that those kinds of threats are why I may or may not have a boyfriend that you’ve never met or been told about?”
Brock thinks it over for a second. Then he gives in with a shrug, “Yeah, probably,” and he slaps the door frame once before he’s leaving you to greet the other guys.
Then getting ready activities commence: brushing your hair and teeth, finding a swimsuit that will subtly drive Luke crazy without tipping off any of the brothers yet remain functional enough to wakeboard or tube or whatever. The boys arrive sometime in the middle of your flurry of activity. You hear it even over the music playing from your laptop.
It’s lucky that you’re finishing everything up by rubbing some sunscreen into your face when Cole knocks on your door.
“Fawn? Can you open up and show off your room if you’re decent?”
Since you’re a good little sister and also Cole paid for the whole house, you swipe the excess sunscreen from your hands onto your legs and dart for the door. When you fling it open, you notice that even though they’ve definitely seen it, Jack and Luke have attended the house tour as well.
“Hey, little Caufield,” Trevor crows. “Nice place ya got here.” He winks at you as he takes in the minimal decorations you’ve added since your arrival. “Nice suit, too.”
“Um, thank you, Trevor,” you say quietly, laughing off the awkwardness you feel. The blush spreading across your face from the unexpected compliment. The glare that’s now radiating from your boyfriend, definitely not directed at you. The furrowed eyebrows on Cole’s face, too. “So!” You clap your hands together, trying to fix the strange mood that’s fallen over the room. “We’re going out on the boat?”
Cole snaps his fingers. “The boat!” he exclaims as if he’s just remembered it exists. “Let’s go do that!”
He leads the rest of the guys out of your room, shooting you a thumbs-up before he closes the door behind him as if you’re not coming along too. You shrug to yourself and finish packing up your boat bag, complete with sunscreen and hydration packets because you know none of the guys will be making sure to pack them.
It’s a process to get the boat out on the water, because everybody except you and Luke is allowed to have opinions on how to tie and untie knots, how to direct it away from the dock, and anything else that has to do with boats. The two of you make it a point to sit next to each other indirectly – not on the same bench, maybe catty-corner from one another.
And while you try your best to pretend that the two of you just toe the line between friends and acquaintances, you can’t deny the jolt of electricity up your arm anytime it brushes his. The whole afternoon is torture for you. Torture which is compounded with every flirty comment from Trevor about how much your fashion sense has changed or every nervous glance from Luke that borders on jealousy.
Never in your life have you been so relieved to step back onto a dock. Which is saying a lot.
There have been plenty of stories that originated at the Hughes’ annual Fourth of July party, including significant moments leading up to your own brother’s current relationship, but you’ve never been in attendance before this year. Cole all but deserts you at the front door with a nonchalant, “Don’t get yourself into too much trouble, and don’t do anything that would get me into trouble,” but Brock sticks with you a little longer until he finds Quinn.
“You’ll be okay if I-” he gestures toward Quinn’s spot in the kitchen, pouring out another drink. You smile at your oldest brother, playing every bit of the innocent baby sister act. Because the sooner he leaves you to your own devices, too, the sooner you can sneak off to find Luke.
“Go on, have fun,” you nudge him with your shoulder, slipping behind him to pour more liquor into your disproportionately soda-filled rum and coke (“made with love” by Cole).
Then both of your brothers are gone, and you make your way out of the kitchen before texting your boyfriend about where you should meet. He notes that there’s more people here this year than there’s been in a while, since word’s gotten around and it’s finally on a Friday night. He also decides that you should meet him between the living room and the foyer.
You have less than a second to get a word out in the foyer before Luke sneaks out of the kitchen, grabs your hand, and leads you up the stairs. A couple of times this summer, you’ve been over here. The Hughes seem to enjoy hosting. But you’ve never been upstairs, much less to Luke’s room.
He doesn’t even give you a second to drink it in before the door is locked, his big hands are cupping your face like you’re something precious and fragile, and his lips are kissing you even more gently. All you can find it in yourself to do is hum contentedly against his mouth. Maybe there’s a table to set your solo cup on, maybe there isn’t. Your free hand tangles into his curls, which are starting to get long again.
When you finally part, his nose bumps yours before his forehead finds its landing spot on yours, hands still on your face.
“I needed that,” he says breathlessly, as if your kiss were something so crucial as air to him. Your chuckle pulls him back in for another. Then a third, a fourth, so many that you lose count by the time he’s started walking you blindly backwards toward maybe the bed.
“Wait! Wait,” you stop him, just as out of breath as he is. “I need to-” And you hold up your drink, waving it around in the air like it might say the words for you. Luke glances at it, confusion furrowing his brows over his gorgeous deep blue eyes. “-put my drink down, please.” He steps back, intent on taking the drink from you and doing it himself, but you take the opening to spin around and survey the place. “Wow, Luke.”
His cheeks start pinkening. “What?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck like he’s getting self-conscious.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of your rooms off FaceTime before. This place is nice!” you exclaim, thoroughly distracted. He starts following as you poke around, drink left forgotten on the dresser.
“Fawn, please-”
“It’s only fair, babe. You got to see my room, right?”
He huffs, folding his arms. “Yeah, when Trevor got to see it. And that killer bikini.”
You turn on him, ignoring the dark expression on his face to point at him. “No way you are jealous, Luke Hughes. No way. Not allowed.”
Your boyfriend’s expression turns from something sour to a pout, shoulders raising but arms still folded, cheeks closest to the darkest pink you’ve ever seen on them. It’s kind of adorable. Sure, he’s a 6-foot-something professional hockey defenseman, but he’s also pouting because one of the flirtiest guys he knows got to see his girlfriend in a swimsuit. You’re flattered.
Stepping closer, you lay a hand on his forearm, thumb stroking back and forth until his shoulders relax. “You know I’m yours, don’t you? Always have been, always will be.”
“Mine,” he murmurs in agreement, arms coming down to cage you in by the waist and head dipping to drag you back into a kiss. This time, he succeeds in walking you to the bed. You are lowered carefully to the comforter. His bed is neatly made, you notice. You know he doesn’t make it every day.
“Clean up in here for me?” you ask between kisses as he leans over you, body hovering like he doesn’t want to hurt you with the pressure of his full weight.
“On the off chance that I could smuggle you up here,” he shrugs, kisses starting to miss your lips and find your jawline. Luke might be looking to escalate, after which he’ll say something dorky like you set off your own fireworks, but instead he cringes and pulls out his phone. “Quinn’s asking if I’ve seen you anywhere. I think Brock wants to check in.”
You scramble out from under him, formerly tangled limbs hitting his in your panic to escape his room. He whines a little, but by the time you’ve crossed the room to grab your drink and finish it, his focus is on trying to calm you down.
“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “There are two staircases down, just take the one that goes back down into the entryway and then the one out of there to the basement. Someone’s definitely at the firepit out back – show up there with a beer from the downstairs fridge and there shouldn’t be any questions. You can say you got lost in the house.”
So you nod, breath starting to slow as he tells you what to do. It’s going to be okay. Brock probably isn’t drunk, but Cole might be, and- another text comes in from Quinn.
“He says Jack’s super distracted with this girl some local buddy introduced him to.” The observation is quiet, eyes darting back up to you from beneath the hat that he’s righted on his head. “But you really gotta go, Fawn.”
One last kiss is exchanged between the two of you before you’re slipping out of his room, down two flights of stairs and past the basement fridge, swiping some cheap beer that of course these guys would buy. There are a couple of familiar faces on your way out – Trevor is pretending to teach some girl how to play pool, Luke’s cousin and her boyfriend are spectating an intense game of ping-pong between people you can’t say you recognize. They’re going as far as yelling at the competitors as if it’s a hockey game and not… you know, table tennis.
You continue on through the patio doors, trying to find the firepit like Luke told you. Hopefully he’ll swing by there later too – not too soon, of course, or it’d be suspicious. Both of your brothers are gathered around the blaze. An unidentifiable can is in Cole’s hand. Brock has a plastic cup, filled with liquor if you had to guess.
“Heard you were looking for me?” you ask, taking a swig of your crappy beer to fake nonchalance as you come to a stop between the two.
“Yeah, actually-” Cole starts.
Brock cuts him off. “Just wanted to check in, Fawn. You weren’t answering any texts.”
“Sorry. Got caught up in something.” You shrug. “Nothing too major. All good now.” An arm creeps around you, draping over your shoulder. The person’s other hand rests on Cole.
“How’d that happen?” Trevor asks from his new position behind you. “The whole nickname thing?” And you can practically taste the jungle juice on his breath, so you politely duck under his arm so it lands on Brock’s chair. You remember that your brothers granted you the nickname long before you made any of their friends’ acquaintance, but you didn’t realize that they’d never explained. Still, it was their reasoning that renamed you. They can explain.
“She dressed up as some Disney character with the same name for Halloween two years in a row,” Cole says, shrugging. “It’s not that special.”
His buddy hums, not even seemingly aware that you’ve moved away from him and closer to your eldest brother. “Think Ava was into those… pixies or something, right? And your girl was the plant one?”
“Fawn is the animal fairy,” you mutter, sliding down even more in your chair.
“That defense right there,” Brock joins in like a narrator, pointing at you, “is how she earned the nickname permanently.”
Cole and Trevor laugh. The boys’ conversation moves on. You try to escape, find a chair on the other side of the fire, but there really aren’t any. Then you get a text: head toward the shoreline. Stay by the trees. It only takes a single glance back for you to decide that your brothers are completely distracted by Trevor. Your slipping away again goes largely unnoticed.
Sticking close to the trees that line the yard, you pick your way toward the small, private stretch of lake beach that the Hughes brothers rarely partake in enjoying. Just as you think you’ve reached the water, a hand stretches out toward you from behind a tree.
“Luke?” you ask, daring to raise your voice a little with everything else going on in the distant background.
“Fawn,” he greets you warmly, grabbing your hand to pull you back into the shadows that had hidden him from you at first.
“What is this place?”
He pulls you to a sitting position on a blanket – one that he must have spread out himself, you realize when you land on it. “Little hiding spot. Sunshine found it years ago one night and started using it to escape the parties.” He nods back toward the house. “Doesn’t really need to escape outside now that she has Matt, so she revealed it to me last summer.”
One arm wraps around you, and you lean into his touch. Here, alone with Luke, you start to really enjoy the party. Just sitting together to watch the firework show. It’s peaceful.
“So no one can see us out here?” You double check, and when he confirms, you kiss him underneath the golden light of a particularly noisy firework. Ever the sweet boyfriend, he smiles into it and squeezes your shoulder with the hand draped so carefully over your arm.
The yard behind you is loud, from the firepit to the cornhole. You imagine that your brothers and their friends are scattered from there to the deck of the house. And they’re looking up at the same magnificent show: fireworks of every size and color, appearing one after another like a slideshow among the stars. It’s beautiful. It’s so much better with Luke next to you.
It all just feels so perfect. So you cuddle in closer, resting your head against Luke’s chest as he eases the two of you to a laying position on the blanket. And you try your best not to fall asleep, comfortable as you are.
Nearly a week passes before Jack and Cole’s friend group gets up early one morning to golf. This isn’t anything unusual. On your morning trek to the bathroom, you hear Cole take a phone call. This isn’t necessarily anything bad, either. But Jack, on the other end of the line, seemingly reveals something to your brother that he figured out about Luke’s new secret girlfriend.
“It’s not weird that he texts her all the time. Maybe it’s a distanced relationship. She could live in Jersey,” you overhear Cole suggest.
He pauses. You freeze in the hallway at the top of the stairs.
“Okay, so she’s not where his job is. Seriously, though, what’s the news? I’m not really getting anything from this.”
Luke is golfing too, probably with Jack right now, so you resist the urge to whip out your phone and start texting him about the conversation. There’s no way he doesn’t know about it, right? Instead, you take a soft step towards the stairs. Towards Cole.
“Oh!” Cole half-exclaims. His voice is lower when he speaks again. “You think she’s in town?” Then the part that starts to make you worry: “No way it’s Fawn. She was so upset when she heard that he got a girlfriend.”
Maybe a minute or so passes before he hangs up the phone. You think it’s safe to go fake your morning walk to the bathroom again, until mumblings start to reach your ear. Only a few words really reach you clearly, but you make out “no way” and “boyfriend” and “tell us, right?” in a questioning way that starts to make your heart ache from the heavy secret it’s carrying.
You really do have to tell them soon.
The plan is for Luke to pick you up while Cole and Brock are out on the boat to go to a cafe together so you can make a plan for telling the brothers the truth – all of them. Jack and Quinn are likely to be pretty okay with the relationship. Cole and Brock, as you’re learning, can be a little more protective. And since it’s already been going on for so long, it’s definitely not going to be easy.
That’s the plan.
What really happens is that when you check, you don’t see the boat anywhere. So you throw caution to the wind. Your boyfriend pulls up, and you run out to the car, but you don’t get in.
“Hey,” you ask in a singsong voice. “Wanna come see my room? For real this time? Quick little tour?”
Luke’s eyes dart back and forth, but he decides to come in anyway. His grasp on your hand is a bit looser than you’d like. It’s still enough for you to drag him up the stairs and into your room for a better look than he got when Cole was showing it off. The tension releases from his shoulders the longer you’re safely in the room.
“What’s this?” he asks with a lopsided smirk, picking up a bookend on the dresser.
“Third grade art class,” you explain from your seat on the bed with a proud smile. “The ugliest elephant in the world.” And your boyfriend grins at you, because he’s in on the joke.
“Well, it’s my favorite ugly elephant in the world,” he counters.
You just giggle. He continues being nosy, looking through the bookshelf that you’ve started filling up with textbooks you plan to sell next year and copies of your favorite novels. Then he looks up, through the window above your bookshelf, and his eyes widen.
“Shit, Fawn, your brothers-” he starts, but he gets interrupted by the back door slamming downstairs. Both of you are statuesque in your panic.
“Fawn!” Cole hollers up the stairs. “You still here?”
He knew that you had plans to leave the house. He did not know who they were with. But you’re sure he knows the car still in the driveway. You can picture it now: him squinting through the entryway window from the kitchen, doubting that a Hughes car is really over here when neither Jack nor Quinn are in the living room waiting for him.
“Fawn?” he calls once more, voice questioning.
Your brain is on autopilot. Nothing that you’re thinking of doing is working. Your body won’t move. Then, finally, your lips do.
“Coming!” you shout back, scrambling up to meet him before he comes upstairs. If only you were fast enough. But he’s a professional athlete – jogging up the short flight is nothing to him. You make it as far as your door. “Hey,” you try to distract him outside of your room, focusing on slowing your breathing. “What’s up? Did you guys bring me lunch?”
“Ha, ha.” He rolls his eyes. “Did Quinn or Jack stop by? I saw their car outside-” Your brother cuts himself off, peering over your shoulder at your door. Specifically, the way you’re holding it almost-shut behind you. Understanding flashes over his face. “How long?” he asks you simply.
“What?” Your heart is beating against your chest so hard, you’d bet that Cole can see it. The sound of it pattering thuds in your ears. For a short, horrible moment, you and your brother face off silently in the hall.
His voice is strained when he speaks again. Your ears, too, have to strain just slightly to hear it. “How long have you been dating Luke Hughes?”
This time, your mouth moves before your brain. Which is probably not for the best. “Cole, I-”
“I don’t want excuses, Fawn. Just tell me how long you’ve been together.”
Your eyes fall to the floor. “Six months next week.”
Maybe you expected a more explosive reaction, something like you would’ve seen on the ice. During playoffs season, even. But Cole stands perfectly still. His jaw tenses, then he makes eye contact with you and nods at your door. The handle, still held by your white-knuckled hand, seems to have left a burn when you let it go. Or maybe that’s just your shame.
“Let him out.”
The door swings open to reveal Luke, head down and gaze averted like a kicked puppy. You want nothing more than to reach out and lean into him for comfort, but this isn’t the time. This is probably the worst time.
“Cole? Fawn?” Brock calls up the stairs, sounding just as confused as your middle brother had earlier. “You guys up there?”
“Yeah,” you respond, voice weak. “We’re here.”
You don’t know exactly how your oldest brother sees it when he comes up the stairs. When you were thinking over how to tell them, you thought that he didn’t seem like he would be as upset as Cole – if at all, really. He’s been really chill so far this summer. But you’re pretty sure he thinks it looks bad. Even he stays quiet for a moment when he reaches the landing.
Finally, he meets Luke’s eyes and jerks his head in the direction of the driveway. “I think it’s best if you go home for now, bud.”
And your boyfriend nods, fingers only just brushing yours when he passes. Nobody moves as his footsteps thump heavy on the stairs, then the front door slams behind him. You can hear your phone start buzzing with texts on your nightstand as soon as he’s probably gotten in the car. Then the buzzing stops, and the car starts outside.
Brock takes it upon himself to try and break the ice that’s formed over the hallway. “So…Moose, huh?”
When you begin to nod, Cole snaps. This is much closer to the reaction you were expecting. “For six months! They’ve been dating behind our backs for half a year, and talking for who knows how much longer! Our baby sister! Didn’t even want us to meet her boyfriend!” And this lights your fuse.
“You already knew him!” you counter, voice tight and raised.
“Not like that!” Cole finally shouts, startling all three of you with the intensity of it. His voice breaks in the middle of the next sentence. “Not as the man who’s stealing the heart of my baby sister-”
“I’m not a child anymore, Cole! I’m old enough to make decisions! I’ve been making them, for years now, and I chose him just like he chose me!” The confession takes him aback. You keep going, throat clogging with tears. “He chose me. He prioritized me, and us, put it up on the same pedestal as his job and his family and he’s been putting in so much effort to make me feel loved these past few months, and- and-”
And then you finally lose it. All the fear, all the confusion behind why you didn’t feel like you could tell your brothers about him, all the frustration that’s been building since you both arrived in the same town and still couldn’t act like a real couple like you’d been dying to since it became official.
The tears come as a flood, carrying you back into your room where you manage to lock the door before collapsing against it and sliding to the floor.
All you want is Luke. You want his arms around you, you want to be wrapped in one of his giant hoodies and take a deep, soothing breath of his cologne. You need it more than anything. But your brothers are still talking amongst themselves outside your door. He’s back with his brothers, who are bound to hear about this soon enough. He-
Someone knocks on the other side of your door. You feel it against your pounding skull as you hear it.
“Fawn?” Brock calls softly. “We need to talk about this.”
“Go away,” you respond, but there’s no venom behind it. Just tears and hopelessness.
It sounds like he listens. Eventually, you’re going to have to crawl over to your phone and figure out what Luke texted, if he feels like fighting for your relationship after getting kicked out of your brother’s lake house. You’ll definitely have to face Brock, and Cole, and probably sooner than you’d like to.
But for now, you just pull a hoodie that Luke sent you from the bottom of your dresser drawer and curl up on the bed to sleep it all away.
Two days. You spend two whole days sneaking around the house when it goes quiet, smuggling snacks up to your room instead of eating meals with your brothers, responding minimally to the texts from Luke who still (thankfully) wants to be your boyfriend. He promises that nothing that Cole and Brock could do will change how he feels about you. He says he’d spend every hour with you on the phone if he could, but he has to have his own talks with Jack and Quinn.
Like you thought, they’re much more understanding about everything. Quinn even suspected. But he didn’t want to say anything until Luke did. And by the second day, they’re already lightly teasing their younger brother with questions like, “when can we meet the missus?”
Which is… kind of a huge relief. There’s a part of you that would be willing to be re-introduced now, if it means getting out of your brother’s house.
Somehow, Luke manages to get a warning to you before it happens: your brothers aren’t going to wait anymore. They’re coming to have A Talk with you. Sure enough, the knock sounds on your door a few minutes later.
“No more avoiding this, Fawn,” Cole’s voice sounds through the door. “We’d like to enjoy the rest of our summer with you.” After a moment, he adds, “Our baby sister who is a full-grown adult and not a baby.”
“Just a talk,” Brock adds. “No accusations, no rules except for maybe about the house and boat, maybe, no judgment.”
When you open your mouth to respond, you hear something else from Cole. Whispered, hesitant. “Do you think that phrasing is gonna work? We used a lot of the stuff from that one page.” Your first thought is how hilarious it is that your two older brothers, people who have known you your whole life, looked on the Internet to figure out how to talk to you about having a boyfriend. Then the sadness of the situation hits, then a little giggle again.
They’re just as in over their heads here as you are, you realize. No one knows how to react.
“I think that was a giggle.” The low observation from out in the hall prompts another one.
“Is she going insane?” your other brother asks, just as quiet.
“I can hear you!” you call out to them. A hush falls over the hall outside your door.
Then- “So… can we come in or what?”
Not exactly. The door is locked, so you have to get up and unlock it before they can enter. And when they do, their steps are shuffling. Their heads are bowed, just like Luke’s was when he got kicked out (no matter how polite Brock’s wording was). It’s a little bit validating that they’re expressing shame.
Brock starts the conversation with a deep breath. “We’re sorry. We… haven’t been going about this right.” Cole echoes the sentiment.
You want to raise an eyebrow, prompt more out of them, but there’s this expectant look on Cole’s face that just takes all the wind out of your sails. “I’m sorry too,” you exhale, folding your arms and leaning back against your dresser. “I should have told you earlier. I just… didn’t know how. And then we got here, and it all just snowballed.” They both nod. Shallow as it may come across, you know they get it. Stuff like that happens a lot in their busy lives – you’ve seen it firsthand with Luke. “It’s hard to tell you guys stuff sometimes, especially when I don’t know how you’ll react.”
By now, you’ve resorted to picking at the hem of your shirt. It’s a much easier sight than your brothers. You can picture them doing a lot – you know them pretty well by now, after all – but you have no idea how the rest of this conversation is going to go.
“We like Luke,” Brock offers. “He’s a good kid.” Then you hear a slight, muffled thump that draws your attention upwards to where they’re half-sitting, half-leaning against your bed.
“I’m sorry for freaking out the other day,” Cole finally says. “It all came out so fast… just, from bikinis to boyfriend to boyfriend here, without us, and someone I know and trust at that. You grew up, and since we… weren’t really around to see it, we kinda forgot that. I forgot that. And I’m really, really sorry, Fawn.”
You nod curtly, averting your gaze back to the ground as you fold your arms. This might be starting to get a little too emotional for your liking. “I appreciate you owning up to that.” When your eyes flick upward again, both of your brothers are wearing the same expression on their faces: hesitant, yet needing to say more. So you prompt. “You said something about setting boundaries for here and the boat?”
At this, Cole jumps up and starts to pace about your room. “Yeah, actually. We practice safe sex in this household-” Brock’s hand landing just gently enough on your middle sibling’s face to shut him up with little complaint is your actual saving grace.
Your nose has wrinkled and the corners of your lips have started turning downwards anyway. This is not a talk you want to be having with your brothers, either of them, no matter how supportive or chill they might be. But Luke’s been putting up with it, so you guess it’s your turn now.
“You’re an adult,” your eldest brother says simply. “Make good choices. Don’t overdo it on the PDA or we’ll be forced to tease you. No funny business on the boat. No sleepovers. That sound cool?”
“We can make that work,” you agree, holding out your hand for both of them to shake.
Cole finally works around Brock’s hand on his face for one last statement after shaking your hand with a firm grip. “And, y’know, if you ever want to introduce us to your boyfriend properly, we won’t say no.”
The grin that takes over your face is big and cheesy, but you can’t stop it. Something about the reminder – your longtime crush Luke is your boyfriend now, and he’s going to meet your brothers in the right way so you don’t have to hide the relationship anymore, and now you have the rest of the summer to just be a couple together – makes it inevitable.
“I’ll get something set up. Let me text him.”
When Luke arrives two days later, wearing something that isn’t gym shorts and a tee shirt and carrying a small bouquet, your heart warms in a way you didn’t really expect it to. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he hands the flowers over to you. Unashamed but quick, like he wasn’t trying to hide it because he didn’t care who saw. Finally. Then he ducks back to the car to pull out a couple cases of beer.
“I know they both like these, but I wasn’t sure what was their favorite,” he explains simply.
Endeared more than you have the words to properly articulate, you smile up at him for only a second before resting your head on one strong bicep. Then you remember that his hands are full. And neither of you can really walk in this position. Sighing, you go to open the front door for him.
“Is that who I think it is?” Cole calls from the kitchen, and even though Brock is grilling today you know he’s wearing the ridiculous “Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’” apron that Trevor brought him as a housewarming gift.
You smile, placing one hand on Luke’s arm to make him pause just inside the doorway, before you’ve been spotted. He knows why. He leans down to press his lips to yours gently, freely, sweetly. The grin has overtaken your face again before you even break away.
“Cole, Brock!” you yell back into the house as you shut the front door. “I’d like you to come greet my boyfriend!”
is there really a difference between a game plan and a daydream? [cc.13]
pairing: cole caufield x reader
nickname: red
word count: 11k
summary: Cole Caufield is trying to have one last summer with his best guy friends before they all get swept up into relationships. But when he arrives at the lake house, he meets you -- and suddenly, his plan is going completely off the rails.
warnings: indecisiveness, references to hookups, the lake house crew being nosy fools yet again, cussing
general timeline: late june - mid july 2024
universe: lake house summers
Cole Caufield’s arrival at the Hughes brothers’ lake house for the “Summer of The Boys” (patent pending) is loud. It is chaotic. And most importantly, it is planned almost to a tee.
He knows that not everyone in the house is fully awake until 1 pm. Everyone is well aware that one of the most prominent traditions since all of his friends began gathering at the lake house is that if you show up, you show up with alcohol. That’s fine. He has a couple cases of something he likes from a brewery near his hometown strapped in tight in the backseat.
On top of that, there’s a dive bar not far from the house where nobody acts like any of his friends have million-dollar contracts, and he requested as soon as the offseason began that they have a night out when he arrives.
Trevor and Alex are already in town, and Matt and his girlfriend won’t arrive until the day before the big Fourth thing they’re throwing, so Cole is really the only one they’re waiting on before the true party begins. The caboose, as Trevor called him. So when he finally pulls into the driveway, he cups his hands around his mouth and bellows.
“Attention lake house goers! The party train has officially pulled into the station!”
Someone from another yard woops in response. Trevor is the first to come barreling out, arms spread wide.
“Caboose!” he yells in response, as Alex and Jack emerge from the door behind him.
The two meet in a hard chest bump that almost sends Cole tumbling to the ground. It’s perfect. Jack daps him up before pulling him into a hug. Alex claps him on the back.
“Nice to see you, man,” Jack is saying.
“Great to be here! We’re still going out tonight, right?” he confirms. His friends all nod, and he makes Alex high-five him before they start heading inside. They all let him chatter about his epic plans for the last summer with “just the guys” (since they’ve all agreed Sunshine counts as one…for now). Trevor even agrees to some of his schemes, and Jack isn’t necessarily against any of the ideas presented.
So, basically, this is going to be the best summer ever.
You’re only in town for maybe an hour before your best friend from college is trying to whisk you off to some bar that’s apparently “notorious” for having the hottest guys around. Emily claims that there’s even a bartender there that loves her, so it should be no trouble getting in.
“I just got here, Em. Can we, like, give me just a minute to settle in? Change?” you practically beg. “You’ve got such a nice big house here.”
“It’s technically my parents’, not mine, even though I’m holding the keys while they’re on their vacation,” she reminds you over the phone while you wait for your rental car at the airport. “And I thought you were going to stay in the hotel room tonight since you already booked it?”
You cringe. She wasn’t supposed to get home until tomorrow from some conference thing, but apparently the earlier red-eye flights were significantly cheaper and her company couldn’t pass it up.
“I guess so, since I already have it…,” you let yourself trail off, distracted as someone finally presents you with a set of keys. “Are you sure you’re okay staying by yourself tonight?”
“If I could do it last night, I can do it again. Just one more night is fine.”
“But… you didn’t get much sleep last night,” you try to point out. “Aren’t you tired?”
When she answers, you practically see her dismissive hand wave. “I slept on the plane, babe. We are good to go!”
“Actually, Em, I might not be yet. But let me get into my room for tonight, and then I’ll text you back. Does that work?”
She sighs, but agrees under the condition that you reach out the moment you step foot into the hotel room. Which you do… more or less. Almost instantly, she tells you that she’s getting a ride over and hopefully you’re ready for a night out when she gets there. You grumble a little but dig something out of your suitcase to throw on anyway.
You doubt there’s a single way on Earth that you can get out of this.
“What about that guy?” Em is asking later on in the night, half-tipsy and trying to find you a match from across the bar. “The one with the bandana thing around his neck?”
“No chance.”
Huffing, your friend sips at her drink, eyes scanning the bar for someone who might be more your type. You just stir yours with your little straw. Keeping your eyes trained firmly only on the floor or Emily, you pout. It doesn’t deter her at all.
“Oh my gosh, look at that group!” you hear her comment, whistling lowly.
You can’t help the way your eyes flick over to the cluster of guys across the room, near a pool table. One of the young men, a backwards baseball cap tilted at an odd angle on his head, is leaning over the table with his cue in hand. And maybe you can’t quite find it in yourself to stop watching as he expertly shoots a dark-colored ball into the corner pocket.
He looks up, catching your eye and winking. Then he’s turned around again to say something to his buddies, and the moment has passed.
Em cheers from the barstool beside you, pumping one fist in the air. “Summer crush acquired!”
“I don’t need a ‘summer crush’,” you try to protest, but it comes out weak. Your face is warm under the red light provided by a nearby neon sign, so you take another drink. Emily just laughs. You glance back up at the guy. He’s turned back to his friends, laughing and messing around with each other. Average guy stuff.
“You’ve had one, like, every summer since we met,” your friend points out, taking a long sip from her drink as she turns dramatically to analyze the one you’ve apparently picked out. He looks up as she does, an easy grin spread across his face.
And you watch his eyes flicker from you, to her, and back. Your heart leaps a little bit in your chest when his smile seems to widen at the sight of you. One of his friends leans over to nudge him. He hands off his pool stick. Holding your gaze, he starts making his way over to the bar.
But he doesn’t come right up to you and Emily. Instead, he ends up a few seats down to catch the bartender’s attention.
“You’re slumping,” Em calls you out. “You wanted him to come over here and chat you up, didn’t you?” It’s not the kind of thing you want to dignify with a response. So you raise your glass to your lips with the intention of downing your drink, only to be met with the chill of just ice cubes in its place.
You would make a comment to your friend if someone wasn’t tapping your back from behind the bar and already handing you another drink. One that you didn’t pay for. Emily squeals when she notices.
“It’s from him! It must be from him,” she gushes, shaking your free arm.
“And who’s ‘him’, Em?”
Her eyes widen for just a second before she schools her face into a smile, slipping off her barstool and leaning in to whisper, “Him.” Then she’s gone.
Turning around to see where she’s disappeared to, you’re met with the face of your mysterious drink-buyer, the winner of the pool game that you had gotten so invested in. His mouth twitches upward when he sees the fresh drink in your hand.
“Hi,” you say, mind blanking.
“Hi,” he repeats, seemingly unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. “I wanted to thank you for being my good luck charm during that game.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Your good luck charm?”
He shrugs. His smile holds strong as ever as he explains simply, “Wouldn’t have played so good if I didn’t have someone to impress. Plus-” he cuts himself off with another shrug, not embarrassed at all by the admission, “-I needed a good excuse to come over here and talk to you.”
Your fingers tap against your glass to the rhythm of the blaring music as you smile and say, “Maybe you didn’t need an excuse.”
This time, his eyebrows raise. “No?”
“No.” You shake your head, smile starting to feel permanent, and his eyes… are they softening at the sight? Something changed, even if you’re not entirely sure what it was. His face looks a little different now. Maybe more open.
“I’m Cole,” he introduces himself, hopping up onto Emily’s vacated barstool with ease. Suddenly, you remember that you came here with her and you should probably be… well, with her. But Cole is so interesting. And when you peek over your shoulder before giving him your name, she sends you a thumbs-up from a booth full of girls that she must have integrated with somehow. You return your attention to Cole.
“Nice to meet you, Cole. What brings you to town?”
“Friends, if you can believe it,” he laughs a little at his own joke, gesturing at the pool tables in the far corner. “We kinda come hang at this one guy’s place every summer.”
From there, the conversation just goes. On and on, and the night fades away as it does. You know that at some point, Emily goes home. Somewhere in the middle of everything you buy Cole a drink or two. He encourages his friends to move on to wherever without him.
“Red,” he nicknames you once you finally get outside, because even though the neon is no longer casting its glow upon you, he claims that he will never forget seeing you like that: shining red.
Then he helps you into your Uber, no expectation or anything, and you realize how little you want the night to end like this. You don’t let go of his hand, inclining your head toward the seat beside you. Cole clambers in as you scoot over. He texts his friends that he might be staying out a little later than expected tonight, and you just giggle.
Day Three of the Summer of The Boys is when Cole is first hit with the notion that, despite his best efforts, it may be too late to try and have a Summer of The Boys. After all, though Quinn is an honorary Boy as Jack’s brother, he’s completely wrapped up in his old friend this summer since it’s the last summer before she moves to another country or something. Matt is dating Sunshine, obviously. And Alex has his mystery girlfriend that only Trevor has really gotten to meet in the year and a half that they’ve been dating.
Long story short, Cole is just starting to realize that this group started prioritizing girls over guys-only time a while ago. And he was probably the latest to do it by spending his first night away from the lake house. But he has realized the error of his ways in the single day since, and he’s determined to fix it today with an impromptu wakeboarding competition.
Which, unfortunately, he loses pretty badly. That doesn’t detract from the success of it: everyone is together, mostly off their phones, and enjoying it. The weather is nice. Some boat nearby is playing summer-appropriate, not-super-annoying music that they don’t have to cover up with their own tunes. All is right with the world. Then Trevor talks.
“Woah, get a look at that beauty!” he exclaims, shielding his eyes from the sun so he can check out some tall blonde on another boat.
Someone else smacks him lightly on the leg from their spot before Cole gets the chance. Which means Trevor got lucky… this time.
“If I can’t get her to talk to me from here, I swear I’m gonna jump in and swim over there,” he declares. Jack rolls his eyes, but Trevor leans down to pat his shoulder. “Look, buddy, there’s a pretty girl over there for you too.”
Even though Jack does perk up a little bit at the sight of the brunette with the messy bun, his eyes flick over to Cole. And Cole feels a flicker of hope when he shrugs.
“Don’t you know that it’s easier to make them do the chasing, bud?” he asks lazily, stretching out with just as little effort.
“Sure, but I don’t think she’s seen me yet.”
And then Trevor is gone, water droplets hitting Cole in the face like rain from the most dramatic abandonment scene in a movie. He hates it. Absolutely hates it. It gets worse when he hears his friend call over to the other boat, something cheesy like “hel-lo ladies!” or whatever.
He wants to sink down to the floor. Even more so when Alex leans over to tap him on the shoulder and ask, a little nervously, “Hey, isn’t that the girl you met at the bar?” as if he doesn’t know for sure that it’s you.
Because it is. Cole must have been right on the money when he said you were just… red, no matter how stupid it sounded in the moment. You’re on the boat that Trevor is doggy-paddling over to, in a red swimsuit that shows off your tan lines, and once more Cole is regretting the fact that he’s already deeply committed to this whole “boys’ summer” thing.
But he’s not going over there.
“That is the girl that you met at the bar,” Alex crows when his friend doesn’t answer, slapping him on the shoulder. “You should head over there and chat them up with Trevor!”
Cole shakes his head, still-wet hair sending water flying across the boat. “No way. It’s the Summer of The Boys. I fumbled that first night, but I’m gonna get it together again.” Alex just shakes his head. He can’t for the life of him understand why. He’s doing this for his friends, and they don’t seem like they’re willing to understand that. It kinda sucks. Trevor and Jack can’t even give up on their summer flirts and flings.
Unlucky for him, Trevor is already on your boat and trying to wave the rest of the guys on over.
You thought you recognized the young man who climbed aboard Emily’s dad’s beloved pontoon (which you had to maneuver so carefully away from the dock), but you know you recognize a couple of his buddies, even from a boat-safe distance away. And one of them, you haven’t seen or heard from since he quietly departed your hotel room a day ago.
So you keep your sunglasses over your face and focus on your tan, ignoring Emily’s concerned glances from the driver’s seat.
“Tell me more about California,” Mia is saying to the friend of Cole’s that climbed up onto your boat.
He launches into a grandiose tale of music festivals and booze, and you can’t help the wince that peeks through your facade at his words when your hear his buddy’s name. Lucky for you, the guy doesn’t look up. Probably hasn’t even realized that you were the one who stole Cole from him a couple nights ago. Which is for the best, you know. But something about the situation feels like a little bit of a snub.
“I don’t think my dad would- Mary, please!” Emily cuts herself off in a shout, drawing your attention to the side of the boat that your other friend has apparently just taken a leap from. You follow Emily over to the side, peering over at the dark-haired girl whose hair is falling out from its careful placement.
“Sorry, Em, there’s a cute live one over there!” she calls, gesturing over to Cole’s boat. Your heart sinks. Is she talking about Cole?
Your gaze drifts upwards from Mary to the boat that she’s swimming to. Just like you were, Cole is pretending to be completely unaware of everyone’s existence over here, chatting to another friend you recognize. His other friend from the bar is sitting closer to you. He watches Mary swim intently. Emily’s eyes might burn a hole into you, so you just turn away.
As much as you’d like to say there’s no use in making a connection yourself, something about your sleepover buddy (because as you told Emily, it was much more of a makeout than a hookup) being unable to act casual makes you think he might have started feeling pretty similarly to you.
“Mary!” you shout. She stops, twisting around in the water to look at you. “Get them to come over here, will you? We’ve got more room!” And she nods, swimming another couple of paces to lure the boys in for you.
“Guys!” Now Mia calls for you and Emily. “Are we doing anything on the Fourth? Trevor says his friends always throw this absolute rager-”
Emily glances at you again, concern written on her face. Mia notices, too, and her brows furrow. You haven’t told your other friends about your little sleepover with Cole yet. “Well, nothing was set in stone…,” your host starts, trailing off as she gets distracted by Mary making her way back over and shooting you a thumbs up. Mia turns back to her guy.
With both of your other friends distracted by boys, Emily leads you to the far end of the boat. She runs a hand through her hair nervously.
“Out with it, Em,” you tell her.
“Just…are you sure you’re okay with this?” she questions. “The guys coming over here, even though Cole didn’t text or call like he said he would?”
You take a minute to look around, observe the happenings. Mentally lay out all your options. By the time you look back at your old friend and fold your arms with a shrug, she can tell your mind is completely made up.
“Sure, it stings a bit, but maybe he just forgot. And his friends seem fun, and our girls are clearly pretty into them. Not much we can really do, you know? I’m just gonna accept it happening, I think.”
Emily sighs, but nods. “At least we can probably get them to put up the second level for us. I bet some of them know stuff about boats.”
They do. At least, a few of them do – you find out that they’re known as the Hughes brothers, and they’re the owners of the house that Cole and the others are staying in. Emily had heard of them from someone in the lake community before. You figure that they weren’t planning on your group finding out, but they play pro hockey. Additionally, you suspect the same of Cole and the other two, who have since been introduced to you as Alex and Trevor.
Jack, the middle Hughes, formally extends the invitation to all of your friends for the party, adding that Emily can invite anyone else she knows around here because they have plenty of space and “we always say the more, the merrier, right boys?”
Whether they say it aloud or not, you aren’t sure Cole agrees. He has no trouble engaging with any of the (many) boys that have found themselves on Emily’s dad’s boat, but he kind of keeps to himself when any of your friends are included in a conversation.
Still, you all laugh and chat. You make nice with Jack’s brothers and tell stories about your friend group in college, like how you met when you were randomly assigned to a group project in the worst math class in the world. It’s kind of nice. You could almost get used to it, if it didn’t feel like you were trying to pull teeth just for Cole to acknowledge you.
A couple of times, you look up from grabbing another drink or resurface from your turn on the slide and find his eyes on you, expression on his face something akin to curiosity, maybe even fondness. But he turns away as soon as you realize. Always.
“We should do this again,” Trevor declares, back in the water as he’s making his way (slowly) back to the Hughes’ boat. “You ladies are a lot of fun.”
“If you’re not too hungover after the party, maybe this Friday or Saturday?” Mia suggests. “Mary and I fly out on Sunday.”
Her fling (or rather, who you assume will be her fling on this trip) pouts dramatically. “We’ll have to make it happen, then! You can’t leave me without saying goodbye.”
She winks at him. “Will do.” Then she remembers the three other people onboard still, and whips around to face the rest of you with a guilty look on her face. “If that’s okay with you guys, of course-”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” you say, laying back on a seat. “Long as they can help set up the top deck again…or teach us how to do it.”
“Come on, you totally think the short one is cute,” Mary goads you. “The one in the patterned trunks? The two of you were just…pretending not to eye each other up for like the hour and a half they were over here. Why wouldn’t you go talk to him? You’re never shy around guys.”
“Because they already spent her first night here together!” Emily blurts for you, then claps her hands over her mouth. Cartoonishly, she releases her lips just to add, “And she gave him her number but he still hasn’t texted or called!”
Mia and Mary stare wide-eyed at you. Once more, the only thing you can really do is shrug. That’s his choice, after all. Isn’t it?
Matt and Sunshine arrive exactly at noon. Everyone who’s awake floods out of the house to greet them, including Cole and Trevor, excepting Quinn who’s messing with something on the boat. Having always been the closest of Jack’s friends to his cousin, Trevor pulls Sunshine into a hug first. He deliberately ignores the glare of her boyfriend. Cole tries to distract him with a handshake thing, but it doesn’t work.
“Alright, Trevor, release!” Matt orders, at the same time as Jack says, “That’s long enough. Lemme hug my cousin,” through an eye roll.
Though he sighs, Trevor does as he’s told and goes to help with their bags. Sunshine embraces both of her cousins before turning to Cole and Alex with a warm greeting. Now that she can be around the guys without a fight breaking out between her and Matt, Cole is starting to understand the nickname.
It’s kind of like how he nicknamed Red… wait, no, he needs to stop thinking about you. No more distraction during the Summer of The Boys. There’s only so much time left for it to gain momentum, and locking it down before the party would be a big help.
“Did you get the-” Trevor is asking the new arrivals distractedly, peering into the grocery bags filling the backseat of Matt’s car.
Sunshine slaps her palm to her forehead. “Crap, we forgot about that fruit dip recipe! I’m going to have to head back to the store for the ingredients.” She turns to Trevor and Cole, eyes pleading. “Come with me, guys?”
They barely have to exchange a glance before Trevor is agreeing for both of them. It reminds Cole of last summer, when she talked them into party prep shopping with her in almost exactly the same way and then threatened to let them get arrested when they tried to press about her crush on Matt. Something in him raises the suspicion that she didn’t really forget the dip ingredients.
“So,” she says with a little smirk as soon as she’s settled in the passenger seat of his car, “What’s up with this boys’ summer stuff I’ve been hearing about? Should I have stayed home so y’all could have your fun?”
“Come on, Sunshine, you know you’re one of us,” Cole sighs, not taking his eyes off the road as he leaves the driveway.
“Boy or not!” Trevor pipes up from the backseat, trying to be helpful.
Cole nods along. He doesn’t feel like getting into anything with Trevor right now, not when he has to explain himself to Sunshine. “I just wanted one last summer for us, I guess. Everybody lives like half a continent away from each other and we’re all establishing our places and settling down.” His eyes flick over to his friend. “Like you and Matt, for one.” She looks down, cheeks a little pink. “Or Alex and his mysterious girlfriend.”
“Oh, she’s sweet. You guys are gonna love her when you meet her,” his friend chimes in, still not quite helpful.
“That’s beside the point. I wanna make sure we still get to enjoy what might be one of our last summers all together.”
“Before work and family stuff take you away from this place and each other completely,” Sunshine finishes for him, the unspoken second half of his sentence.
He nods. The car falls quiet, even Trevor seemingly thinking hard about what Cole just admitted to. Silence hangs heavy over the group even as they pull into the parking lot of the nearest grocery store. Then Trevor trips over himself getting out of the car, and the teasing just comes naturally. Regular conversations follow.
Cole is in the baking aisle by himself, on a quest to get some kind of special spice or something, when he thinks he sees a flash of color at the end of the aisle. He freezes. Then he realizes that he’s being crazy, and you don’t own the color red, and it could definitely be someone else. Probably is, in fact.
But it isn’t – you’re turned around, basket swinging on your arm, craning your head to look up at the overhead signs as you make your way down the aisle. You don’t even seem to realize that Cole’s standing there until you get halfway down.
He’s trying not to panic, but your face splits into a smile when you catch sight of him.
“Hey there,” you say with a semi-nonchalant tone. He expects more – something about how he still hasn’t texted or called, or confusion over why he pretended that he didn’t know you during the impromptu boat party, or anything of the sort.
But you just talk to him like you would to probably anyone else you know. “Whatcha looking for?” you ask, peering over his shoulder to see the details that Sunshine texted him.
Him holding the phone out so you can see it better is just instinct. Not that he really wants you to help him or whatever, but it’s just that… you won’t be leaning in so close if he lets you do this. He thinks. His brain is kinda fuzzy, like he’s just walked out of a a movie theater after seeing a life-changing film for the first time.
“That should be…,” you take a couple of steps away from him, squinting. His brain starts to clear up slightly. Then you trail off. “Actually, I don’t know where it’s supposed to be. This is kinda my first time being in a store from this chain.” Your laugh sounds light, but there’s an undertone of self-deprecation. When you look back at him, he feels his breath catch a little. “Did your friend ask for a specific brand?”
Cole shakes his head, completely and utterly lost for words. This can’t be happening. You check his phone – just as frozen as he is – once more before returning your gaze to the shelves of spices in front of the two of you.
“Is this for the ‘absolute rager’ that you and your buddies are throwing tomorrow night?” The question is asked absentmindedly, half over your shoulder, and it takes Cole a few seconds to even realize it’s directed at him.
Still, he finally finds his voice. “Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat so hopefully his next words don’t come out as cracked or squeaky. “Jack’s cousin wants to make this fruit dip-”
He’s cut off by someone calling his name. Much to his horror, Sunshine and Trevor round the corner into the aisle. They chat loudly amongst themselves as Trevor hops on the back of the cart to ride it towards the two of you. You turn to face them as they get close. Cole doesn’t miss how your eyes dart between him and his girl friend. There’s a notable space in between the words, but you have no way of knowing that. And he’s not supposed to care about it, but he does.
“We got worried about you, dude,” the girl he was just talking about teases him. “Did you ever find the extract?”
“Um, we-” he starts. Sunshine and Trevor knew you were there, obviously, but now he’s associated himself with you. Time is going in slow motion. Cole can’t stop the train wreck that’s about to happen.
“I tried to help, but turns out I know this store as little as he does,” you speak up, breaking the ice for him with a laid-back smile. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance, guys.”
And you start to walk away from him. Cole is helpless against your retreat, but thankfully Trevor isn’t. His friend calls out to you without hesitation and you pause just as fast.
“Has he already invited you to the party tomorrow?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” Cole is lucky enough to witness one last maybe-teasing smile before you’ve disappeared around an endcap display toward the exit.
Cole’s friends must really believe in “the more, the merrier” and any sentiments that are vaguely similar. Because when you get to the house on the night of the party, it’s completely packed. Like, to the point where you think Mia and Mary will be lucky to even catch a glimpse of your hosts. Any of them.
“I can barely hear anything!” Emily shouts as you wade into the crowded living room. “What kinda speakers do they have in this place?”
“Good ones!” you yell back. All you can do is hope that she hears you over the thumping bass and everyone else’s chatter.
Mary gives you a distracted thumbs-up, attention very clearly elsewhere. Specifically, across the room, where one Hughes brother or another is entertaining a group. A hand emerges from the fray to grab Mia and whisk her off to dance. You aren’t even sure how Trevor knew she was here. It must be a superpower of some kind.
By the time Mary disappears too, you and your girls have checked out the game room in the basement, danced in the living room, snacked in the kitchen, and made s’mores over the firepit in the back. It’s definitely a fun place to be. You can understand why Cole and his friends congregate here every summer.
But you need a moment – just some peace and quiet, somewhere where you don’t feel like you have to be moving or keeping an eye out for your girls. You find it on the patio, just far enough removed from the major gathering places to create the illusion of being almost alone. Maybe. Because a figure makes its way down the stairs from the deck, freezing when they spot you sitting on the ground.
“Red?” they ask.
“Cole?” you return, squinting to try and make him out better. “What are you doing out here?”
“I wanted to grab another beer before kicking Luke’s ass in cornhole, but… what are you doing out here?” He takes a few steps closer as he talks, just enough for some light to shine on his face. You notice the hesitation when he gets within a few feet, as if he’s forbidden himself from penetrating your personal space bubble.
So you tease him a little. “I’m not gonna bite, you know. You’re welcome to sit and talk with me again, if you’re got some time to spare.”
He deflates. Still, he leans back against the wall and slides down until his butt hits the ground next to yours. Both of you are quiet for a moment or two, though the air is filled with plenty of general party noise. He speaks up first. It surprises you.
“So… what are you doing out here hiding by yourself, again?” he repeats the question once more.
“Just needed a little recharge time. I lost Mia and Mary to your friends, no offense, and Emily stepped out front to call her boyfriend or latest fling or something, and I hadn’t seen you all night, so I found a place to be,” you explain, maybe saying a little more than you want to. Mia had tried to advise you to play hard to get, suggesting that it might finally draw him back in. Obviously that’s not going to work.
His next words surprise you even more than the fact that he sat down with you at all. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
You turn to look at him better, mouth opening because you have to say something, even if it won’t mean much in the grand scheme, but he beats you to it. “I’m sorry that I just kind of walked out of that room and started ignoring you without explanation. It was jerky of me.”
He doesn’t elaborate much after that, but you kind of need him to. So you ask. “Why did you?”
There’s a loud sigh from your side. “So I came up with this plan before the season ended, but I thought this summer when we all got together, it could be, like…,” he holds up his hands to make air quotes, “a ‘Summer of The Boys.’ All of us, just the guys hanging out together again like when we were kids in the program.”
“I see.” Something pangs in your chest a little bit. You understand that he wants to spend his time here with his friends – that makes perfect sense, you can’t blame him – but you have gotten a little emotionally invested in him. Especially after you spent your first twelve hours here staying up until the early morning just…talking.
“But it was a dumb idea,” he admits, shaking his head. “Like two of the guys already have girlfriends that they like talking to, and one of ‘em’s here, and another one is in the process of getting one or something. Even Jack and Trevor still have their flirts and flings. I guess I should have realized that there can’t be a summer fully focused on just us guys ever again.”
“Should I be warning my friends to watch out?” you joke.
He startles. “Oh! No, not like that-”
Your laughter cuts him off. “It’s fine. I get it. They get it. They only want that, too.” You pause for a second, then continue in a softer voice. Maybe you don’t actually want this answer like you think you do. “Is that… what you wanted? When you approached me at the bar?”
Cole takes a second to think. You can’t blame him.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I wasn’t trying to hook up with you that night. If I was, I probably would have just gotten in the car with you on my own, you know?”
“Okay,” you respond slowly, making sure that you’re articulating your words properly. “Soo… why did you come up to me in the first place?”
This really makes him think hard. He opens and closes his mouth. Every couple of times you think you hear a sound come out. The answer is really stumping him. You should probably take that in itself as an answer. But just when you press your hands to the ground to push yourself to a stand, he manages to speak actual words.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he says in a half-laugh, shaking his head and waving his hand a little. “I saw you over there, shining red, and it just felt like there was no other option. I had to talk to you, had to figure out why you thought I was worth looking at.”
Now, you’re at a loss for words.
“Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you still want to talk to me, after me ignoring you for so long.”
This, you have a response to. “I’m still in town for another couple of weeks. If you need more time to figure out what I saw in you that night.” You shrug, trying to make it sound more casual than flirty. But still just the teensiest bit flirty. An invitation.
He finally looks directly at you, grin illuminated by sudden firework flashes through the cracks in the deck floor. The way he stands is energetic, and the way he holds a hand out to you is even more inviting than your (hopefully blatant) invitation. You hesitate before taking it, but even the fear of what he’s going to say can’t stop you completely.
“One dance with me tonight, and I promise I’ll text you to make sure you get home safe,” Cole starts bargaining, holding up a finger as he intertwines yours in his other hand.
Nothing can stop the smile from spreading across your face as you agree, “One dance.”
Cole wakes up late on what Trevor has dubbed “Boat Girls Day,” but that’s okay. Because he knew when you got home safe last night, and received the drunken selfies that Emily insisted upon taking with you. He must have fallen asleep first, because there’s a text labeled “Red” when he finally rolls over and checks his phone.
It makes him smile.
Then he rolls over. And his mood is completely dashed. His friends may have found some good luck and connection in the middle of pouring rain last summer, but he’s pretty sure that luck doesn’t apply to him right now, especially since you and your friends were supposed to meet the guys on the boat.
“What are we gonna do about this?” he asks when he gets to the kitchen, gesturing wildly at the window.
Luke raises his eyebrows in that Hughesy way that manages to look both completely clueless and judgmental at the same time. “Um, stay inside?” It takes a notable amount of restraint for Cole to not stomp his foot or do something childish. Luke knows that’s not what he meant.
“We could just invite the girls over,” Trevor points out blearily, accidentally announcing his presence in the kitchen.
Jack shakes his head. “No way. I don’t feel like cleaning up from the party yet.”
“Well, it’s not like we’re going to just… not see them, right?” Cole asks, looking back and forth between his two friends – who, if he remembers correctly, should also be invested in seeing your group. Maybe even more than he is, because they seem to have the idea that if they see your friends, they’ll get something. He doesn’t know how it’s going to go over with you. Text or no text.
Trevor and Jack are having a silent conversation. He could figure it out if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. Maybe he’s going crazy, but he just has to see you today. Failure is not an option.
“What are you guys doing about the rain?” he taps out, then hits send after a brief pause where he wonders if he may actually be getting too desperate for your presence.
“I don’t think we-” Jack starts, trying to be as gentle as possible. Or maybe just trying to not set Cole off. Because even he knows the nervous way he’s bouncing his leg has very little to do with the actual weather and much more to do with what the weather is ruining for him. But a text comes in from you, and his friend gives up on speaking when he looks away.
“Nursing hangovers at ‘home,’” you’ve replied, adding a sad emoticon. The second text comes in just as quick. “Probably not going out at all if we can help it.”
Trevor sighs, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “What happened to guys’ summer, huh? You’re, like, going crazy over this girl after talking to her twice even though you were hellbent against it… what, two days ago?”
The comment stings, but he isn’t really wrong. Cole has to retort anyway. “It was never going to be a guys summer. I was just being stupid and hanging onto a nonexistent present, anyway.” He looks down before they can respond. “Matt has Sunshine, Alex has his lady in California, Quinn has his not-yet-girlfriend, even you and Jack are chasing Red’s friends, here, and there might be others once they leave and we stay. We’re grown. Things have changed, and I had to see it eventually.” He switches his focus to the words he’s trying to send to you in a way that still makes him sound cool and nonchalant, but he can tell how heavy the silence is hanging over the kitchen now as they all ponder his words.
“You’re right,” Trevor says eventually, catching him wildly off guard. “Things have changed. But that doesn’t mean, y’know, that we can’t…,” he pauses, putting thought into his words, “still be guys together, or whatever. No girl’s gonna change how much we care about each other. Right?”
Jack’s nod comes slow. “And no girl that would want to come between our group is worth it,” he affirms, sounding more sure the longer the sentence goes on.
Cole feels a weight lifting from his shoulders, his expression brightening. He also feels his phone buzz. But for the first time this summer, his buds seem to be all in on the plan. It’s not like he can let this go. Right?
Texts between you and your potential summer fling started fizzling out as the rain beat down on Emily’s family home the day after the party. Mia and Mary, although blocked from their ultimate goals, were in high enough spirits to lead the other half of your friend group into a rom-com-and-relaxation day, just like you used to have in college.
Emily digs ice cream out of the garage freezer just for you. You aren’t necessarily encouraged to wallow, as the response times get longer and longer, but you are subtly coddled. By the end of the day someone’s brought out some decent wine that your hosts aren’t going to miss and poured you a little more than one glass.
“I just hate how back and forth he’s being about this,” you complain to your friends, having escalated to eating the ice cream straight from the tub. Gesturing at Heath Ledger’s teary face on the screen, you continue. “This isn’t one of these stories! I’m a real person, and I deserve to be respected and not led on like one!”
“Yeah!” Mia cheers, pumping her first. “You tell ‘em!” Her outburst startles Emily off of her phone. Mary glances up. “I know some of us have a flight to catch on Sunday or whatever, but when it’s not crappy tomorrow we need to go out and look hot.”
She continues describing her plan to manifest confidence and independence. You read between the lines: she’s not leaving here without getting a decent hookup, whether it’s Cole’s friend or not. But the longer she goes on, the more convinced Emily and Mary look. You’re the lone holdout.
“Baby girl,” your friend finally says, crawling over the couch to clasp your hand in hers gently, “I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you wanted more than what you’re getting. But you are one of the most amazing, strong, independent people I have ever met, and I can’t really believe that your plan is to just… sit around here and wait for a guy to realize all that.”
You can’t believe it either, truthfully. But something about Cole, something about the way he looked at you from across the bar and nicknamed you because of your “neon halo aura” made you feel like it wasn’t going to go like this.
“I guess you’re right, M,” you admit, frowning. “I need to find someone better.”
“To my favorite bartender in our hottest outfits!” Em cheers, already jumping off the couch to start throwing something together.
They’ve claimed that it’s a guys’ night out. Alex is staying off his phone, and Sunshine graciously decided to have dinner with her beloved aunt. Quinn isn’t quite following the same rules as everyone else, but he gets a pass since he’s still trying to work up the nerve to ask his friend out.
Cole was having a great time, at first. Teaming up with Luke to kick ass at pool like he had intended to at the party, shotgunning shitty beer faster than Trevor and not even getting a warning about it. The bartender was super distracted by a group of girls at the front.
While Cole celebrates his win, Jack keeps glancing back to the bar. Specifically, the bartender and the group that he’s been attending for a while now. His eyes widen at the same time as Cole finally decides to check it out for himself – and there you are, shining even brighter amongst the crowd than you did the first time he spotted you here. Jack and Trevor’s maybe-flings are flanking you tightly, heads turned just to glare at him.
You don’t look. You won’t. His heart sinks.
He doesn’t even let his friend try to yell something in his ear to cheer him up. Immediately, he finds himself slinking back to the booth, back to where Quinn is definitely more gone than everyone else is and fighting to text his friend in a semi-coherent manner.
His older friend looks up when he falls into the open space on the bench. It takes a few moments for him to follow Cole’s sullen gaze over to Jack and Trevor, then to you and your friends. He even glances back and forth a few times before making a decision on what to say, if anything at all.
“You can still try to fix it,” he says, in a low voice that’s only just loud enough to be heard over the bar music.
Cole’s head snaps up. “Huh?”
Quinn nods at you. “You’ve accepted that there’s never truly going to be a full summer of just the boys again, right?” He phrases it like a question but only pauses long enough to take another swig of his beer. “Go talk to her. Something about the way you’re just completely devastated right now makes me think you’re gonna regret missing out on her more than you want to admit out loud.”
The assessment is harsh but accurate. Still, Cole doesn’t know how to accept that he might need you around this summer for whatever reason. He doesn’t know how not to be dumb about it.
“You can’t just go talk to her,” Luke interrupts, sliding in on Quinn’s other side. “Look. You’ve fucked up twice now in the span of a week, and even if she’s at the same place you are right now she literally has a whole girl squad with her for protection.” He points with his beer at your three friends, even though one is distracted ordering another drink. “If you wanna say anything to her tonight, you gotta get them away first. And if you wanna be allowed to say more than a few words before she slaps you, you gotta do a romantic gesture or something.”
“A romantic gesture?” Cole is confused. What’s he supposed to do in a dingy, hole-in-the-wall bar?
Luke shrugs. “I don’t know. Girls like those.”
“And what do you know about girls?” Cole retorts, taking a bigger gulp of his beer than he means to.
“I know stuff about girls,” his younger friend defends himself, slumping in his seat with a frown and folding his arms.
Both of the Hughes brothers still in the booth have offered some sound advice, but Cole just doesn’t think he can take it right now. Still. Is he ever going to get another shot with you? This chance encounter – back in the bar where you first met – may be the last he’ll ever get.
By the time he’s sent over a refill for your drink and gathered the courage to approach once more, Jack and Trevor have done him the favor of whisking your bodyguards away to dance or something. The last girl, the one he’s pretty sure is your bestie, is thoroughly with the bartender as the crowd begins to thin. And still you recognize him even before he gets close enough to talk at a normal level.
“I’m really not in the mood, Cole,” you announce, maybe a little louder than you have to. He winces at your chilly reception. But he takes another step in your direction.
“Red-” he starts.
You raise a hand to silence him. “No. No, I said I don’t wanna hear it. You can tell me all you want that you fucked up, and that you got distracted, and that you’re just trying to have a chill summer with the guys, but you can’t have that and lead me on, Cole, it’s not fair-”
“It’s not,” he agrees lowly, because despite your words you haven’t made him turn back yet. “You’re right. Not at all.”
Under the light of the red neon that helped you earn your nickname, your eyes widen. Your voice falters. “-I don’t deserve this,” you finish.
“You don’t.” The continued agreement shocks you into silence. “I don’t deserve your attention. I don’t deserve whatever you saw in me that first night and ever since, but god, I want to.” His last words catch your attention again. Hopefully he can keep it. “I’ve come to terms with what I can and can’t have this summer, Red, and if I can still have you I want to make that happen. Just tell me what I need to do.”
He doesn’t miss the way your gaze flickers down to his mouth as he leans in to say it, the way your lips part for your sigh and he can feel the faintest trace of it on his neck. Your perfume smells like some kind of spice. Your breath smells like tequila and citrus.
“Cole?” you ask, your voice sweet, your eyes softening.
“Yeah?”
The speed with which your gaze hardens and you pull away almost leaves him gasping for air, just to catch a hint of you again. “Leave me alone. Figure out what you want, for real this time. And actually think about it. Don’t just lose your grasp on one thing or another and start to tighten your grip on the other one. I really want to be able to like you, so-” you cut yourself off with another sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing your temples. “-I’ll unblock you Tuesday night. Hopefully you can get it together by then.”
Just as fast as you initially pulled away, you’re up and out of your stool, reaching around someone to tug on your friend’s arm. You tilt your head to look at Cole one last time. “For what it’s worth, I hope you enjoy your boy time. And I hope they realize how loyal of a friend they have, to want this so bad. You seem like a good guy. So see you later, maybe.”
Then you’re gone, citrus and spice lingering in the air like smoke.
Cole closes out your tab for you before retreating to the heartbreak booth with Quinn and Luke.
If Mia and Mary ask, you probably will have to admit that in the nearly three days since you left Cole at the bar, you’ve checked your text conversation at least four times per day. And maybe you’ve unblocked him at least once, just for a minute, to see if he would somehow know and text. Or if he’d somehow know and stay respectful of your wishes.
Emily isn’t the biggest fan of this, but when you’re both sitting in separate rooms of the house on respective Zoom meetings there’s not much she can do. Plus, she’s been checking her phone just as much. You’re not sure who it is that’s been texting her so much. Definitely not one of Cole’s friends.
Mary and Jack never did get their little fling going, but Mia happily reported on the way to the airport that Trevor was “more fun than expected.” Which you don’t think you ever needed or wanted to know, but whatever.
The girls now at home, on the other hand, desperately want to know about you and Cole. Exactly what you said in the bar that night to send him home with his tail between his legs. If he’s shown up at Emily’s parents’ door with a grand gesture yet. If you even want him to, at this point. (You do.)
So by Tuesday night, when you and Emily stay up to finish another bottle of wine before you unblock him and fall asleep, nervous excitement among your friend group has reached its peak.
“Tell us what he says!!” Mia’s latest text reads.
You roll your eyes, showing Em before you reply, “He might not say anything at all. And that’s okay too. I’ll find someone else who thinks I’m actually worth their time.”
“Right,” Mary sends. “...but he’s totally going to text you.”
Physically, Cole’s spent the past three days hanging out with his friends and having the time of his life. Tournaments in almost every game they can play, making fun of each other’s major fails from the past season, starting to talk about girls like they’re not just a distraction. At least, Matt and Alex and Quinn are. Maybe Cole too.
Almost every coherent thought has been with you, about you, trying to fix everything that he broke. He knows this is technically different, but he feels like he broke a fragile item in a store. Now he has to buy it so he can put it back together – really give it his all. He just… has a hard time figuring out how to do that. At first.
The idea comes from something Luke says. Not the whole idea, just the beginning.
“I know you guys couldn’t see it when it was happening, but all of last summer just felt like me thinking ‘will they or won’t they?’” he comments to Matt and Sunshine one night from across the firepit, while everyone is reminiscing.
Cole knows he’s not going to have a whole summer to dance around with you. Hell, he can’t even ask when you’re going home, right now. He himself doesn’t even have two weeks before making the drive back to Wisconsin to visit his siblings and parents. Matt and Sunshine are going to leave before then. Alex too. Probably not Trevor, though.
But that’s beside the point. He knew how limited his time would be with his friends this summer, which is why he planned so hard to cherish it. What he didn’t expect was how much he would want to be able to share time with you, too.
When the time comes, he re-writes the text at least five times. He hits send at exactly 12:01 am before setting his phone down. Cole knows he’s going to remember the first morning he woke up to a text from you for a while. Hopefully, tomorrow morning is pretty similar.
You started rearranging your schedule to adhere to Cole’s strange request before you even texted back. And you’ve hung out a couple of times in the week since, just the two of you, texted even more, but you still don’t know why he wanted you to take an entire day off work. And bring a bag.
“What are you planning??” you ask one last time after he texts that he’s on his way over, without getting a response besides “here” with a smiley face.
Cole answers when you step outside in the same non-answer way he’s been responding since you first asked. “Planning something as special as you are, Red!” He’s opened the passenger door of his car for you like a gentleman would. Closes it for you, too.
“Can I at least know where we’re going?” you question.
He shakes his head, big grin spreading across his face with ease. One hand is on the wheel. The other arm rests on the center console, open, like he’s waiting for you to take it. Your move.
Conversation flows between the two of you as he drives. Really, it’s a continuation of the constant texts from the past week. Since he said he knew he’d regret losing you more than anything else he could potentially do this summer, and he just couldn’t fumble you again. You talk about his family, some of whom he’s nicknamed just like he did you, and what your job’s been asking from you as of late (too much, according to him).
It slows when he pulls up in front of an ice cream shop. You redirect it.
“44 Scoops?” you ask, one eyebrow raised skeptically.
“Trust me,” he says, leading you out by the hand, “It’s the best place in town.”
After ice cream, he brings you to a colorful mom-and-pop tourist shop boasting all things Michigan and Detroit, including sports team memorabilia. The two of you browse as you finish the last of your scoop. Admittedly, it is the best you’ve had since you’ve been here.
“Okay, so you want me to remember Michigan. But you’re not from here, right? And you don’t play here either,” you note aloud, examining a particularly garish Tigers keychain hanging from an endcap.
He shrugs, happy to just watch you. “I kinda grew up here,” he offers. “But yeah, I play up in Montreal. It’s pretty nice. I like it when I’m there.”
“And when you’re not?”
There’s a slight pause. Eventually, he speaks. His voice is a little bit tight. “When I’m not caught up in the season, sometimes, I remember what it was like before life was hockey. And it’s probably just ‘cause I was a kid, you know, but I catch myself missing it more than I mean to.”
Cole moves on, switching the topic to something about the sports teams he grew up rooting for. And you half-listen. Really, you do. But what he just said, it kinda stopped you in your tracks a little. It makes so much sense in the context of what you know about him and everything that eventually led up to this date. Something about the way he said it was so vulnerable, too.
“You’re a nostalgic person, aren’t you?” you blurt when he pauses, and you notice how his fingers twitch despite the rest of him freezing.
“I guess?”
It’s not a real answer, but you already have one. So you let him slip out of it. “So, what else do you have planned?”
“Well, I had a plan and a backup plan in case you didn’t wanna go for the plan-plan,” he introduces, gesturing as he walks backwards just so he can look at you while he explains. “The plan-plan is that we go back to the Hughes place, meet up with your friend and the guys, go out on the boat for a while and end the night with a firepit. If you don’t wanna get to know my friends a little better and maybe learn why I was so conflicted, well, I was thinking we could act like kids again and walk around the zoo or aquarium. Maybe have a night picnic.”
There’s his nostalgic nature again, trying to unite you with his friends. Maybe you shouldn’t agree to it. But you’re curious. He thinks highly enough of you to plan all this out, and he thinks so highly of his friends that he was giving his all for one last summer with them that felt like when they were young.
“Let’s go hang out with our friends,” you decide, taking his hand like it seals the deal. “I only got to talk to them a little bit, but they have to be pretty cool for you to like them so much.”
“The coolest,” he agrees.
Cole knows how lucky he is, to not only have gotten another shot with you, but to have you under his arm right now. Sitting in front of the fire, Em and her maybe-boyfriend bartender on your other side, all of his best friends scattered around the fire talking and laughing with you like they’ve known you forever. Just like he knew they would.
Something about you has always felt like it fit, even when he didn’t know where in his life to put you. When the conversation lulls and you lean your head on his shoulder, still smiling, he brings his lips up to your ear.
“By the way, today kind of had a theme.”
You pull back to look at him. “Oh?”
He nods, using the arm on your shoulder to bring you closer again. “I realized in the days where I was giving you space that I wasn’t going to have enough time to have a whole romantic summer with you, so I tried to put the most major things from a perfect summer vacation into one day. ‘Cause, y’know, I would’ve really liked having more time with you.”
“Who says you won’t get any more time with me?” you ask, snuggling back into his shoulder. Still, he can feel your brows furrowing. He reaches up to smooth out the line that’s formed between them.
“I leave in three days, Red. I’m sure you’re not staying here forever, either.”
You sigh, the breath warm against his t-shirt even with the fire in front of you. “No, I’m not.”
The two of you sit with the admission, let it cool down the air around you as if the fire died out. But you speak up again.
“Just because it may not be in person doesn’t mean you’re allowed to stop talking to me again,” you say in a matter-of-fact tone. “Actually, I think it means we just have to talk even more to find an excuse to see each other in person again.”
“I wasn’t planning on repeating that mistake, believe me,” Cole chuckles lightly, wishing he could see your face more than feel it.
“Good.”
Cole can’t be there to drop you off at the airport. He left a few days ago, which you know because he texted you when he left and when he made it home. Maybe even a little bit when he was stuck in Chicago traffic.
One message in particular has been sticking with you, despite it being days old by the time you board the plane. “This is the first summer where I left feeling like I had more to look forward to than just coming back next year. Can’t thank you enough, Red,” he had written.
You’re looking at it again when you text to let him know that your plane’s landed safely at O’Hare. Just like he asked. He replies within a minute, emphasizing how glad he is that you made it home safe and asking how you’re feeling – if you have jet lag or anything. You think it’s a bit of a strange question. So distracting, even, that you almost bump into someone as you type out your reply.
“Sorry!” you call to the person who huffed past you, letting go of your carry-on to cup your hand around your mouth.
But when you come back to it, you find that someone else has already taken control of it. Your eyes track from the hand gripping your suitcase’s handle to the strong shoulder, to a familiar face that you were beginning to miss under a backwards baseball cap.
“Cole?!” the word leaves your mouth before your brain can catch up. There’s a twinkle in his eye, a nervous smile on his face.
“Surprise?” he says, not really asking, but maybe too unsure to be declaring.
You don’t let him say anything else. You wrap your arms around him, catching him off guard and throwing him off-balance with the force of your embrace. “What are you doing here?” you try to ask, but he can only cough as an answer. “Sorry.” Sheepishly, you let him go. Then you remember something. Something you didn’t get to do back in Detroit. “Wait!”
Stepping back into his space, you press your lips to his quickly, gently, just enough for him to know it’s happening. Only when you feel him acknowledge the kiss do you step back so he can explain.
“Um…,” he says, blinking rapidly. “Wow, Red.” The words are breathless.
“Sorry,” you repeat. “We ran out of time before I could do that. But what are you doing here?”
He points, smile returning to his face. “That’s the thing. Time. I had a free day, figured you wouldn’t be working, thought we deserved it, so… spend a little more with me today, maybe? If it’s not too crazy?” One of his hands finds itself back on the handle of your rolling carry-on, the other held out to you hesitantly.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Probably your friends asking if you got in okay. You ignore it for now.
“It’s just perfectly crazy,” you reassure him, tucking your hand into his. “What else have you got planned?”
The look spreading on Cole’s face is one you’ve seen more than once before: before he sent that first drink over to you, as he was helping you into his car in front of Emily’s parents’ place a week ago. It’s as exciting as it is sentimental to the two of you. And you know – whatever it may be, you’re in.
OHHHHHH IM SO EXCITED I FOUND THIS BLOG AND AM SO EXCITED TO READ EVERYTHING ON IT!!!!!! finding this blog was literally a “finally some good fucking food” moment.. i can already tell by the titles these will crush me. i have to know what media u wrote for before nhl men pls share
Thank you so much for the love! I'm so happy that I can, in any way, fill a need with my writing.
I've been writing stories since I learned how to write. Mostly for myself or friends, on occasion for class assignments or something similar.
My first venture into any kind of fanfiction was through k-pop fandoms around 2019 or so, if I had to guess? I had a sideblog on which I posted approximately one blurb by 2021 that got ~150 notes and it was just a thrilling experience that people cared so much about it.
Then I got into hockey in college, and started reading almost every fanfic available for my favorite players (for some of which there was very little). I have to say my writing style today is pretty heavily influenced by a writer who deactivated their account a while ago (@/angelwithdemonictendencies), who once said that they drew from specifically feminine experiences they knew and saw in the world around them.
In addition, 2/3 of my college majors were very writing-focused, so that put me in a position where my writing was forced to develop pretty fast.
Thank you again for the interest and engagement, it absolutely made my day to find this in my inbox!!
the pain of collision would be infinitely better than this orbit we're in [qh.43]
pairing: quinn hughes x reader
nickname: star
word count: 10.2k
summary: After years of friendship with Quinn Hughes, what might be your final summer spent in the lake house community prompts a serious re-evaluation of your relationship... for both of you.
warnings: nerding out, nosy brothers, vague mentions of parental divorce (but no major angst) and the slightest miscommunication angst possible. apologies for any scientific inaccuracies; i am not an astronomy major
general timeline: summer 2024
universe: lake house summers
author’s note: This fic references the main character(/reader) from “play me like a deck,” the first Lake House Summers piece. Reading it will provide some context, but it shouldn’t be necessary to the overall read here! Thanks for all the love this has been getting already <3
For almost as long as you’ve known of their existence, you have been in love with two things: outer space, and Quinn Hughes.
Astronomy came first. You were five years old and your older sibling was making you watch some movie about a treasure hunt or something on a roadtrip when someone said that the stars wouldn’t allow some action or another. A word you didn’t know, but you knew what the stars were. That was enough to catch your attention.
“The stars can make people do things?” you asked, wide-eyed.
“Sure,” your sibling had shrugged, eyes on the screen.
“Dad?” you questioned further, because your dad was the smartest person in the world. “Can they?”
His eyes found yours in the rearview mirror, crinkled like he was smiling. “Good question, kiddo. Some people used to believe that the position of the stars could influence the outcomes of certain actions.”
“Do you think that?”
“Of course not-” your mom had started replying for him, but he just winked at you in the mirror.
“I don’t know, baby. Sometimes it seems like the stars align, and sometimes they just don’t.”
The more distanced your parents became from each other emotionally, the closer you got to your father. He took you to museums, taught you basic constellations and let you sit in as he lectured about math at the University of Michigan. “My bright little star,” he would call you as he introduced you to the class, looking at you like you were the center of his universe.
Your older sibling clung to your mom, choosing to move with her to Seattle when your parents finally made the decision to separate.
“We’ll still be a family, little star,” your mom explained while she was packing up the kitchen. “Just… a family that’s far apart for a little while.”
“And you can call us whenever you want!” your sibling piped up, ruffling your hair.
So maybe the actual parting wasn’t too bad. At least, not until you had to watch your mother remove the glow-in-the-dark stars that you and your dad had so lovingly arranged into the family zodiac constellations.
By the time the divorce became official and finalized, you were pretty okay with the familial split. There wasn’t really any ill will, just some fundamental differences in personalities and goals that had emerged with time. Your parents were even kind of friendly again. And they both agreed that the stars just hadn’t aligned right for them.
It only made sense that you would attend UMich, since your dad was up for tenure soon and they had such a great aerospace engineering program. What didn’t make sense was how quickly you became distracted by a certain hockey player.
One of your friends had followed her hockey-playing boyfriend to college, and it ended up meaning that your entire friend group had to start attending their games with her. Which turned into her boyfriend’s teammates interrupting your study sessions. And then the two groups finding each other at parties. The ease with which everyone meshed together seemed almost practiced, if you didn’t know any better. Or maybe fated was a better word for it.
There was one presence on the hockey team that drew you in more than the others – quiet, steady, calming. Quinn just had a sort of gravity to him that no one else did.
“Why up there?” he asked one cold night out on a frat house porch. “Why not study something, I dunno-” His free hand moved around wildly, gesturing to anything and everything in your proximity. “-down here?”
“Why hockey?” you replied teasingly, swirling some disgusting punch concoction around in your plastic cup before shrugging. “Sometimes the stars just align, and sometimes they don’t.”
He had shot you a weird look, but bit back any comment and nodded like he got it. And you knew he did.
His girlfriend was nice too, but you didn’t connect with her on the same level. He was the one that you ended up talking to in the corner while others were doing keg stands, the one that you told about missing your older sibling, the one that always asked about the latest news in the astronomical world.
You couldn’t help the crush that developed. It was almost as natural as your dreams of space, as your connection with your dad. Just something that felt right. Not that you would chase it while he had a girlfriend, of course. You just let it be, existing somewhere in the distant stretches of your universe like a passing comet. Even Quinn’s gravitational pull didn’t have to bring that little fantasy crashing to the ground.
Maybe his move to Vancouver to play hockey would have. Maybe, if it hadn’t just ended his relationship. Something about it made your heart leap – how he decided to soften the blow for her, but held on to you.
When he came back that summer, you invited him to your dad’s new girlfriend’s lake house to spend a day with you and some of your local friends. You told him all about how wonderful the community was, how private it felt and how easy it was to see the stars from out on the lake. He agreed, however hesitantly.
“So, how do you know my little Star?” you heard your dad answer the door from the living room.
“Dad, don’t scare my friends off!” you called, emerging to find Quinn mid-handshake with him. Your father’s girlfriend Danica stood off to one side, suppressing a smile at the interaction. “This is Quinn. One of the hockey guys, remember? The one who plays for Vancouver. Quinn, this is my dad and our lovely host Danica.”
“Ooh, Canada,” your dad said enthusiastically. “What’s that like?”
And you groaned again, linking your arm through your friend’s to lead him into the living room and hoping that he didn’t catch the wink your father sent your way.
“So. Your dad’s friendly,” he noted when both of you had sat down, one corner of his lips raised. There was something in the way he looked at you, in the way he made you feel like it was an inside joke even though it was just an observation. Something that had been there for a long time.
But you swallowed the feeling and nodded, going off on some tangent about how your dad would make friends with a chalkboard if only he were given the opportunity. Quinn laughed. The conversation moved on with him using your dad’s nickname for you. Your mind kept wandering back to that look of his.
Even as Quinn settled into his life as a professional hockey player, your friendship remained. Calls and texts kept you connected over the distance and through time zones.
You graduated. Your dad moved in with Danica full-time. His younger brother started playing in the NHL too, and they bought a lake house together on the same lake as your stepmom’s place. And Quinn’s path started crossing yours again every summer.
“Star, I need you to come to this party,” he near-begged over the phone a few days before the Fourth of July one year. “Please. It’s going to preserve my sanity.”
“Preserve your sanity, huh?” you raised an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. He sucked in a deep breath, maybe in excitement, but then you hesitated. “I don’t know, Quinn. I don’t think Leo would be a huge fan of that.”
He took a second to respond. “Leo?”
“Yeah. That guy I was seeing? He… kind of asked me to go steady with him,” you said, hating the way your heart panged as you told him.
“Oh,” he’d replied simply. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
In the end, you had gone to the party and had a wonderful time. A friend of Quinn’s little brother had saluted you randomly when you walked in. It was weird, but still fun. The resulting fight with your boyfriend had even felt worth it for a few months.
Then, as the winter chill began to set in, you got into a post-graduate program where you could live with your mom for a while. He’d been even more upset about that. So he faded away, just like Quinn’s college girlfriend. And the two of you stayed friends. Just friends.
~~~
“What do you mean you’re not really gonna be here next summer?” Quinn asks, pacing the kitchen. The little outburst distracts Luke from his bowl of cereal. His little brother watches him run his hands through his freshly-cut hair, then lean on the counter to look out the window.
Nothing he does feels right, so he changes positions again, back resting against the countertop now.
“I mean I’ll be spending most of it moving in with my mom, Quinn,” your voice comes through the phone into his ear, so soft and sweet. “I’ll get, like, a month to wrap things up here, but…” You trail off.
He knows what you’re not saying: he might be busy with the playoffs. And unless he’s playing Detroit, you’re not gonna be able to make those games.
“We’ll just make the most of this summer, then,” he decides, avoiding Luke’s expectant gaze. “Hang out whenever we can and all that.” He’s quiet for a moment before adding, “Got better at wakeboarding, you know. Gotta see it.”
Your little laugh is reassuring. “I guess I do. You guys still have that same boat?”
He nods before remembering that you can’t see him. “We do. Are you still gonna make me take you out in the middle of the night so you can talk about rare planet sightings?”
“Of course,” you say, and it sounds reassuring. “It’s practically a tradition at this point, right?”
Quinn hangs up much happier than he started the call, and his little brother just shoots him a look that says it all. He shakes his head, making Luke roll his eyes dramatically.
“Don’t,” he protests softly, “Luke, you know it can’t be like that.” To which Luke mumbles something in a clearly snarky tone into his cereal bowl, and his oldest brother just ignores him, mind drifting to all the plans he has to make to properly enjoy what might be his last summer with you.
~~~
Knocking on the front door of the Hughes boys’ lake house causes a flurry of excitement that you can even hear from outside. People scramble around inside like a startled group of cats. And when the door finally opens, it’s not who you expect at all.
“Hi,” the guy says, leaning against the door. “I don’t think we’ve really met ‘cause you weren’t single last summer. My name’s Tre-”
He gets shoved aside mid-sentence. Quinn pulls you into a hug, whispering something in your ear that sounds a lot like “ignore him,” before steering you toward the back of the house. His hand stays in place on your back like an anchor. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice even though he’s looking away.
“Happy to be here,” you respond, looking around to see how their place has changed since last summer. “Have to replace anything from the fighting yet?”
Quinn sighs, finally stopping and turning to face you. He shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “You know how last summer, we thought that making them confess to each other would fix everything?” You nod. “Yeah. Well, to put it in as few words as possible: we may have made it worse, and I’m kinda dreading their arrival.”
You giggle, and his expression turns from exasperation to a smile. “Your little gang here are quite the matchmakers, huh?”
“We’ll have to see about that, Star. They might just be nosy and lucky,” he says, making sure to raise his voice so the others can hear. Someone shouts an indignant “hey!” from a room or two over, which makes you laugh again.
His eyes are sparkly. You’re being reminded of it now, as he smiles at you because you’re in on the joke and they’ve got this matching twinkle in them, but really they’ve always sparkled. You just weren’t always sure it was for you. There’s little reason to doubt it now.
Jack ruins the moment by making his entrance from the kitchen. You don’t miss how his gaze flickers from Quinn to you, then back. Then he grins.
“Hey, Star,” he says, words coming easily. You know he’s high energy, but he puts on this laid-back façade with his older brother’s friends. Must be trying to look cool. At least, that’s what Quinn thinks. “Know where you’re going for that program yet?”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “You know about my school applications?”
“Of course I’ve heard about it.”
“UWash. In Seattle,” you answer finally, feeling yourself swell with something warm and proud. Quinn talks about you to his family. Your dad’s been asking about him since they met, but he’s talking about you.
If you weren’t experiencing the flutters actively, you’d say you were past the age of getting butterflies.
And Jack is opening his mouth to say something else, a glimmer in his eyes that’s much more mischievous than Quinn’s, but his older brother is already dragging you out to the deck, commenting, “That’s enough of him,” as if it’s final.
Later that night, everyone’s coming back in from the lake for a bonfire. Trevor in particular is fascinated with your tales of college-age Quinn, though you know they knew each other at the time. Even if it wasn’t quite as well as they do now. You’re talking about how you were trying to teach your dad the rules of hockey at the one UMich game he attended when your friend makes an excuse to pull you off to the side.
“Gonna make me blush by making me sound like that, Star,” he mumbles after asking you to come grab something inside with him. You reach for the basement door, but he gets to it instead. “Ladies first.”
“Like what?” you ask, genuinely confused. “I was just talking about how you were playing that day.”
He shakes his head. His hair’s shorter than it was at the end of the season. Neater. Still usually hidden under a hat. “Like a team hero or something.”
“Aren’t you?” you question. Simply. Casually. Both of you know the narrative surrounding him as the Canucks’ captain, and both of you know that it’s always been there, just waiting to be seen. The way he looks at you after you ask makes you feel incredibly seen yourself, even in the dark. You hope that he feels the same way.
When he still doesn’t answer, you add, “You are to me, anyway.”
“You’ve always thought so highly of me,” Quinn finally says, running a hand through his hair. He turns away, pacing a few steps before coming back to you. “Have you ever doubted that what you see in me… that guy… is real?”
You frown. He’s always been hard on himself, but this kind of feeling lingering so prominently in the summer is unusual. So you take his face in your hands softly, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are wide. His face is flushed. But you hold firm, making sure he’s really looking at you. That he’ll hear what you’re going to say.
“No, Quinn, I have never even considered that. Because I know you.” And you leave it at that.
A couple of quiet days go by. Work, if only a temporary job until you move to finish school, keeps you busy. And you assume that all of the guests at the Hughes house are doing the same for Quinn.
But he shows up at your dad and Danica’s place early one morning, probably as soon as the other few guys at the lake house this summer have pulled the boat away from the dock. You pause your work and leave your laptop on the couch to let him in, because you were lucky enough to get a five minute warning.
“I know it’s early,” he says, a rare emotion imbued into his voice, “but I brought donuts to make up for it.”
“Well, you know I can’t refuse that,” you say, taking the box from him with a smile. Despite your warmth, he remains a little… shy? Sheepish? Scared? You can’t really read it. So you just ask. “Is everything okay, Quinn?”
Spinning on his heel, he glances at the door like he’s considering running away. “No, yeah. Just…” he trails off, taking a deep breath. “Have you heard about that planet thing that’s happening on Monday?”
“The parade!” you beam. Your friend grins back at you like it’s automatic, more muscle memory than anything at this point. But one eyebrow raises as your words register and he repeats them back to you slowly. You explain as you take your seat, “Since there’s going to be so many in the lineup, they’re calling it a whole parade instead of just a planetary alignment. It’s going to be so cool.” Another second goes by before you realize that he’s the one who brought it up. “You care about planet parades?”
Quinn smiles again, softly, as he leans over from his spot on the couch to nudge your shoulder with his. “Of course I do. You care about it.”
A comfortable silence falls as the two of you settle into what has become an old routine: working on your own things in the same place. He’s reviewing play, you think, and you’re finishing up the coordination for some event or another at work. Nothing too important.
Then he speaks again. “If you’re not, uh, already doing something for it, would you maybe want to take the boat out to see the planet parade?” Over his tablet, his eyes are on you as he awaits your answer.
You lean over, smiling ear-to-ear. “I’ll bring my travel scope.”
He smiles back at you, big and beautiful, and you can’t help the twinge of regret that astronomical events can’t actually make an influence on whatever’s happening down on the ground. Because you know exactly what you’d wish for if they would only allow it.
With the promise made, the two of you let the rest of the day pass you by together until Quinn gets a call from one of his brothers asking where he is. His path crosses Danica’s on his way out, and she walks in with a knowing grin.
“It’s nice that you two are still close,” she comments from the kitchen, setting her purse down on a counter.
You hum in agreement.
“Has he asked you out yet, though?” is her first question, and there’s a hopeful edge to her voice that cuts you maybe a little deeper than it should.
“Danica-” you start, whipping around to face her properly. She raises her hands defensively as you continue, “I only broke up with Leo-”
“Four months ago, after dating for less than eight months. And you never felt as strongly for him as you do Quinn,” she points out. “He just asked first.” You sigh, but there’s no real accusation in her tone. Only facts. As she heads back to change, she leaves you with one final thought.
“You two are good for each other, Star. And you’ll be even better as a couple, if one of you just takes that leap.”
Her voice fades as she closes the bedroom door behind her. Still, it echoes around your head for what feels like days.
On the morning of the planet parade, you’re awake hours before you need to be. But you’re too excited to sleep. It feels almost exactly how Christmas did when you were a kid, except today you get the presents super early and then you get to sneak back into somebody else’s house to eat breakfast and be lazy all day.
You can’t text Quinn too early, because you know how much hockey players love their sleep. You can only wait so long, though.
“I don’t understand how you’re fully awake this early,” he texts back at 4:09 am. Having called him in the earliest hours of his day before, you know exactly how it would sound in his gravelly morning voice. And even that image doesn’t distract you enough.
“IT’S PLANET PARADE DAY!!!” you reply, making sure to add your own little parade of astronomical emojis at the end of the text for emphasis.
Then you finally get out of bed to start getting ready, because you’re supposed to be over at his place by 4:45 to get the boat out in time. You pre-packed a lot of what you’re bringing last night: your travel-size telescope, cans of some knockoff coffee brand to ensure you are completely awake for this, a few bags of snacks, and an extra pair of binoculars. Just in case.
You tiptoe out of the house. You keep quiet until you’ve made it into your car and fully shut the door. Then you squeal, because your excitement has been building for days now and you need to let it out somehow.
Quinn is waiting outside when you pull up. A set of keys jumps from one hand to the other as he jerks his head to indicate where you should park in the driveway full of other cars. He’s opened your door and started digging in the backseat for your bag even before you’ve come to a full stop.
“Hey,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention.
“Yeah?” he starts to ask, but you’ve already thrown your arms around him, burying your face in the softness of his hoodie. His come up to rub your back. You mumble something into the fabric. He looks down, trying to hear you better. “Star?”
When you look up, your breath catches. If you didn’t know better, you’d say his does too.
“Star?” he prompts again. “Are you alright?”
“Thank you for doing this with me,” you blurt. “I’m really so excited.”
His laugh is as soft as his touch. “I can tell. You ready to get the boat out, then?” You nod, letting him go to help carry your stuff out. He holds up the keys in one hand. “I was moving the cars around so that the other guys have room to get theirs out while we’re gone, but lemme go grab the boat keys and I’ll meet you on the dock.”
You nod, a fluttering rising in your stomach. Nothing you can do will tamp it down, so you watch him go before you start making your way around to the back of the house.
A few minutes pass before Quinn emerges through the patio door. He still has your bag, but there’s another big lump under one arm and a cooler in his other hand. When you see he’s having trouble closing the door, you don’t even think about it. You rush over to take some of it from him.
“Quinn,” you say, pulling what you now see are folded blankets from him, “Let me carry something.”
“Star, you have to know my mom raised me better than that-” he starts to protest. His voice dies out when you finally manage to get the blankets away from him.
He looks away from your pout as you speak. “And my parents raised me to be a polite guest. And you’re doing something really, really nice for me. So I’m helping as much as I can, even if I have to fight you a little bit for it.”
Even though he huffs, you catch him smiling to himself as he locks the door behind him and leads you down to where the boat is docked.
The two of you get the boat out on the water in no time. You know your way around by now, even in the dark. Quinn comments on how much more helpful you are than most of his brothers’ friends, but otherwise you two are content to work quietly until you’re in the middle of the lake. While he drives, you watch the boat’s wake interrupt the stars reflecting over the water.
“I really can’t thank you enough for this, Quinn,” you repeat, turning back to the driver’s seat once you’ve stopped. “I know you hate being up too early.”
He shrugs good-naturedly. “‘s never too early for you.”
“Thanks,” you say once more, though it doesn’t feel like nearly enough to be an appropriate response to what he just said. Even if he didn’t mean it like that.
Someone left a speaker on the boat from the other day, and Quinn makes use of it. Neither of you want to get too loud, of course, but it has to be hard for anyone to hear you all the way out here. One song on his playlist surprises you.
“Didn’t I introduce you to this?” you question. You’re not positive, but you’re pretty sure you did.
“Sophomore year, right before winter break,” he answers, nodding. “You told me it reminded you of summer.” He’s right on the money. This song has always made it feel like summer, whether it was icy or hot outside your car as you sang along. Quinn pulls you from your thoughts by adding, “I didn’t get it at first, but… I guess I really came around to it when I listened to it after coming back from Vancouver.”
You want to say something in response, continue the conversation in some way, but he points to the east. “Isn’t that one of your planets?”
Gasping, you scramble over to his side to follow where he’s pointing with your eyes. Then you squint.
“I think that’s Jupiter… and Mercury!” you announce, heading back to your bag to set up the telescope. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Despite facing away from him and the planets, you hear Quinn’s awe-filled “yeah.” So you’re a bit surprised when you spin back around, telescope in hand, only to make eye contact with him. He smiles sheepishly.
“Didn’t wanna see it if you weren’t,” he defends himself quietly. You aren’t sure if you believe him.
The only two planets that you really need the telescope for are Uranus and Neptune, which you point out to Quinn while he’s looking through. He doesn’t giggle, doesn’t even blink at the name of the former. Back in college, most of his friends did. Even some of yours. But he only had to listen to you once to know how highly you thought of anything and everything astronomical, so he refrained.
It’s meant the world to you ever since. And made you love the planet that much more.
Though you have nothing against the sun, its arrival on the horizon quickly overpowers the more distant planets. Quinn notices your growing sadness as they disappear. He leans over with a conspiratorial grin, nudging your shoulder to direct your gaze over to the sunrise.
“I know it’s a little more ordinary than the planet parade, but it’s still pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you say, having to clear your throat and try again. “Yeah. Thank you again for bringing me out here to see this, Quinn. It means a lot.”
He pauses the process of getting back into the driver’s seat to bring you both home. “Of course, Star. It was cool for me too, but we can do this whenever you want.”
You’re allowed to help bring everything in when you get back, including Jack’s forgotten speaker, and just like at your parents’ place the other day, both of you settle comfortably on the couch. But your lack of sleep catches up with you. Before you know it, you find yourself drifting off next to Quinn while some show he likes plays out quietly in front of you.
Light fills the room as you start to wake to the sound of murmurs. Your pillow rises and falls rhythmically – you stiffen as you remember that pillows don’t do that. It’s someone’s chest or shoulder or something. A comforting weight on your shoulder, which you now realize is someone’s hand, moves down to rub your arm reassuringly.
“Hey,” Quinn whispers when you open your eyes, his own crinkling at the corners a little bit as he tries not to smile. “Did we wake you?”
Pushing back from him as you sit up, you squint at the other figures in the room. You make out Luke and Trevor on the other couch, and Jack on the floor. Their positions motivate you to move faster. Heat rises in your face.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, just loud enough for the other boys to hear. “I didn’t mean to take up all the room on your couch.”
Jack shrugs, completely unconcerned with you stealing what definitely would have been his spot. “It’s no big deal, Star. Quinny here said you were probably up at three or something crazy anyway.” He pauses, a slow smile spreading across his face. “How was planet-watching?”
As you get into the details of it – from which planets were visible to how rare of an event it is for six of them to be visible in such a way – you feel Quinn pulling his arm back to his side from where it was wrapped around you while you slept. You stutter over your words for a second, imagining him being that protective over you, even with people he trusts as much as his brothers and their closest friends. Jack pretends not to notice you re-starting your sentence.
Quinn excuses himself a little while later to go grab some food for the two of you. Which ends up being food for everyone, “since he’s already going out.” He tries to ask if you want to ride along, but Trevor interrupts to volunteer enthusiastically, claiming that Quinn always says he needs to help out more anyway.
Your friend sighs as he turns to his younger brothers. “Don’t scare her away, please. We’ll be back in maybe ten minutes.” His voice sounds again from the front of the house as the door opens. “And make sure you treat her like a guest!”
The door shuts. Jack moves up onto the couch with Luke, and when they both look at you, you refrain from gulping.
“So…,” Jack starts, obviously wanting something. “You may not have known this, but Trevor’s had kind of a crush on you for a couple of summers.” You feel your brows furrowing before you can stop them. He pays no mind. “We thought last year’s party on the fourth would be a good chance for the two of you to get to know each other a little better, but Quinn told us you had a boyfriend. What happened with that?”
Luke sighs at his brother’s indiscretion. He rubs at his temples for a moment, but eventually looks back up at you. And you realize you have to tell them something.
Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, you say, “He didn’t want to worry about distance when I got into my new program and decided to move in with my mom for a little bit.”
“In Seattle, right?” Luke asks, and you nod. You didn’t realize that even he knew about it. “That’s not too far from Quinn. Maybe you wouldn’t just have to see him in the summertime, then.”
“It’s a lot closer than Detroit, that’s for sure,” you agree.
“You think you’ll like it up there?”
Jack’s question surprises you. You blink. “Well, it’s a great school, and my mom and my sibling are already up in that area…,” you trail off, running out of reasons as to why you picked that program over any others. Well, reasons that you can confess to, at least.
“And so is Quinn,” Jack finishes for you, grinning.
The blush from earlier had gone away with the conversation about food, but now it’s creeping back up to your face. You aren’t sure where this conversation is going, and you don’t know what you have to say to the the boys for it to stop. So you agree and hope for the best.
“Well, yeah.”
Luke, noticing your increasing unease, takes the lead from his brother. Thankfully. “Are you going for your doctorate up there, or just your masters?”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Jack pouts. He makes the expression exactly how Quinn does, and something about the familiarity of it reassures you even though Quinn himself isn’t here to.
“I actually have my masters degree already. But the goal has always been to get my doctorate,” you start explaining to the boys. “Insane as it might sound, I’m aiming for NASA or somewhere similar. Just anywhere that I can conduct research into outer space and its effects on what we’re doing down here, from tides to farming to behavior.”
“Really? There can be that big of an impact?”
“Well, you know, that’s how astrology started. And astrology is almost as old as civilization itself, you know? People have been studying and trying to interpret the stars for a long, long time,” you say, trying not to gush from their sudden interest in your interest. To your delight, they both even have the manners to look kind of invested. “It’s not just a potential factor for dating compatibility – constellations have been used to track seasons so ancient Mesopotamian farmers knew what they could plant and when. Sailors use them to identify what hemisphere of the world we’re in. There’s stardust in our blood, guys. So much of what we have on Earth came from a star one way or another. It’s just…” You let yourself trail off.
“Crazy,” Luke breathes out, finishing your sentence.
Starting to wind down from your little rant, you nod. “Yeah. Crazy.”
“How long have you been into this stuff, Star?” Jack asks, adding, “You seem really passionate about it.”
“Since I was…,” you pause, wracking your brain for the correct age. “Five, I think?”
“Wow.”
If the quiet falling over the room is any indication, the boys are impressed with your knowledge. Or your passion, you aren’t really sure. Either way, you almost jump out of your skin when a hand lands on your shoulder.
“Haven’t I been telling you guys for years?” you hear Quinn from behind you, voice full of pride. “Smartest person I’ve ever met.”
Jack’s teasing grin is directed over your shoulder to his older brother. His grip on you tightens ever-so-slightly as if he’s nervous for whatever the middle child is going to say next.
“Why has she hung out with the likes of you for so long, then?”
Trevor’s laugh erupts from somewhere behind you, and Quinn’s thumb rubs over your shoulder a couple of times. Jack’s eyebrows raising is the only indication you get before your friend is chasing his little brother out of the room.
A couple weeks later, you bound into the Hughes lake house with a few boxes of donuts in your arms. The sun has only been up for a couple of hours, which means Jack and Luke aren’t up at all. Quinn is, though. He’s been waiting for you.
“Good morning, Quinn!” you exclaim as quietly as you can.
“Morning, Star,” he greets you over a mug when you make it into the kitchen. You hug him carefully, sliding the donuts onto the counter on your way in.
“Happy Summer Solstice!” The words are said into his chest and maybe a little bit into his cup of coffee, but he hears them nonetheless, chuckling and echoing them back to you. You let him go to gesture at the donuts. The one arm he wrapped around you stays put. “I brought food as a ‘thank you’ for enjoying all the daylight hours with me. I know it’s not on your diet, but…”
He finishes your sentence with a response. “The guys’ll love it. Probably gonna finish those boxes before the light’s gone.”
“How many are here right now?” you ask, pulling away fully from the hug and taking a step back. He lets his arm fall without complaint. Still, you catch the line forming between his brows.
“I don’t know, all of Luke’s college buddies. I think maybe four, five?”
Your friend tries to sound casual, but your eyes widen anyway. “I didn’t bring enough for that many hockey players to eat, Quinn!” you whisper-shout. He tries to stop you, but you’re already starting to make your way back to the front door, talking to yourself all the while. “Oh my gosh, I should’ve asked first. I need to go back for more donuts. I’m so sorry, I’ll be back!”
“No.”
This gets your attention. Keys in hand, you spin around to make eye contact with him. “No?”
He shakes his head for emphasis. “No. You’re not obligated to feed four extra college-age boys because you wanted to do something nice for my brothers and I to include us in your celebration. We’ll make it work with what we have, and if anybody wants more then they can handle it themselves.”
Your body relaxes at his words, and you know he notices. He beckons you back towards him.
“C’mon, Star, let’s get outside and celebrate the longest day of the year properly until all the bums in my house wake up to get out on the boat with us and celebrate more.” He puts his mug in the sink and slings an arm over your shoulder as he says it, leading you outside.
After the solstice, summer seems to speed up. You’re worried that it will slip away from you and Quinn entirely, but you’re reassured in the fact that within another year or so, you’ll live much closer to each other. And he’s spending more time with you this summer, anyway. One on one. Your dad and Danica have a lot to say about that.
“Asking you to hang out solo again?” your dad tries to read Quinn’s text over your shoulder at the breakfast table.
“Are you sure you’re not going on dates?” Danica pipes up from opposite you, newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other like a 1950s father. She kind of sounds like one, too. Her tone is almost strict even though you know she would never try to parent you.
Sighing exaggeratedly like a teenager, you turn your phone off and place it facedown on the table as if Quinn’s texts are something you don’t actually want to see. Your dad and stepmom exchange a look. As soon as his plate is safely on the table between you and his girlfriend, your father leans over to talk to you.
“If it’s approval you’re worried about, I’m sure your mother and sibling could grow to like him,” he offers, patting your hand.
“It’s not that, Dad. I know they’d love him. I’m just… not exactly sure where we stand,” you explain, picking your phone back up as soon as it buzzes. The notification isn’t even a text – it’s some store app trying to sell you on a deal.
Danica folds the newspaper, placing it delicately in front of the empty chair. “Has he invited you to that big party they’re throwing tonight?”
They get their answer in the way your eyes dart from your phone to the door, as if you’re itching to go already. Still, they wait for you to speak. “Well, yeah, but I didn’t know if we were doing anything here-”
“You know we’re not doing anything here, Star. We’re boring old people,” your stepmom waves you off (even though she’s a few years younger than your dad). “Go. See him. Look cute. And have fun.”
So you pick up your phone and reassure Quinn once more that you’ll absolutely be at their place tonight because there’s nowhere you’d rather be. And you try to ignore the looks that you receive as you get up from the breakfast table to scavenge your closet for a new, festive, party-appropriate outfit.
The reputations of the Hughes’ cousin, nicknamed Sunshine, and Jack’s friend Matt have preceded them. You’ve never gotten the chance to learn her real name since everyone just uses the nickname. For the longest time, you were convinced it actually was her name, and you thought that was just the coolest thing.
Anyway. You know who they are, and you’ve kind of met them in passing before. But this summer, they’re a couple, and Quinn is reporting that their competitive nature has only grown, if that was even possible.
When you come over in mid-July for a game night, the garage door is unlocked for you. There are raised voices coming from the kitchen. Trevor is the only one around, so you raise an eyebrow at him.
“Ignore them,” he says simply. “Arguing is their love language.”
You nod and continue on into the house. Quinn finds you only moments later, a smile appearing on his face at the sight of you. It’s only dampened by the apologetic furrow of his brows. He pulls you into a quick hug before tilting his head toward the kitchen.
“Ready to get trash-talked into dust?” he teases gently, nudging you with his elbow so you know that he’s absolutely just kidding. “There’s this new card game Sunshine wants us to play, and apparently it’s a partner thing.”
Before you can even react too much, he leans in closer to you, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry. I already told everybody else I’m off limits. We got this.”
So you squeeze his arm in thanks and let him bring you to the source of the noise. Matt and Sunshine are washing and drying the dishes, respectively. But she’s tilted over the sink to tell him how his technique is wrong. The smile is as evident on her face as it is in his voice. Trevor may have been right – this really is their love language.
“Guys,” Quinn raises his voice so they can hear him. Both heads whip around like two kids caught on an iPad after bedtime. “You remember my friend Star?”
“Hi,” Sunshine says quietly, lifting one sudsy hand for a small wave. She and her boyfriend look a bit embarrassed at being caught by an outsider, so in hopes of making her feel better you wave back. It makes him smile. You catch his eyes lingering on her, but you think Quinn smiles beside you, too.
“You’re the card game experts?” you ask, making her perk up.
She makes quick work of drying her hands, taking on a proud tone as she announces, “Reigning Scum queen, at your service,” in a slightly repressed Southern accent. “Actual scum, over there.” And she indicates her boyfriend with her thumb, making you giggle. He frowns, sticking his tongue out at her behind her back.
They’re cute together, but you can maybe understand why Quinn and his younger brothers would consider this worse than last summer.
“Just let us finish up in here, and we’ll meet everybody in the formal dining room for the game. We’re gonna need all the chairs on separate sides,” she tells your friend before heading back to her boyfriend, who appears to be a man of few words around strangers. He shoots you a polite nod before Quinn is taking you by the arm to show you the formal dining room.
He conveys the orders to Jack and another one of his friends as they appear in the threshold from the living room. Jack excuses himself to go grab the deck of cards, but his friend is distracted by his phone. He looks pretty happy with it, too, so you move to grab a chair yourself.
“Cole,” Quinn gets his attention, “would you mind moving that other chair so Star doesn’t have to?”
The young man does as asked, not without finishing his typing. He finally looks up from his phone with the same kind of easy grin that his friend often wears.
“Sorry about that,” he says as he picks up the chair and maneuvers it around you. “Was just texting someone back.” At his words, your friend shoots him a knowing grin. He keeps talking. “You must be Quinn’s genius astronaut friend. It’s really nice to meet you.” Cole tips an imaginary hat your way, making you giggle before dipping your head in response.
“Just your average postgrad student, but thank you. I’m flattered,” you correct him.
He shrugs in response as Quinn straightens the chair he moved at the other end of the table. “You’ve done more college than anyone else here. Makes you a genius compared to us, for sure.”
There’s not much you can do in response besides accept the compliment. Jack returns, bringing almost everyone else in the house with him. Sunshine and Matt deliberately sit across from each other, exchanging conspiratorial grins. Then she remembers everybody else in the room.
“If y’all have already picked a partner,” she explains, raising her voice above the residual chatter between Jack and Trevor, “then take a seat across from ‘em and we’ll explain the rest later.”
So you pick your way through the room to sit down across from Quinn, ignoring the chaos around you. It only makes sense that as his guest, you’d be his partner in the game. But something about being reminded that he made a deal of it just sets butterflies loose in your stomach.
The remaining four figure out their pairs pretty quickly, all things considered, and Sunshine launches into the rules with a dramatic flair. The point of the game is to try and get four of a kind but keep it hidden so you can signal to your partner. For each correct call made by your partner, you get a letter from the name. It sounds simple enough. You and Quinn have known each other for long enough that you should be able to communicate pretty well.
You’re reminded at the start of the game that pretty much everyone else here has known each other just as long.
Matt suggests a trial round before the real start of the game, just so everyone can get into the rhythm of it. He and Sunshine take the round, but you’re the one to figure out that Jack and Cole’s signal is raising their eyebrows.
“Oh, come on! Already?” Jack complains when his cousin informs him that he and his partner have to change their signal. His older brother grins at you proudly.
You and Quinn end up getting K-E-M in the first three official rounds. Everyone else has to change their signal at least once. Matt’s dumbfounded. Sunshine is quietly impressed. And Trevor and Luke do not appreciate no longer being allowed to tap their fingers on the table.
In the fourth round, Jack is intensely focused on his cards. So you’ve deduced what it means by the second time Cole clears his throat.
“Kemps!” you call excitedly, sighs seemingly echoing around the table. “Cole?”
He reveals his four of a kind, tossing them back on the table to get up and discuss changing the signal with Jack.
“I’ve gotta ask, Star,” Sunshine says as she re-shuffles. “How do you pick up on everyone else’s signals so fast?”
You shrug, handing her your cards to throw into the mix. “I don’t know, I guess I’ve gotten used to studying stuff. Or I’m just really, really lucky.”
Play resumes more intensely than before. Trevor and Luke figured out Matt and Sunshine’s signal a couple of rounds ago, but that’s the only thing they’ve had going for them throughout the entire game. They lose focus during the mad grab for the upward-facing cards, you’ve noticed. You don’t.
When you grab the Ace of Diamonds to complete your set, you keep shuffling your cards and frowning, but don’t reach for the up-cards. Quinn glances at you. Your eyes flick up to the ceiling, then back down.
“Kemps!” he says, leaning back in his chair calmly, like he knows you’ve got the game in the bag.
“Star got it. She did the looking up thing that they do,” Luke clarifies, just before you drop your set onto the table.
His cousin nods once. “Congrats again, guys. Now go change your signal.”
Most of the other pairs have just been meeting on the far side of living room so nobody else hears the discussion, but Quinn takes it to the next level. He ushers you back into the kitchen and offers you a drink as you chat. But first, he holds his fist up.
“We make a good team,” he says, lips quirking up in a half-smile, “so cheers to us.”
“Except for getting caught doing the signal,” you point out. “What are we gonna do about that?”
A moment passes as he thinks it over. “What about-” and he contorts his face goofily, crossing his eyes and doing something with his mouth that you’re already convinced you can’t do. But the expression gets you to laugh, and his face relaxes into a smile at the sound.
You could get distracted by his laughter any day – luckily, an idea strikes you.
“How about-” you lean in to whisper it in his ear. He blinks a couple of times, but agrees.
The sixth round doesn’t even give you a chance to use the signal. The Scum king and queen take it again, immediately getting comfortable in their victory.
But you get an extremely lucky hand, and then the final 3 pops up in the first set of up-cards. You look up at Quinn from beneath your lashes, biting your lip as lightly and quickly as you can. He freezes for a second. Panic rises within you, even though it’s just a game. And as you re-open your mouth to take your bottom lip in between your teeth again, your partner answers the call.
“Kemps!” he shouts over the noise from the other end of the table. “Star and I win.”
You flash your cards to the rest of the table just to prove it, and Trevor groans.
“I can’t take any more of this,” he complains. “Between these two-” He gestures first between you and Quinn, then Sunshine and Matt. “-and you two, the rest of us don’t stand a chance. I’d rather get beaten fair and square by chance in pool or something. But dibs on keeping Lukey here as my teammate.”
Everyone files out of the room, chatter igniting amongst them. Sunshine stays for just a minute to gather the cards. Then she’s gone too, and only you and Quinn remain. You open your mouth, but he beats you to the punch.
“Stay teammates for pool?” he asks, smiling like he doesn’t have any problem with the events of tonight. Like he’s not reading into that pause between when you bit your lip and when he called Kemps.
If he’s not, you guess you have no reason to. So you grin back at him, accept his outstretched hand to get up, and follow him downstairs to get crushed in pool by his little brothers and their friends.
Mercury is hanging over you in the sky when you ask Quinn if he wants to watch the upcoming meteor shower with you, adding quickly that you don’t have to watch it from the boat. But you think it would be cool to see the “shooting stars” both in the sky and on the water, if it’s still enough.
“Just us out there?” he asks, looking over at you from his own lounge chair.
“If you want it to be,” you reply, a little confused. “Does someone else want to come?”
He huffs something out between a snort and an actual laugh. It sounds bitter. “You should probably ask Trevor. He’s practically been begging me to have you over more.” When you look over at him, he won’t make eye contact.
So you reach out, tapping him on the leg to ensure you have his attention. “Quinn.” He still refuses to look at you. “Quinn.” Finally, he turns, a familiar pout on his face. You have to try not to giggle. “Quinn, it can be just us. You’re a good astronomical observation partner. My favorite, even.”
“Really?” His pout dissolves into a smile. “Even over your dad?”
“Just don’t tell him,” you say, holding a finger up to your lips.
Your old friend mimes zipping his lips and throwing away a key. This time, you don’t hold back your chuckle. The meteor shower is still a little over a week away, but suddenly you find yourself looking forward to it that much more.
Quinn makes the plans for the day of the meteor shower. He keeps promising you that it’s going to be special, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that the astronomical event itself… isn’t really all that special.
He gets takeout from your favorite place, even though it’s definitely not a short drive from the lake. It gets eaten before you make it down to the boat, but he prepared for this – he has a bag of your favorite snacks too. It really does make the night feel special. It makes you feel special.
Down at the dock as the sun is setting, the two of you release the boat from its restraints, whispering and giggling all the while.
“Hurry, before any of the guys see us and try to join!” your old friend tells you, grabbing your hand to help you board safely. (Apparently, some unnamed people recently confessed to some near-incidents of falling off the boat last summer, and Quinn doesn’t want the same to happen to you.)
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you whisper-yell, giggling.
You make it onto the boat without a problem. Quinn starts it and pulls away from the dock maybe a little faster than is necessary, but you won’t say a word. This being just between you and your beloved friend of so many years isn’t really an issue in your mind.
There’s hardly any talking as he directs the boat out to the middle of the lake. Dusk takes over the sky above. Silence reigns as the meteors start gaining visibility against the darkness above, only broken by the occasional crunching of a snack or hiss of an opened drink. It’s beautiful. You sneak a few glances at Quinn before he leaves the driver’s seat to join you on the back bench.
A particularly bright streak shoots across the sky. Then, he speaks.
“I know they’re just falling rocks and not actual shooting stars, but can you still make wishes on meteors?” Quinn asks.
You giggle a little, but shrug. “If you want to, I guess.” He shifts, laying back and resting his head on your lap. One of your hands finds its way into his hair. His eyes close, though you aren’t sure whether that’s from contentment or he’s actually making the wish.
When they open again, you can see the meteor shower in them.
“Wow,” you say under your breath. Then you realize he can hear you, and you correct yourself. Your gaze returns to the actual sky. “What did you wish for?”
“It won’t come true if I tell you, right?”
Sighing, you pull your hand back. “You know, I thought we were a little closer than that, Quinn-”
He grabs your hand and returns it to his head. The pouty frown on his face says volumes, but you want to hear him say it. If it’s what you’re thinking it is – what you’re hoping it is – you need to hear him say it. More than anything.
“I wished for a change.”
This isn’t what you thought you’d hear. It especially isn’t what you were hoping for. You freeze despite yourself.
“A change?” Quinn only hums in response. “A change how?” He still doesn’t respond. Your heart starts racing in a bad way. Although you’re starting to think you might not be ready to hear the answer, you prompt again. “Quinn?”
He sits up slowly, careful to not knock heads with you. Another meteor falls somewhere off to your right, and it lights up his eyes when he turns to look at you. He takes your hand again, just holding onto it this time.
“Star…,” he trails off, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think I can wait for a meteor to fix this.” Your heart drops into your stomach at his words. “I love you. I’ve loved you since we met in college, and I knew even then that it was kinda crappy since I was with someone else, but I was too selfish to give you up even after I left. And that was probably one of the best choices I’ve ever made.”
And maybe you’d have something to say to that, but he goes on. “Every day you’re in my life, you fill it with wonder. You encourage me to learn, to grow, to push myself in ways that no one else does. I can’t thank you enough for that. I… I haven’t really been able to get a read on how you feel, if I’m honest, but I just needed you to know that this is how I feel.”
“Quinn,” is all you can get out, your chest is so full of emotion instead of air. He looks at you, right at you, as if he can read every feeling on your face. Still he waits for you to say it.
But you can’t get the words out. So you lean in, your gaze falling from his eyes to his lips. You make sure to check his eyes once more for some semblance of permission before you finally kiss him, sliding one hand into his hair, holding him tight. You’ve wanted this for so long – there’s no way you can let him go now.
He reciprocates eagerly, reaching around to pull you closer by the waist. Maybe in another situation this would be rushed. Maybe you’d be trying to make up for lost time. But here, now, under the falling stars, you both take your time. This kiss is slow, but passionate.
And when you eventually pull away for air, Quinn looks at you like you’ve just become the center of his universe. Or maybe you always have been, but neither of you realized it.
“I love you too, if that wasn’t clear,” you say, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his. “Always have. My world’s practically revolved around you since we were college freshmen.”
The half-chuckle, half-sigh he breathes out is warm on your lips.
“Thank goodness,” he murmurs. “I’d be worried if you didn’t love me, after a kiss like that.”
Only a couple weeks later, you and Quinn are back out on the boat under the cover of darkness. This time, though, Jack and Luke tag along, wearing their swim trunks like they plan on going swimming even in the dead of night. Jack snuck his speaker back onto the boat, and it plays some kind of soft, vibey music while the four of you wait.
“When are these things supposed to show up again?” Luke asks grumpily, slouching in the driver’s seat. You toss a bag of chips at him from your spot on the bench with Quinn.
“Any minute now, hangry-pants.”
Almost as if summoned by your words, the first meteor makes itself known. Others follow in quick succession. Jack and Luke ooh and aah over the “stars,” and this time you’re mostly sure that it’s not them trying to be polite at all: they’re actually pretty impressed. Their older brother’s arm, already draped over your shoulders, squeezes yours gently.
When you look over at him, he’s already grinning. He brings you in closer to press a short kiss to your temple, then looks back over at the boys.
“Didn’t you say you were gonna go midnight swimming?” he questions, furrowing his brows at Jack, who glances at Luke.
They make quick work of getting into the water after Quinn’s reminder, leaving their shirts, shoes and phones on the seats. You can hear the splashing and yelling, but it’s difficult to see them amongst the dark reflected in the lake.
“C’mere,” Quinn helps you stand, messing with something on Jack’s phone before pulling you into his arms.
“What’s up?” you try to ask. You cut yourself off when you hear what’s started playing – your song, the one that always sounded like summer to you and eventually Quinn. “Quinn…”
He picks up one of your hands, directing the other one to his shoulder. “More than summer, more than anything, this song always made me think of you when I heard it. So I just want to appreciate it here with you now, while we still have a little bit of summertime left.”
“I love you,” you blurt.
“I love you too, Star,” he whispers as the two of you sway to the music, undoubtedly off-beat.
Still, it’s perfect. Surrounded by Quinn and falling stars, you can’t imagine anything better than this. Until the boat starts rocking as his brothers climb aboard, anyway.
play me like a deck -- if you call, i'll fold [mb.12]
pairing: matt boldy x hughes cousin! reader
nickname: sunshine
word count: 19.1k
summary: You've always loved spending summers with your cousins. But since you were forbidden from dating Jack's "no-good" buddies, there's been one big problem -- a 6'2, Massachusettan problem. And since you have a problem, well, everyone else should too.
warnings: swearing, light making out, fakeout enemies and very real idiots to lovers, super nosy NTDP boys
general timeline: summer 2023
universe: lake house summers
author's note: Celebrating the beginning of summer by dropping my longest fic (to date) and beginning my first series! Welcome to Lake House Summers, friends. :D
Summer is, without a doubt, your favorite time of the year. Always has been. When you were younger, it would mean vacationing with Auntie Ellen, her husband Jim and their three sons – your beloved cousins – and being involved in the whirlwind that is the life of a Hughes.
As you got older, summer turned into vacations with friends and visiting the Hughes family in Michigan. And once the boys went pro, summertime was your one-way ticket to their lake house, where you had a room meant just for you. It was pretty heavenly.
Sure, you did a lot of the cooking for them especially during that first year and the decorations just screamed “man-house” despite your and Auntie Ellen’s best attempts to redecorate (or decorate at all). And yes, the house was overrun with hyperactive young men all the time since the Hughes’ college or developmental program friends visited. But you love the place.
And it’s undeniably fun, living on the lake for a month or so before retreating back to college or your parents’ home in Texas. So when your college graduation gift from the boys is the offer of an entire summer at the lake house, you don’t hesitate to pack your summer clothes and move.
This is your last summer before you face real adulthood. You’re the first of the cousins to graduate, and you’re pretty sure you will be the only one to complete college in person – Luke having recently signed with the Devils and all.
Quinn has the decency to warn you in advance that they’ll have a revolving door of friends this year, even if you expect it. And you can feel the excitement build as you drop your mom off at Auntie Ellen’s to make the last stretch of the drive all by yourself, like you’ve been doing since the lake house became a thing. By the time you pull the car into the driveway, you’re practically buzzing.
You don’t bother grabbing your suitcases from the car – even if it’s not one of your cousins who gets them for you, one of the boys will. The first person you see inside the door practically gets tackled in a hug. Lucky for everyone involved, it’s one of the ones related to you.
Jack laughs, using your momentum to spin you around in the foyer before making sure you land safely on your feet.
“Yo, Sunshine’s here!” he calls out to the rest of the house, and while you would love a whole crowd to emerge from the woodwork, it’s really just Quinn and Josh. Quinn wraps you in a tighter but less energetic hug than his younger brother. Josh just nods at you.
“Moose would come greet you,” your eldest cousin explains, “but he’s exercising his right to sleep in past noon. Josh and I are gonna take the boat out for a spin, Jack can get your stuff if you wanna come with.”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I didn’t drive up in my swimsuit. You and Josh have fun. I’ll make sure pretty boy over here doesn’t get hurt carryin’ all my crap.”
You can feel Jack roll his eyes at that, but Quinn smiles fondly as he and Josh head back toward the dock. Jack leads you the other way, back out to your car so he can grab your big bags like the gentleman Auntie Ellen raised him to be. You bump his shoulder with yours.
“So,” you ask playfully, “Who’s coming to see me first?”
“That would be Josh.”
“Besides him.”
Jack shrugs. “Some of Luke’s friends, I guess. Most of my buddies can’t make it out until later.”
Your cousins, bless them, are still pretty normal guys. They don’t care much for the specifics of planning. In the summer, that often falls to you. Parties, room assignments, grocery lists (brand names and quantities included) – all yours.
Also all yours? One of the bedrooms in the “east wing” of the house. It was the one place where your input on decorations had been taken, and now it’s a warm, light-filled sanctuary in a house almost entirely decked out in shades of gray, black and brown.
You let yourself fall onto the fluffy, pastel yellow bedspread as Jack sets down your suitcases, taking in the feeling of being home. It’s not all there, not yet, and it won’t really be until the house is littered with hoodies and half-finished drinks belonging to who knows, until you’ve kicked a lot of butts in a few rounds of your favorite card game.
“Sunshine?” you hear your youngest cousin ask blearily from outside your room.
Sitting up with a squeal, you give him just enough time to rub the crusties out of his eye, and then attack him just like you did Jack.
“Lukey! Welcome to the land of the living,” you tease, standing on tiptoe to ruffle his curls. “Big league did a number on you, huh?”
“Shut up,” he grumbles, turning a little pink. But you know he’s proud that you acknowledged his promotion. His next words are quiet but you hear them loud and clear. “...missed you.”
So he gets one last squeeze for being sweet before you release him to hunt down some afternoon breakfast, and your last summer of freedom officially begins.
You get a blissful few weeks of peace with your cousins. Josh leaves after a week or so with a promise to try and come back before the summer is over. Luke’s reunions with each of his college teammates warm your heart, despite the fact that they would never admit just how much they missed each other. You get plenty of time on the boat, roaming the town running errands while the boys golf, and teaching the youngins how a game of Scum is played (and lost) before the storm arrives.
Jack’s friend Matt Boldy is, unfortunately, the first of his many friends to show up. He just happens to be the only one you don’t get along with, too. You hear the knock from the kitchen and head out with the intention of greeting someone who’s almost as much your friend as your cousin’s, but you watch his face drop at the same time as yours through the glass door.
“Where’s everybody else?” you ask when you open the door.
“Coming later,” is all he says gruffly as he squeezes in, avoiding you as much as possible.
“Great,” you drawl, shutting the door back. “Enjoy your stay.”
And with that, you head back into the kitchen to finish putting away dishes. You hear Jack greet his buddy, having appeared from wherever he was. Somehow, his brothers have ended up in the kitchen – probably searching for snacks. It seems they can tell that your mood has dropped.
They know why, too.
“Why do you hate Matt so much?” Luke asks through a mouthful of chips, hand already in the bag for more.
“That’s ridiculous,” you say. “I do not hate Matthew.”
Luke starts to point out that it’s implied in the way you call him by his full name unlike literally everyone else, especially here, but Quinn cuts him off.
“You two have been antagonizing each other for years. Why?”
“Because he hates me, and I’m reacting.” You shrug as you say it, wiping off a bowl as you put it in a cabinet.
Luke finally manages to get a word in. “But you, like, hated him as soon as you met him.”
“Jack was really excited to introduce you guys. Thought you would get along so well,” Quinn notes, getting up to put his glass in the sink. “It’s not like you have to, of course, but-” He cuts himself off with a shrug when you turn to glare at him.
The three of you are quiet for a moment, but the peace is shattered by the entrance of Luke’s last remaining friend, Dylan, and Jack and Matt.
“Who’s ready to go out on the boat?” Jack asks, and the group scatters.
You’re off to change – you spent the morning cleaning up from the last couple days of cooking, so it’s not your responsibility to help out with the boat today. Unfortunately, your stop in the kitchen to refill the designated “boat cooler” does make you the last one out to the dock.
Matt turns to Jack and makes some snarky comment about leaving you behind as you approach. Dylan sees the murderous look on your face, so he gets up and takes the seat left by Matt instead of making you do it. Because he’s a good kid.
The afternoon on the boat goes like it usually does whenever you and Matt are there – he “accidentally” rocks the boat while you’re standing on the back so you fall off, you distract Luke while he’s driving which might happen to throw Matt from his wakeboard before he can really get going.
From your perch on the back bench to tan, a shadow falls over you not long after the boat stops to pick him up. You pull your sunglasses up to sit on your head, smiling innocently at the man blocking your sun.
“Have a fun run, Matthew?” you ask, but he scoffs.
“You got me knocked off on purpose.” At his words, you feel more than see the other boys glancing back at you from their conversation.
“As if. I wasn’t even driving,” you reason, trying to shift back into the sunlight. Matt’s frown deepens, but he knows he can’t push it too far without intervention. Everyone else is well aware that you two get volatile in each other’s presence. Dylan still seems a little nervous even now.
So he decides to flick water on you instead, stepping over your legs and plopping down on the seat by your feet because he knows you can’t stay comfortable with him so close.
Boat time ends when Luke starts complaining about being hungry. You volunteer to help cook because you’re sick of cleaning, but only after you shower. Jack’s going to play sous chef because he wants to learn some new recipes.
Everyone helps dock the boat and unload as is customary, but you notice Matt makes a beeline for the house. You squint at his retreating figure. If he’s far away and your vision’s blurry, your cousins are right – he does kinda look like your type. Jack says something to you, so you shake off the thought.
The shower is already running in the bathroom across from your room by the time you get there, so you think maybe someone’s been a gentleman and started it for you. But when you knock on the door after grabbing clean clothes, you hear differently.
“Occupied!” Matt’s distinctive accent calls, though it’s muffled through the door.
You’re a grown adult and way too mature to be throwing an entire tantrum about this. So you stomp your foot once, sigh, and go steal Luke’s bathroom. And you don’t think at all about Matt making a point to steal your bathroom.
Everyone heads off to nap or something after Luke and Dylan clean up (though it’s really a group effort). You spend your time on the deck with a novel you’ve been meaning to finish. As much as you love the boys, they’re not ideal companions for reading about romance.
It sounds like one of the doors opens while you’re out there, but by the time you finish your paragraph and look up, it’s closed again.
Eventually, Jack comes outside to get you.
“Hey, Scum Queen,” he teases, pushing down your book so you look at him. “Ready to beat us all?”
“I don’t know about all,” you say, reminding him that while the rest of them were known to lose, Matt is known for his upset wins. Which, of course, tends to upset you specifically.
Jack takes a seat on the chair next to you, his smile dropping a little. “I was wondering about that, actually.”
“Don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Jackie, I can teach you to play the game but I can’t teach you the inherent greatness that you and your brothers forgot to pluck from the gene pool.”
“Not that.” And he still sounds serious, so you slip your bookmark back into your book and really look at him. “Did Matt ever do something, to make you… dislike him the way you do?”
You shrug, shaking your head a little.
“Nothing serious, I promise,” you reassure your cousin with a smile, because you know if Matt really had done something bad he’d be out of the house and fast. “Just beat me at my game and all, you know? We’ve never really gotten along.”
Jack shoots you a look, like I know, and you know he does. Maybe better than anyone.
“Why?” you ask softly.
“I just wanted to make sure since you two can barely be in the same room together and all. Never known you to be like this, Sunshine,” he notes.
You shrug again. “Never known anyone else who brings it out of me like he does.”
And the two of you leave it at that, because you both know sometimes things work and sometimes they just don’t.
“So,” Jack starts again. “Are you in the mood to win a card game?”
“Maybe,” you tease, but let him help you out of your lounge chair anyway.
Three days later, Jack is on the verge of tearing his hair out during the final hours of Cole and Alex’s drive up. You and Matt have definitely been worse this summer, he’s decided, even though both of you have confessed now that you’re not even sure why this whole feud started.
His only reprieve was Luke taking you along to visit his parents for the morning, so you could catch up with your beloved Auntie Ellen. But you would be back soon enough, and the bickering would resume.
He can only hope that Cole and Alex arrive first.
He’s a fool for thinking that it could happen.
Jack is pacing around the foyer, conveniently avoiding Matt. Matt, who bounds down the stairs at the same time as Jack hears a car pull into the driveway. And they both know Alex and Cole won’t be here until mid-afternoon, which is why nobody went out for long-term activities today. When the car door shuts, Matt squares his shoulders. Jack just sighs.
You bound in, freezing when you see your cousin’s friend. But you’re in such a good mood you choose to ignore him.
“This is from your mama,” you tell Jack, then give him a big hug. “She sends her love and, for whatever reason, luck.” Jack knows why. “Anyway, I’m gonna go get ready and head back out. See y’all later!”
Luke comes in as you’re bouncing up the stairs to your room. He sees Jack and Matt watching you leave, looks of confusion on both their faces. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that Matt is hurt by the lack of attention he’s gotten from you today. But Luke knows better. And he will never say that out loud… to you or Matt, anyway.
“She picked up a date at the store,” he says simply, holding up the few grocery bags in his hands, then continues on into the kitchen.
He ignores the back deck door slamming a minute later.
Cole and Alex are there with everybody else when you get back that night, gathered around the firepit in the backyard. You slip on a hoodie over your sundress before heading out to join them, grabbing a beer for yourself from the basement fridge on the way.
“Hey, guys!” you call as you approach, tousling Alex’s hair once you get close since he has his back to you. “How was the drive?”
Ever the sweetheart, Cole is on his feet right away to envelop you in a hug.
“Good, Sunshine, it was good. How was your date?” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows and emphasizing the last word.
You shrug coyly, giggling at his goofiness. There’s always been a lighthearted, playful and flirty edge to your relationship with most of Jack’s friends, and you’re not about to let a one-off date ruin that. You’ll complain to Luke later that the guy made you pay for ice cream, and he looked down on Texans, and that he hated hockey and none of that could ever work with you.
“We were just discussing going out to golf on Tuesday once Trev flies in, if you wanna join,” Quinn offers, knowing you’ll smile and politely decline like normal.
“It’s okay, I might be busy anyway,” you say softly.
The boys ooh, assuming it’s with the guy you were just with, but really you might be going shopping with Auntie Ellen. They don’t have to know that, though. You notice one in particular – sitting across the fire, avoiding your gaze – sipping his beer quietly. It would be reasonable if Quinn seemed to be the one who had a problem with you going out on dates, or even Jack, but Matt? Really?
Luke scoots over toward Matt to make room for you on his bench, so you join him and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees.
“So, do we have any plans for the fourth yet?” you question, trying to change the topic.
The Fourth of July being on a Tuesday makes it a bit awkward, but there’s normally a party. Maybe hosted, maybe attended, but honestly hosting is easier. You always know exactly where to escape, and you know the bedrooms aren’t being used for escapades because they’re always locked.
This simple inquiry launches the boys into a debate, one that you know will be heavily influenced by Trevor later. The single boys usually want to find a party; the taken ones like having the party come to them. Oddly enough, though, Matt is leaning toward host with Quinn, Luke, and Alex.
You’ve been hoping to get a little fling out of the summer – being your last one of complete freedom and all – so your early vote says go out. Jack’s mouth smiles, but his eyes look nervously over the fire.
“Why do you wanna go out, Sunshine?” Luke nudges you, talking low to avoid putting all the attention on you.
“I dunno, maybe I don’t feel like cleaning up this year,” you tease, elbowing him back.
Cole leans over and throws an arm around your shoulder, cheering about the fact that you’re on his and Jack’s side. Everyone assumes that Trevor will be, too, leaving you all at a stalemate and giving Quinn a great excuse to push the conversation back until it can be properly debated.
Eventually, conversation dies out and someone suggests heading inside to play some games. There’s a ping-pong and a pool table in the basement, next to an old-fashioned blackboard divided into five columns.
These columns, ultimately, are the lifeblood of the summer in a house full of men who literally live to compete. The categories are: Games Won (Pool), Games Won (Basketball), Games Won (Ping-Pong), Wakeboarding Time Record, and Current Scum Winner/Loser (under which it is usually declared to be Queen Sunshine complete with a smiley face and several exclamation points, and some other poor soul).
You’re not ready to lose the title to Matt in front of everybody, so you let emerging pool champion Luke sway the conversation in his favor. But when you’re paired up with Quinn against him and Matt for a teams game, well, you refuse to add a tally to either of their names in the “Games Won” column.
The morning that Trevor is supposed to fly in, you wake up early. Which is pointless, because even if you do end up going along to pick him up from the airport he won’t even get in until almost noon. Like any self-respecting Hughes would do, you make for the kitchen. It may be hours until someone else joins you on the main level. Still, can’t hurt to start cooking. That might bring you a companion.
You start with the eggs because they’ll reheat just fine. Even during the offseason, the boys tend to eat pretty healthy. Minus snacks and the occasional pizza. Nobody will mind if you finish the carton – leftovers aren’t a worry when you have this many hockey players in a single house.
A tall shadow appears from the same direction that you came from, and you get your hopes up that it’s your baby cousin, coming to save you from loneliness.
But it’s just Matt, half awake and looking grumpy as ever. You stay quiet, watching him perk up at the smell of scrambled eggs.
“Those for anyone to take?” he asks softly. You nod. His response is even harder to hear, but you catch it. “Thanks, Sunshine.”
“You’re welcome.”
The room stays quiet for a few minutes as he scoops a serving for himself and scarfs them down just standing across from you at the island counter. It’s kind of nice, having someone around in the early hours. Even if it’s someone that you wouldn’t normally picture there.
He offers to help right around the time that you replace his portion of the eggs.
“Do you even know how to cook?” you tease gently, not wanting to break whatever this new, fragile thing in between you is.
“Yes!” he says, offended. “Kinda.”
“Ever heard of bell peppers?” He folds his arms, making an incredulous face at you. You’re surprised at how endearing it is in the soft morning light, but push the thought away. “Can you grab me some from the bowl over there?” You point to the other counter with your chin, getting the fridge ingredients yourself.
He grabs all three – red, yellow, and green – and when he turns back to you, they’re being tossed from one hand to the other almost rhythmically. It makes you smile.
“I didn’t know you could juggle,” you note, catching the green pepper that he tosses your way without dropping either of the other two.
“How much do you think you know about me, Sunshine?” There’s a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice, the smallest trace of a smile on his lips. Once again, you have to force yourself to stop thinking that you could get used to interacting with him like this regularly. ‘Cause that’s not how it’s gonna be once literally anyone else comes into the kitchen.
“Enough,” you answer, adding quickly as to not ruin the current mood, “As much as I know about any of my cousins’ other friends that spend a ton of time here.”
He hums almost dismissively, and you bristle. Whether it was kind of a cop-out answer or not, it’s the only answer you have.
“Alright,” you say, leaning back against the fridge while your omelet cooks. “What do you know about me, Matthew? I’m intrigued.” You give him a moment to think.
“I know you like romance novels,” he offers with a one-shouldered shrug. It takes a minute before he continues. “And that you complain about having to clean, or cook or whatever but you really love taking care of your cousins. I know that you’re insanely competitive, maybe even more than the boys.”
The worst part is that none of it is wrong. He nailed you and your character, nonchalant, like knowing you almost intimately was just another day for him. And you hate it.
“Your food is burning,” he says, then, pushing himself away from the counter to get a drink behind you in the fridge.
You scramble for your omelet, hurriedly tossing in the cut-up peppers and ham that you prepared. And you pretend that a shiver doesn’t go up your spine when he puts his hand on your back and moves you so the fridge door doesn’t push you into the stovetop.
“I’m getting a hoodie,” you announce suddenly. “Don’t ruin my breakfast, please.” Then you run off, nearly bumping into a half-awake Quinn during your escape.
When you come back, your omelet is cooked and folded to perfection, already on a plate. But Quinn’s the only person left in the kitchen — and he can’t do that to save his life.
You don’t go with Jack and Cole to pick up Trevor from the airport. Instead, you stay and work on your tan on the boys’ little personal beach. Part of that time is spent lying on your stomach, book open but barely looked at.
If asked, you would say it’s not your fault that the boys decided to play catch or whatever outside and shoot a wink at Alex mid-sentence.
Luckily, Trevor’s grand entrance prevents that from happening. He comes out of the basement door, carrying a case of beer and yelling something weird. It’s an inside joke, if you have to guess. The beer gets left on a table so he can make the rounds.
He high fives or daps up or whatever all of the guys as he makes his way across the yard to you. Of Jack’s friends, he’s easily the flirtiest. And while it’s fun for the both of you, it means absolutely nothing – you help him scout for girls that are entirely unrelated to his buddies at parties. He even admits in front of everyone else that you’re the best wingman to him. Wingwoman. Whatever.
You get to your feet when he gets close, holding your arms up for the inevitable hug.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he greets you, flirty tone making you giggle.
“Hi, Trev,” you say, looping your arms around his neck so he can pick you up and spin you around. He doesn’t disappoint, arms tight around your waist to keep you secure. “How was Cali this year? Get enough pretty girls to feed your ego or do you still need my help finding more?”
He laughs, boisterous as usual.
“Okay, separate!” Jack orders from across the yard, making the two of you laugh even more.
Trevor lowers you back to the ground to satisfy your cousins, but he grabs your book and carries it inside for you, talking all the while. And you miss the glare from the other side of the yard, but Trevor doesn’t.
The next night, everyone gathers around the kitchen table for a game of Scum. You’ve only lost twice since you arrived for the summer, and both times you regained your title by the end of the night.
Jack swears you’re a card counter. Quinn shakes his head in resignation and calls it magic. Luke just huffs, but laughs at his brothers’ frustration. He already owns a game; he doesn’t care.
“So,” Trevor starts, leading the game easy with a single 4. “Sunshine.” You look up at him from beneath your lashes, playing innocent. Because who knows what he’s going to say next, really? “How was your second date today?”
A harmless enough question, but entirely incorrect and he’s definitely asking on someone else’s behalf. Probably Jack. Who absentmindedly lays down a single five.
You glance at your hand. There is a king, but you’re hoping to save him for later. This better not get too high.
“There wasn’t one,” you say simply. “I went shopping.”
“Ooh, for us?” Cole teases as Alex mercifully lays down a six, and you wink at him obligingly.
“Definitely. Y’all’re gonna love my outfits on the Fourth.”
Trevor raises an eyebrow, but gets distracted by Matt playing two sevens. Luke can’t top it, and neither can Cole. You sigh when you’re forced to play your pair of nines.
Quinn has to pass too.
You lose your crown to Matt that night, just like the first summer you met. And just like that first loss, you lose hard. For a couple of games it looks like there’s a chance to steal it back, but Jack cuts it out from under you and immediately loses it back to Matt. At least you’re no longer the scum by the time everybody’s sick of the game.
Later on in the night, Trevor brings something vodka-infused with a straw in it to aid in your dramatic recovery on the deck. Just like Jack had last week, he plops onto the lounge chair next to you. The two of you sit in silence for a minute while you nurse your drink.
“Trying to show off for someone, Sunshine?” he asks eventually, only looking at you from the corner of his eye. “I sure hope it’s not that guy who hates hockey and your lovely Southern charm.”
“I’m gonna kill Luke,” you say, but there’s no force behind it.
Trevor raises his hands defensively. “We’re just lookin’ out for you, kid.”
“You, Jack and Luke are younger than me.”
He waves off the notion, leaning in with a mischievous grin.
“So who is it, Sunshine? I know it’s not me, and Turcs has a girlfriend this summer. That leaves two people and you’ve got the most casual platonic relationship I’ve ever seen with one of ‘em.”
You roll your eyes, hating the blush creeping into your cheeks.
“I’ll give you this, Trev – he’s physically my type, but I will never get over him being him to explore that. I promise,” you say, pulling the straw out of your drink and tilting your head back to gulp down the rest. “Now, if you don’t have anythin’ else important to tell me, I think I’ll be heading on in for the night.”
You almost bump into Matt himself as you walk in – he’s leaning out the door like he was going to say something. He does not get out of the way in time, and you barely manage to stop yourself from crashing into him.
There’s a moment where both of you are frozen. You’re looking up at him, he’s blinking down at you. He’s kind of leaning over you, one arm propping him up on the door frame, and Trevor is definitely reacting behind your back.
“I was, uh, Trevor… game inside?” Matt stumbles over his words like you’ve never seen, gesturing at your mutual friend and back towards the kitchen table.
Trevor must nod or something, because Matt starts stepping inside like he’s satisfied. You kind of have to move in sync to avoid touching him, the way the two of you are positioned in the doorway. Still, your arm accidentally brushes his ribs. Goosebumps raise immediately. If you’re not mistaken, he reacts too.
“Um, goodnight, Matthew,” you mumble, and then you’re gone.
The next couple of days pass quickly and relatively quietly. All of Jack’s friends are happy to be back together for a bit. You spend more time with Quinn and Luke. Though, of course, the three of you are always invited to things. Like golfing today, which was turned down in favor of a day on the lake.
During a quieter period where there are more boats around and nobody can wakeboard, the three of you sit and talk. Mainly about the party on the Fourth, which unfortunately you are hosting this year.
“Trevor did not come through,” you complain from your spot on the back of the boat.
“Not for you,” Luke says, cringing as soon as he gets the last word out. Quinn shoots him a look, which unfortunately for them you know means shut up. You sit all the way up immediately.
“What did you guys do?” you ask slowly.
Neither of them answer you, which means they definitely did do something. Luke even avoids your eyes.
“Did you bribe Trevor?”
“No!” Luke scoffs, failing miserably at lying. (You find out later that Quinn has a local friend who only attends parties at the Hughes lake house, and he begrudgingly promised to talk up Trevor if the party happened to land at home.)
You fall back onto the seat, draping an arm across your forehead.
“Quinn, did you really not want to go out that bad?” you try, focusing on your elder cousin.
He shrugs, muttering some lame excuse like he likes hosting or something because he can make sure everyone stays safe.
“Luke?”
“I can’t always get away with drinking at other parties,” he explains. “No one cares here.”
“You guys have betrayed me today,” you declare, and that’s the end of the conversation.
Even though it’s not actually July yet, someone made the brilliant decision to shoot fireworks out from the big lake island on the Friday night before the fourth. It’s not even sarcasm when you say that – you’re looking forward to everyone being on the boat together, watching the light show.
The guys seem pretty pumped about it too, gathering a variety of beers and snacks in advance. Jack scolds Trevor for offering you his hoodie when you shiver on the way out to the dock. You end up wearing an old one of Jack’s, but somehow that still puts a smug look on Trevor’s face.
Your flip-flops don’t have much traction, so you slip when you’re climbing on the boat. You close your eyes, waiting to feel the cold water catch you – but someone grabs your hand. When your eyes open up again, Matt is holding onto you. Panting a little bit, like he’d sprinted across the boat to get to you. But he wouldn’t. Right?
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly as he pulls you closer – back into a safe and fully upright position on the boat.
You nod wordlessly, gaze lowering to where his hand still holds yours. He remembers, too, lets go and scratches his neck awkwardly. Then he walks away without another sound.
Trevor sidles up to you instead, asking if he can join you in your usual spot on the back bench. Of course he can, so he escorts you to your seat and hands you a blanket in case you get cold. The boat ride out to the middle of the lake is quick, jovial. You and Matt are completely avoiding each other, so there’s no fighting.
You look around in the brief, dark moments before the fireworks start. Quinn drove so he stays in the driver’s seat, Jack has forced you into the middle of the bench and claimed your other side protectively. Luke sits alone behind the driver’s seat, comfortable in between his brothers. Matt, Cole and Alex are on the bench on Trevor’s other side, but even with the proximity you barely notice his presence.
You’re too caught up in the moment to worry about it, listening to the boys talk amongst themselves with a content smile on your face.
“They’re starting!” Cole calls and points in the direction of the lights, making everybody turn their heads or twist in their seats.
It’s beautiful – sparkling golden lights reflecting over the lake, distorting in the surface as small waves rock the boat gently. They’re the kind that audibly crackle and fizz out as they disappear into the dark, fading away with a beautiful grace. You start to think maybe it’s a shame that you all miss the fireworks every year just for the sake of a party.
The next round is oranges, greens and purples like Mardi Gras. They’re bigger, louder, a bit more rapid-fire than the simple golds.
It’s pretty, but you’re definitely more of a golden sparkler fan. You make a mental note to ask if someone is willing to get sparklers for the party. It’ll make you feel better.
Your gaze wanders over the lake, watching the reactions from other boats full of people who seems to be enjoying the fireworks as much as the boys. A hush has fallen over the normally loud lake. Kids and adults alike wait in wonder with their eyes to the sky.
Even Jack, the most energetic of your cousins, has fallen still beside you. Finally, your eyes find Matt. He’s hardly looking at the fireworks.
The whole world seems to flash red as your eyes meet his in the semi-dark. The next firework is white, shedding enough light to illuminate the deep blue staring back at you. Then the fireworks, too, turn everything blue with their shine.
Alex points out some of the firework debris as it falls and your spell is broken. Both you and Matt try to follow where Alex is pointing with your eyes. As you lean forward for a better view, you feel Trevor reach for Jack behind your back.
They seem to be disagreeing about something quietly instead of watching the show, which is now themed around patriotic colors.
But they’re putting in effort to not be obvious about it, so you let it be. If it’s big enough, it’ll come back up later.
The fireworks go out with a literal bang: one last, giant, super fast explosion of color turning the world red, white and blue, over and over. Cheers go up from the other boats (and yours) as soon as the sky goes dark.
Cole is singing the show’s praises as Quinn turns the boat around.
“The way they split it into different sections,” he’s gushing, gesturing wildly to Luke and almost hitting Matt, “just- awesome!”
The rest of the night fades away in splashes and peals of laughter. You try your best to forget the way your relationship with Matt is shifting around you.
Early July makes everyone restless. Some of the boys start offseason training. Since he doesn’t, Quinn spends most of his time helping you prepare for the upcoming party. Trevor has plenty of input, but conveniently never has enough time to actually make it happen.
Your request for sparklers is approved only if you are the one to get them. But you catch Trevor and Cole on some downtime anyway, so they come with you for “liquor and lighters,” as they (incorrectly) become known. They’re even nice enough to let you have the passenger seat instead of Trevor.
Which, unfortunately, gives him an excuse to sit unbuckled in the backseat of Cole’s car and lean forward to start gossipy conversations.
“Cole,” he starts in a suspiciously sweet voice. “Have you noticed anything weird this summer?”
Cole seems to know exactly what his friend is on about.
“Oh yes I have, Trevor. Did you notice something weird?”
“Indeed,” Trevor responds. “I-”
You cut him off. “The only weird thing right now is the way you two are talking. Wanna bring it up like normal people?”
They exchange a look. A silent battle ensues, and apparently Cole loses. He sighs, running a hand over his face as he brakes for a red light.
“Fine. Okay. What is up with you and Matt? Like, one minute you guys will do literally anything to spite each other, but the next you’ve made eye contact or accidentally touched each other or something and it’s like dogs who wear a shock collar.”
“It really is so weird,” Trevor pipes up.
You think about it for a moment. Yeah, that is how on edge the two of you have been lately, but you’re not really sure why. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you eventually say with a shrug. “We’re fighting just like normal.”
“But you’re actually not.” Trevor holds up a finger and says it with such a matter-of-fact tone, you don’t even bother with a response. You only hum dismissively.
The three of you sit in near-silence for a few minutes. Trevor’s “pre-party” playlist is on low volume in the background.
All of a sudden, Cole stage whispers, “I think they like each other,” dragging it out in enough of a sing-songy way to be annoying.
“Shut up!”
“And you don’t wanna tell each other so you’d rather act like kids-” Trevor adds, cut off when you turn in your seat and stick a finger in his face.
“Zegras, I swear to all that is hockey if you say another damn word about that, the both of you are getting left at the fireworks place so I can watch your arrest live on the news-”
Cole doesn’t let you finish your threat. “Woah, woah! We’re all friends here. It’s just a little crush, we can be civil about it.” You turn your glare on him, and he deflects it to the backseat. “Right, Trevor?”
“It is definitely not a crush,” you mumble, slumping back in your seat.
They stay quiet about it for the rest of the grocery run, but you know they didn’t listen.
On the Fourth of July, otherwise known as Party Day, the guys get up early and nap in preparation for the late night. The morning was spent on the lake. You are the one who gets the house ready – setting out bags of chips in bowls, leaving notes detailing the dips and their locations and what bowl to put them in, making sure the public bathrooms are girl-clean and not just boy-clean.
The event isn’t huge on decorations, but you got stars and stripes patterned napkins and that kinda stuff just for the sake of it. You make a place for them, but since you’ll be getting ready for the party essentially until it starts, actually setting everything out is up to the boys.
Your cousins know their responsibilities, especially as the main hosts of the party; this has been how the four of you have been delegating it for years. And you always know that when Quinn comes down dressed in red, white, or blue (you have convinced the trio to choose one main color each for five years in a row now), it’s time for you to head back up to your room. You pass Luke on the way.
“Don’t look too pretty,” he warns, turning on the steps so you know he’s serious. “We’re not gonna want to chase a bunch of broken-hearted guys out of here at the end of this.”
“Aw, thanks Lukey,” you tell him, bending down to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. “I’ll try to avoid hurting feelings this year.”
You practically skip the rest of the way into your room. Conversations float up periodically from the floor below – Trevor fishing for compliments, Cole laying it on too thick with Matt and flustering him, Alex missing his girlfriend. They soon turn into greeting the people who arrive early, bearing fruit trays and extra ice for coolers.
By the time you’re finished, somebody’s already turned on the big speaker in the living room. It’s later than you meant to be done. Still, you hope that people remembered to set out the dips.
“Somebody call the fire department, ‘cause we’ve got a smokeshow in the house!” Trevor calls when he sees you coming down the stairs, red solo cup already in his hand. You try to hide your cringe at the smell of jungle juice when he gets near. He hooks an arm around your waist and leans in to whisper, “Fiery redhead by the sink. Thoughts?”
You give her a onceover as Trevor all but hangs off of you. When your scan is complete, you raise on your toes to tell him, “Showing off pictures of a boyfriend. Try the black-haired girl in the off-shoulder thing by the deck doors.” You pat him on the open-shirted chest and send him on his merry way.
Luke is almost hiding in plain sight in the living room, talking hockey with some guy whose grandparents have lived on the lake forever. He raises his cup in acknowledgement when you wave at him.
Jack is busy with, you assume, his next fling, and Quinn is actually playing the part of a good host.
Matt is nowhere to be found.
It’s really weird that you have to remind yourself not to be disappointed about that. So you shake it off with a seltzer and start making some friends out of the crowd. There’s a girl you recognize who’s been around for a few summers now, and when Jack excuses himself from his not-gonna-be girlfriend you steal her too.
The music gets louder the more you drink, the beat more enticing. You probably won’t see these girls after tonight, but for now they are your social buoys. They keep you afloat in the crowd until some guy pulls you in for a dance. It’s just in time for Jack to come back for his girl, too.
Luckily for you it’s only Trevor.
“She was more into you,” he murmurs in your ear, unaffected smirk on his face. “I would ask if you’re interested, but I think she’s got some competition.” He points with his eyes over to the wall, where Matt has mysteriously reappeared.
Some girl is trying her hardest to talk to him, but he won’t turn to look at her fully.
“He doesn’t have a claim on me, Trev,” you remind your friend, facing him and starting to get into the dance when the song changes. “We don’t even-“
“No, just wishes he did.” His hands land on your waist. Jack would not appreciate this if he saw it, but he vanished not long before Matt showed up. Knowing that the way you do, you turn it up a little more.
You’ve never gotten to see how good of a dancer Trevor is – might as well take the opportunity.
A couple songs later, you’ve sent him off toward a late-arriving group of girls with a kiss on the cheek for good luck. If they ask about it, he’s going to say you’re his cousin. You know this is how it works because someone asked you last year.
This is one of the biggest downsides to hosting the party instead of finding one, you remember. When you get tired, you can’t make it go away. You can’t leave. The best you can do is hide. Your favorite spot is at the edge of the water, so close to the treeline that no one will see you from the yard.
You grab an extra drink for yourself and smuggle a blanket from the boat stash just in case it’s colder outside than you expect. There are games of cornhole and something else happening on the lawn. The firepit is in use. Quinn might be over there now, actually. Probably starting to wind down a little bit, just like you.
But someone has wandered over from somewhere, and they’re sitting in your spot.
The realization almost makes you trip over your shoes. And the sound alerts them to your presence. Not much light manages to reach his face around you, but you don’t need it – you can recognize Matt in the dark by now.
“Hey,” you greet him, voice dull. “Found my hiding spot?”
“Always knew about it,” is the simple response.
You choose to ignore the roughness in his tone. “Okay if I sit?”
He just shrugs. So you sit anyway, shoving your drinks into the sand while the blanket falls to the side. Silence falls between you and Matt. You’ve always felt like the nearby trees muffle the sounds from the yard and house, for which you’re grateful.
Even now.
Matt is the one to speak first. “You and Trevor got something going on?”
Almost petty, you shrug. “Same stuff as always, I think. Nothing special. He’s… not my type.” The confession feels maybe a little too vulnerable for anywhere else. But not here. Here, you’re safe.
It still gets Matt’s attention. His head turns the slightest bit, trying to see you from the corner of his eye. “He isn’t?”
“Not really.” You punctuate that with a swig of your drink, tilting your head back even farther to drain it when you hear a suspiciously Trevor-like whoop in the distance. It’s not your problem now, and you don’t intend for it to be later, either.
Even with the revelation, Matt stays quiet. Which is normal for you two. But normal feels kinda… wrong at the minute.
“You weren’t feeling the party?” you ask after maybe a minute or so of silence, as if talking civilly is a normal activity for the two of you to engage in.
“Nah. Alex and Cole took over beer pong and Trevor and Jack are caught up with women. Not fun being the odd man out in there.”
“What about Quinn and Luke?”
The corner of his lips – the side closest to you, anyway – twitches. Like he’s holding back a smile. “Actually hosting, thank God.” He pronounces the last word differently than everyone else at the lake house, in that Masachusetts-y way that he still talks even after years away from home because of hockey. You admire that about him. He never completely took on the accent that most of your cousins and their friends seem to imitate, even if subconsciously. “‘d you get tired of holding down the fort too?”
You just hum in response. He’s right on the money, but you can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he is. It seems like he’s aware nonetheless.
“C’mon, Sunshine, just admit that I know you well enough to know that,” he teases, tilting his head toward you a little bit.
“Never,” you say back, turning ever so slightly to grin at him.
He sighs, shaking his head. “We’ll get there someday.”
Your curiosity has successfully been piqued. “Where’s ‘there’?” you question, fully facing him now.
“Just… better. Along, I guess,” he admits, suddenly acting shy. Matt won’t look at you anymore, only now you want him to.
Hoping to restore some of the odd comfort that the two of you had before your confession, you let silence fall over your little hiding place. Some silence, anyway. Nothing can completely subdue the sounds of the party.
When it feels peaceful again, you speak. “We get along well enough, don’t we?”
“Always have to disagree with me, don’t you, Sunshine?” he responds, shaking his head before finally making eye contact again. “Can’t just say that yeah, we could fight in front of the guys a little less or something?”
“Fighting with you is fun,” you shrug.
“Fun for you, sure,” Matt says, making a face.
You cut him off before he can continue, pointing a finger at him. “You can’t tell me that you don’t look forward to it, Matthew, I notice you gearing up for it everytime you see me enter the room.”
“That’s because you always pick a fight with me!” he says, louder but not yet loud enough to draw attention to your hiding place. “And I hate being called that!”
“What, by your name? It’s Matthew. You are named Matthew.”
“You know everyone calls me Matt.”
Only now do you realize how close his face has gotten to yours, why his voice has lowered again in volume but not in intensity.
And you follow his eyes making their way downward to watch you breathe out, “But to me, you’re Matthew.”
He mumbles something else, something you can’t hear over the sudden noises of fireworks and excited partygoers. You’re pretty sure, though, that his mouth made shapes for the words ‘kiss’ and ‘right now.’ Furrowing your brows, you try to lean in so he can repeat it, but instead he recoils.
You mostly hear what he says this time, and you’re pretty sure it’s “I’m tired of this. I’m going inside.”
Matt walks off into the night, leaving you wrapped in your blanket with more questions than answers.
Everybody sleeps in late the next day, as expected. You pretend not to hear more than one pair of footsteps making their way out of the house before getting up to make some hangover breakfast.
A door cracks down the hall, but it closes as soon as yours opens.
Alex, for some reason, is the only one already downstairs when you get there. But he’s on a phone call. He holds up a hand in greeting before heading out onto the deck.
Trevor bounces down the stairs after you’ve started a cup of coffee for yourself, in a good enough mood that you know at least something went down last night. But at least he has the decency to wait until you’ve gotten your pick-me-up to start talking about it.
Except he doesn’t say what you expect him to. At all.
“Why did you and Matt come out of the same hidden spot at the edge of the yard last night, only like twenty minutes apart or whatever?”
You just groan. That’s too weird of a story to share first thing after you’ve woken up, even if Trevor is great at being a substitute for girl talk. He raises an eyebrow and leans over the island counter. With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turn back to the fridge to find some bacon or something.
He waits until you’ve gotten some food and headed out to the dock with it to press again.
“So. You and Matt. Something fun happen last night, or…?”
You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “I think… we might have almost kissed?” Trevor gasps, grabbing your arm with both hands excitedly. His eyes are wide. “But we didn’t!” you continue insistently. “Just… our faces got really close, and he muttered something I couldn’t hear over the fireworks, and I tried to move so I could hear him and I guess he remembered we’re us so he ran off.”
“When are you guys going to just admit it?” Trevor asks, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen two people so down bad for each other.” He only gives you like a second to scoff before he’s going on. “Just get together and get over all that other stuff already.”
“I don’t think we can, Trev. Every time I think we might, we just start fighting again. Usually worse.”
He pats your back a couple of times. It’s awkward.
“There, there,” Trevor says. “We’ll fix it.” And then he’s moving, up and away, down the dock and back to the house.
“We?” you call after him. “Trevor, what do you mean we?”
Just like last night, you never get an answer.
Except you do. That night, after dinner but before a couple rounds of ping-pong and pool, you’re passing by the stairs to the basement when you hear two voices. Two voices that you’ve come to know pretty well after the past few summers.
“-Sunshine, she’s just driving me crazy, dude,” Matt is saying.
And maybe you’re a little too nosy for your own good, so you stop.
“I can’t be around her without- without-” Trevor must make a face or something, because you can hear the disgust in Matt’s voice. “No, not like that!”
“It’s just like I’ve been saying all along,” your mutual friend tries to tell him. “The two of you would get along so much better if you’d stop acting like kids and just like each other already.”
You lower yourself to a sitting position on the stairs, listening intently now.
Matt scoffs. “Never in a million years, Trevor. You’re crazy. She-” He pauses, lowering his voice for the next little bit. Even though you move down a couple of steps, you don’t catch it. “-and I can’t stand it! I can’t stand her. I don’t see how you guys have put up with her all this time, always being here, and- and-”
You picture him gesturing wildly, like he does when he’s arguing his case during a card game. Except he’s not arguing that a play was legal. He’s arguing about you, and how intolerable you are, apparently.
He heaves a deep sigh that you can even hear from your spot on the stairs. “I can’t do this anymore, Trevor. I give up. We’re just gonna hate each other forever, and I’ll be an active participant in that.”
Finally – quietly, hesitantly, so unlike either of them – you hear Trevor speak. “Matt, it’s not like you’ve been particularly nice to her, either.” Matt tries to say something again, maybe protest, but your friend stops him. “It takes two people to be nice to each other.”
“We can’t do that, Trevor. You know it as well as I do.”
Something about the resignation in Matt’s voice makes something in your chest twinge. It certainly can’t be your heart, but some part of you feels maybe something akin to sympathy. A similar frustration over the situation.
There’s a gap between the two of you that formed long ago, and it looks too big now to bridge solely in the name of friendship. At least, you don’t have a clue how to start.
When you hear a foot land on the bottom stair, you scramble away as quietly as you can.
There’s supposed to be a storm today. Jack’s been complaining about it all week, and you can hear him complaining about it downstairs now. It’s disrupting any plans he could make – boating, golfing… that’s pretty much it.
Most of the guys seem to be bothered by the uncertainty of their weather apps more than the storm itself. Jack’s friends don’t have much time left to spend here, and they’re antsy to make the most of what they do have. You’re just relieved by the promise of Matt’s departure, since he evidently can’t even stand being around you.
It’s not that you’ve always assumed the way that the two of you poke and prod at each other is all in good fun. No, there’s always been some level of real, negative emotion there. But this summer especially, there was something else, too. A mutual understanding, maybe. An almost-friendship.
You thought that he was starting to feel it too, in the quiet moments between fireworks. When it felt like there was no one else to perform for.
Apparently you were wrong.
These thoughts are the first thing you face head-on this morning. Somehow, they’re easier to deal with than your cousin’s whining. Then someone knocks on your door.
“Are you decent?” Trevor calls through the wood. It would be a nice gesture if he didn’t start opening the door before you’ve really answered.
“Come on in, I guess,” you say, failing to hide the gloominess in your voice.
His little half-grin slides off his face. “Oh, man. You’re that upset about the storm too?”
You shake your head. “No, it’s not that.” And you don’t want to have to explain it to him, but Trevor was the one Matt chose to talk to. You just pick at your comforter while he comes over to sit next to you.
“What’s wrong, Sunshine?”
“You can’t tell him,” you say immediately, inwardly cringing at yourself because of course you have to tell Trevor.
His expression changes to one of understanding quicker than you would have expected. “You heard us talking before the basement games last night.” You nod. He asks something you wouldn’t have expected. “But you were so quiet. What all did you hear?”
“Um, how about that he can’t stand me?” you make finger quotes in the air, your voice raising. “That we’re gonna hate each other forever, apparently, and that I just drive him sooo crazy, don’t I?”
Your friend sighs. His hands go up into the air in a kind of defensive, kind of surrendering way. He starts to talk, then closes his mouth. Finally, he runs his hands through his hair.
“You’re gonna have to talk that out with him, Sunshine,” he says. “But just know, you’re missing some context.”
You’d really like to press him further, but Luke saves him by poking his head in the door. His brows furrow at something that’s going on in the room, but you don’t know what. “Are you guys coming on the boat?” he questions.
Trevor interrupts before you can ask where the storm has gone. “We’re taking the boat out?”
“Yeah, looks like we’ll be clear for a little bit more. Jack wants to get out while we can, so you guys might wanna decide fast.” He starts to leave, but you call him back, shooing Trevor out of the door so he can go get ready for the outing. Trevor doesn’t seem to mind.
“Is Matt going out on the boat?” you ask urgently. It’s clear that Luke notices how wide your eyes are. Still, he shakes his head.
“I think he’s out doing something,” your baby cousin tries to offer, but you wave it off.
“If we’re leaving before he gets back, I’m in.”
Mid-day boating turns into afternoon naps or house-cleaning and cards after dinner. You cheer up as the day goes by, especially since you happen to never be in the same place as Matt. That is, until Jack calls for Scum.
Matt is the king at the start of the night. He holds the position through two games.
If you were playing any other game, one where you could spend the entirety of it sabotaging him, you would have taken the seat right next to him. Instead, poor Luke and Cole are playing buffers.
“I just can’t stand the way you shuffle,” you comment once. “Give me the cards next time, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“Think I can handle myself, Sunshine. Just mind your own business for once,” comes the retort through gritted teeth. Quinn and Alex raise their eyebrows.
By the third and final deal, the two of you have gotten worked up to a point that the others have never seen before. You flick the cards at him so hard that they slide off the table more often than not unless he catches them. He glares back at you, but doesn’t say anything.
Not until it’s time to lay down his first card.
“You ever wonder how much better this game would be if everyone could handle not being the king or queen after every round?” he asks Jack next to him.
“Matt-” Jack starts to say, eyes darting over to you nervously to wait for your reaction.
You pretend not to hear, just waiting for your turn to lay down your eights and hopefully end the round, but most of the guys can see how infuriated you are.
Then you lean over to whisper to Cole, “I thought you hockey players were meant to be at least a little competitive.” He does laugh at that.
Matt narrows his eyes. The next round starts shortly after.
As the game goes on, people start tapping out as you all go around. You and Matt start taking every opportunity to gripe at each other.
For a minute, it looks like Matt’s going to beat you. He looks you dead in the eye as he says, “I think my first decree as king is gonna be an exile.”
You suck in a breath. Even if he isn’t saying it outright, you know exactly who that’s directed at. And you can’t say you’re happy about it, but you also can’t say that you wouldn’t kick him out of here right now if you had the power. But you won’t. You never will.
As Quinn takes his turn after you distractedly pass again, you come to a realization: you will never be rid of Matt. As long as he’s friends with Jack, he’s going to stick around.
This antagonistic relationship — whatever’s actually underneath it — can’t last.
So you make him an indirect offer on your next turn, when you lay down a singular ten. “I’m getting kind of tired of this, boys. Maybe we should find a new game, start over and make new rivalries?”
You don’t miss the looks thrown around the table. Least of all, Matt’s brief yet victorious smirk.
Quinn passes. Alex passes. Trevor lays down a pair of sixes, a playful smile on his lips. He’s the only person at the table who seems so at ease, but even his calm is a farce. Luke passes too.
Matt makes eye contact with you and only you before he lays his cards down. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to back down.
“Is this just because you’re losing? Spoiler alert: you can’t always be a winner, Sunshine. Not everything is gonna go your way. The sooner you accept that, the better,” he tells you, as he presents his set: the kings of clubs, diamonds, and spades.
It doesn’t escape you that his trio is heartless.
Next to him, Jack tenses. Cole’s eyes flick to you. Your skin heats under the lights of the kitchen nook chandelier. Despite your embarrassed blush, you keep a straight face. And you straighten your four remaining cards against the table, nodding to Jack to go ahead with his turn.
He passes. Poor Cole, eyes darting between you and Matt, double checks his cards. The shuffling sounds like thunder in the silence that’s enveloped the room – no, the entire house. He comes up empty. Matt keeps his steely gaze on you the entire time.
“You know, I think you forget that at the end of the day life isn’t a competition,” you say, voice tight. “And winning it all is worth nothing if you scare off anyone who might have been close to you.” You take a deep breath before forcing the last sentence out. “Guess we have to learn that the hard way sometimes.”
Your chair screeches on the floor as you stand, shattering the quiet and making almost everyone else at the table flinch.
“Good luck to the rest of y’all,” you finish simply, tossing your quartet of twos onto the table. “And have a good night.”
With that, you head back through the darkness of the living room and up to your bedroom. Even all the lovely colors you had taken care to fill it with look dark in the dead of night.
You stay inside your room the next day, though it dawns bright and sunny. You creep out to the empty kitchen at some early hour to smuggle some snacks back up to your room. Hopefully, Luke gets the silent apology you send for depriving him of Cheez-Its for… however long you have them.
Quinn knocks on the door at some point before noon to ask if you want to come along for something that you half listen to, because they wanna do it before other reasons that you don’t really listen to. No offense to your cousin, of course, but you’re very wrapped up in your wallowing.
He is given a flimsy excuse and a smile at 75% effort, and that’s all it takes for him to go away. But he can usually tell when you really just don’t want to talk about it. You turn the music back on to cover up the sounds of the boys getting ready to leave and tuck back into your novel.
Somewhere in the middle of the scramble, you hear someone yelling for someone else to “get a move on, we really don’t have all day”. The noise catches your attention. As you look up from your book, you notice a shadow passing in front of your door. They hesitate, as if they want to come in. There never is a knock like you expect. Instead, the voice yells again and the shadow moves on. You’re pretty sure they’re not calling for Luke.
The house has been completely empty for a while when you decide to venture out for a little pick-me-up. Unfortunately, your car is trapped in front of Cole’s in the driveway. 44 Scoops is a little out of the way on your bike, but it has the best ice cream around and you deserve some today. You barely notice the sky darkening as you ride. The girl taking the orders greets you warmly.
“Hi, what can I getcha today?” she asks, smile putting her braces on full display.
“Um, just one vanilla in a cone, please,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear under your hood. You feel like kind of a weirdo keeping it up, but you really didn’t feel like doing anything with your appearance.
“We’ll get that right out,” the girl says, then tilts her head at you. “Do you like sprinkles?”
You nod, but feel your eyebrows furrow. It’s kind of a weird question since you didn’t order sprinkles, but she doesn’t say anything else so you fork over a five dollar bill. When she returns to the counter a minute later, your scoop is covered in rainbow sprinkles.
“It kinda looked like you could use them,” the girl offers, shrugging as soon as the cone is safely in your hand. “I hope your day gets better!”
“Thank you,” you tell her, “Really.”
She smiles one more hot-pink-and-metallic smile at you, then moves on to the next customer.
And the day does not get better. Almost as soon as you turn toward the door, it starts sprinkling outside. Partway through your ice-cream-and-Instagram-reels binge, your phone dies. The cone melts a little too fast for you, and you get a couple spots on your sweatshirt as you finish it up.
It takes a miniature pity party just to get the courage to clip your hair up, go outside and get back on your bike.
Unknown to you, the boys are in a bit of a frenzy at the lake house. They started bringing the boat in when the sky got dark (a little earlier than they planned, even), but it was still raining by the time they got everyone and everything inside.
Then Luke calls for you to see if you want the late lunch/early dinner that Quinn plans on making, but you never answer. So he heads up to your room just to make sure you’re not asleep or still ignoring everybody, and you aren’t even there.
“Sunshine’s gone!” he announces when he slides back into the main living area. He’s trying and failing to hide his panic. His brothers exchange a glance that they pretend he doesn’t see, and Jack heads off to double check your room as if Luke is blind.
Quinn designates places for the other boys to check like they think you might have fallen asleep somewhere and failed to wake up despite all the noise they made coming back. Matt disappears into the basement without a word. Luke’s job now is to tag-team calling you with Quinn until one of them makes contact.
“I checked literally every bedroom upstairs. No sign of her, but her car’s still here,” Jack announces when he gets back downstairs, picking up his phone to start calling too. “You guys haven’t called Mom yet, right?”
Luke shakes his head. Quinn is too busy pacing around the kitchen table looking out the windows, seemingly under the impression that you might emerge from the tree line at the edge of the property. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Matt come up from the basement and head toward the second floor stairs, still not talking.
“She’s not up there-” Jack starts to tell his friend, but Matt shakes his head. When he finally speaks, it’s gruff.
“I’m just grabbing a hoodie,” Matt says. Then he’s gone, taking the stairs two at a time just like Luke did.
The rest of Jack’s friends re-emerge from the basement and start convening with Jack and Luke when they hear the front door open and shut. Quinn is still getting the dial tone in the kitchen. Cole suggests that you may have gone out for food or something. Trevor pipes up that it could’ve been a need for liquor that drove you out in this weather.
“I wouldn’t blame her if it was,” Alex comments lowly, and Trevor has the decency to look embarrassed. “Matt went pretty hard on her last night.”
“He knows he was out of line, and I think she does too,” Jack assures everyone. “Not that… I’ve talked to her today, or anything. But I just have a feeling that was the final fight, y’know? Something about it…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Nevermind. I’m probably crazy.”
You’ve successfully gotten yourself most of the way home when you see a familiar car heading your way on one of the many weirdly-named streets following the lakeshore. When you think you’re in their line of vision, you start raising your arm to wave for help. Then you see the face behind the wheel. Your hand drops of its own accord, and you move a step or two farther from the side of the road in case Matt decides he’s feeling extra cruel and wants to splash you or something.
He turns around somewhere and catches up to you as you’re about to cross the top of a cul-de-sak, cutting you off with a turn onto the street. You frown at the passenger side window, watching it roll down.
“Get in the car, Sunshine,” he says.
“But-”
“I’m not letting you get sick out here just because you want to stick it to me, okay? You get in here. I’ll get your bike.”
A couple of minutes later, the bicycle has been shoved into the trunk and backseat with an astounding lack of grace, and you’re sitting with your arms crossed up front as Matt turns the car around. The pounding rain almost completely covers up what he says to you as he gets back onto the main road.
“I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“No matter what issues we have, it was fucked of me to bring it up in front of everybody during the game,” he admits. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. And I’m really sorry for whatever I did two years ago to make you hate me like you do, because that was probably pretty fucked too.”
You sigh. “You didn’t… do anything.”
His foot twitches on the brake pedal; you feel the car stutter beneath you. Just like you feel him trying to watch both the road and your face, so you burrow back into your hood and look out your window.
“I didn’t do anything?”
“No.”
“Then why do you hate me?”
And you know it won’t be good enough, at all, but you shrug. How do you put it into words that your cousins poked and prodded you about how you would like Matt for almost years before you actually met? That Jack had asked you to not date any of his friends a long time ago and of course you wouldn’t disrespect his wishes, but you definitely agreed that if you were allowed to date this one, you might have gone for it?
How do you tell someone that you’ve had to hate them because you wouldn’t be allowed to love them?
So you mutter some snappy bullshit like “someone had to,” and try to leave it there.
“Tell me the truth, Sunshine.” Which is about what you expected.
“Did Jack or Quinn ever tell you how well they used to think we would get along?” you ask, folding your arms and leaning back in your seat but finally looking at him. He’s definitely been in the car for a bit now, but there are speckles and water marks even from before he got out to shove your bike in the back.
He thinks for a moment, then nods. “I think Jack said once that we would get along… that everybody loves you and I wouldn’t be any different.” His cheeks turn pink when he realizes the phrasing that he used. One hand automatically flies off the wheel to scratch the back of his neck. “Not that… you know what I mean.”
You only hum in response.
“What does that have to do with you hating me, though?”
“It was never really hate-” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Sure felt like hate.” You stay silent, waiting for him to notice that he’s pissed you off. He doesn’t even have to look over to know. “Sorry, go on.”
“It wasn’t really hate,” you insist, as he turns away from where you’re supposed to go. “It was… the rejection of like. Like how cold is just the absence of heat. You’re going the wrong way.”
“Indifference is the absence of like,” Matt corrects you, a little smug. “And we’re in the middle of a conversation that I don’t think we’re going to be able to have once you get back to that house.”
Your eyebrows furrow. He just nods at his phone, down in the cupholder, and you pick it up. Hold it out to him, but he shakes his head.
“The boys were worried about you. Get on there – password’s 129453 – and text Jack that you’re okay and I got you.” You quietly do as he says, waiting for another command. “And that we’ll be back soon, but we have to do something first.”
Jack knows it’s you because you told him so and he starts to ask questions. But you don’t have the answer to a lot of them. You just reassure him again that you’re safe, everything’s fine, you just wanted ice cream and there is absolutely no need to call any parents or beloved aunts about this.
Matt looks over at you, nodding for you to continue your original explanation. The rain keeps beating down on the car, a steady drum to drown out the sound of your heartbeat.
“Jack called it first,” you say. “Said you were just my type, that we’d get along like a house on fire, that kinda stuff. But he also said, back when he started the program with you and all the other guys, that he didn’t want me dating any of you either.” You laugh, trying to keep the bitterness out of the sound. Maybe you mostly succeed. “Because he knew that hockey players were just that – players.”
Matt purses his lips, but lets you keep talking.
“And it’s not like I’d be able to get to know any of you without him around, so I kinda just had to take him at his word for it, right?” you continue, feeling yourself starting to ramble. “Then we got here for the first summer. And Jack was right on the money. But I knew that if I really let myself start to like you-” you shrug. “-I’d be doing nothin’ but getting myself hurt by toeing the line that Jack set.”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. You keep going. “So I tried to ignore you. Not feel anything at all. That didn’t work, but I thought it would still be easier for me if we weren’t… close. I’m sorry that it turned into all this mess. I just wanted to protect myself.” You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie up over your hands.
Matt drives on, silent for a minute. It stretches into two, three minutes until it’s almost comfortable. Then he turns sharply into a gas station parking lot on the corner. The car stays on when he parks away from everybody else on the side of the building, but he unbuckles and twists in his seat to face you.
“So you’re meaning to tell me – all this time, you just liked me and you were, no offense, a complete pest, as a front?” You nod.
He collapses back into his seat, running his hands through his hair and accidentally pushing his hood off in the process. It’s hard to ignore his long legs stretching in the little space they have, swim trunks riding up his thighs.
“You liked me,” he states again, simply. You nod again. His eyes dart to you, tongue tracing his lower lip, cheeks pink. “You… like me?”
It comes slower this time, and all your nervous energy manifests as your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeves, but you still nod. You aren’t sure that he’s looking at your eyes when you do it.
Then, he laughs. Your first instinct is to recoil a bit, especially if he’s laughing at your confession. Which would be cruel, but maybe earned. This is probably the worst way you could resolve every conflict from the past two years. It takes genuine effort to keep a straight face.
“You like me,” he says once more. “Have all this time.”
Something holds you back from responding, from making a defensive, sarcastic comment that would ruin whatever you’re building or rebuilding here. He speaks again, quieter still, barely audible over the weather outside.
“That makes so much more sense, looking back.”
And he looks back up at you, disbelief still written on his face. Then the mask cracks, and he smiles brighter than has ever been directed at you before.
“You know, one of Luke’s buddies asked me once why we flirted so different from you and all Jack’s other friends,” he admits, making your eyes widen.
“I mean, I wasn’t really trying to, but-” you stutter, feeling your face turn sunburn-red.
“If we agree that that’s what all this has been, I gotta say, you flirt like a little boy on the playground,” he teases you. You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder just hard enough to walk the line of playful and mean.
“You’re no better!” you exclaim. There’s more you want to say, but Matt shuts you up by grabbing the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and pressing his lips to yours over the center console.
Instead of saying anything else, you sigh into the kiss. One of your hands finds itself slipping into his dark blond hair, tugging on the surprisingly soft strands. His other hand grabs your waist, squeezing ever so slightly. You take his bottom lip in between your teeth.
“Oh my god, you tease,” he scolds you, (smiling) as he pulls away for a second. If you didn’t know him as well as you somehow do, you’d be disappointed by him cutting you off this quick.
But he moves his seat back as far as he can, putting space between himself and the steering wheel. Then he’s grabbing at your hoodie, your back, your thighs – anything to urge you onto his lap.
You’re lucky the windows are tinted.
Once you’re settled, knees on either side of his thighs – which, honestly, aren’t leaving you very much room but why on earth would you fault him for that – he positions one hand gently on your cheek, stroking it absentmindedly with his thumb.
“I like you too, by the way,” he says, a goofy smile on his face. You raise your eyebrows in a silent question and he nods, closing his eyes in content as you weave your hands back into his hair. “All this time.”
Finally, he pulls your face back down to his, pressing his lips to yours so much more softly and awkwardly than a minute ago. You feel like a teenager having their first kiss again, but this time you know it’s perfect. This one feels like an exhale after years of holding your breath.
Matt pulls back and you pout, which makes him laugh and wrap his arms around your waist in a hug. Then he leans back in the seat again, big hands resting comfortably on your hips.
“What are you doing, you weirdo?” you ask, but you kind of mean why aren’t you kissing me anymore.
“Just admiring,” he replies, making you groan.
Since you so clearly need to take the initiative here, you lean forward and steal his lips in a kiss again. His breath catches when you nip him, this time, and you wonder why you didn’t just do this sooner. It’s so much better than the whole push-and-pull thing you’ve had going for the past couple of summers.
He presses you closer to him with one hand, deepening the kiss and using the other hand to pull down your hood and release your hair from its claw clip. In response, you pull on his again and he lets out this breathless little sound that you wanna hear at least five more times before he goes back home for summer training.
The two of you are interrupted by an obnoxious buzzing from the cupholder. Matt reaches over and grabs his phone without even moving you off of his lap.
You think you hear Jack’s voice on the other side, asking a series of questions that Matt barely has the time to answer before another three come out of your cousin’s big mouth.
“Yeah, she’s fine. Took her bike. We’re on the way home now. Do you guys need us to stop for anything?” Jack says something else, and a smile dances on Matt’s lips. “No, we’re all good now. I think the two of us will be more tolerable together from now on. We talked it out.”
Absentmindedly, you wipe a smudge of your tinted chapstick off the corner of his lips. He looks up at you for a second, winks, and runs his hand through his hair as he looks back toward the passenger side mirror.
“I promise, it’s chill,” he tells your cousin. “And she says she’s sorry for scaring you. Her phone just died when she was out.” It’s not a lie, you’re just surprised he realized. But maybe you shouldn’t be – the two of you have paid unnecessarily close attention to each other for a long time. Whether you realized it or not, you did get to know each other under the pretense of hatred. “Yeah, we’ll be back in time for dinner. Like I said, heading back soon. Uh-huh. See ya.”
Matt punctuates the end of the call by kissing you again, then pushes you back over the center console to your own seat while he readjusts.
“So…,” you trail off, back to playing with your sleeves. Matt looks at you, a smile already half-formed on his face. “What now?”
“We’ve got time to talk it out, right? Let’s just get back to the house first.” He reaches over, squeezing your leg. And he leaves his hand there as he pulls out of the gas station, for the rest of the drive, only letting go when the house is in sight.
He looks over at you again with a knowing smirk once he parks the car in the driveway.
“So. You still gonna pretend you hate me in there?”
You shrug, smiling, and jump out of the car. The door is mostly closed, but you hear him shout “hey!” after you as you dart off into the rain.
All eyes are on you once you open the front door.
And all it takes is one glance from you for Trevor to pump his fist and shout, “Yessss!” dragging it out victoriously. The rest of the boys catch on almost one-by-one. You can see the realization spread from Trevor and Luke to Quinn and Jack, then Alex and Cole as you feel Matt appear behind you in the entryway.
“Finally!” Trevor continues, throwing his hands up in the air. “It only took you idiots like three years!”
“Trevor, what-” Matt starts, moving out from behind you so he can take off his wet hoodie and toss it down the basement stairs toward the laundry.
While your not-so-much-anymore enemy gets an explanation for Trevor’s behavior, your cousins approach you and quietly usher you into the office. Jack shuts the door behind the four of you. This feels like a confrontation.
“You scared us pretty bad there, Sunshine,” Luke starts, crossing his arms and leaning back against Quinn’s desk.
“I am so sorry, you guys, it was a complete accident. I took a bike ride for ice cream, then my phone died. I was literally on my way back when Matt caught me,” you explain.
A random cheer sounds from the other room. It distracts Jack, who looked like he was about to start shooting off another round of questions. You silently thank Trevor.
“We’re just glad you’re okay, Sunshine, we promise.” Quinn’s first sentence is reassuring. Then he asks a not-really question that might be worse than whatever Jack had in mind. “What we’re wondering now is what’s going on with you and Matt. If you’ve made up and all.”
There hasn’t been enough time to define anything. You guys aren’t planning on fighting anymore, you don’t think. Still, what are you allowed to tell your cousins? The anxiety rising in your throat makes you cough. Jack’s eyes widen.
“You’re not getting sick, are you?” he questions, worrying aloud. “We should’ve let you change into dry clothes before we dragged you in here, our bad-”
“That would be great, thanks,” you reply decisively. “But we’re not going to ruin everybody else’s vacations anymore, if that’s what your concern is. Now-” you make eye contact with all three brothers before you finish. “-if anyone has any problem with me going to get warm, dry, and comfortable, please voice that now.”
“One last thing,” Jack says, nodding for the other two to go.
The two of you wait, facing each other, until the door closes behind Quinn. You sit down in one of the office chairs and cross your legs, waiting for Jack to speak. He sighs, tucking his hands under his armpits before looking up at you from beneath his backwards hat.
“Sunshine, I made a big mistake years ago. I was trying to look out for you when I asked you not to date my friends, because I thought they’d all be like Trevor… and me,” he admits.
You lean forward, definitely wanting to hear what he says next.
“I was wrong about Matt. He’s not a player, not like the rest of us. We’ve all been watching you two bicker and pine over each other for years now, and I know both of you like each other even if you won’t say it in those words. Not to me, at least.”
He takes a deep breath, making sure to really meet your eyes before his big finish.
“Please date Matt.”
“What?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “Are you like, asking me out in his place?”
It only takes you looking back at him for Jack to crack and start laughing. It was a weird phrasing. He knows that.
“I swear we’ve been driving him crazy, making him jealous ‘n’ trying to get him to confess but he wasn’t gonna say anything until you had gotten over whatever he’d done to you originally.”
“What he’d done? Oh no buddy, that was all you,” you tell Jack, and when he just makes a confused face you explain further. “Y’all were completely right when you said I’d like him and I did, but I also remembered that I wasn’t supposed to date your friends. Just wanted to be a good cousin, y’know?”
“I’m so sorry,” Jack says, covering the top half of his face with his facepalm. “I should’ve grown up about that ages ago.”
You agree. “You should’ve, but who knows how it would have gone back then. And we’re here now, right?”
Your (slightly idiotic but lovable) cousin nods along with wide eyes, probably hoping this will absolve him of guilt. “Seriously, though. I am sorry. And also please stop flirting with Trevor – you’re killing poor Bolds, over there.”
Finally, you laugh, getting up and throwing your arms around him. He holds you tight, just like the two of you used to hug when you were little. You used to say that if you never let go of each other, then your families would never be without each other again. It was cute then, but being mature now and knowing that you’ll have a strong bond whether you’re in the same state or you’re dating each other’s friends is much better, you think.
“Can we just make a pact that you guys – and I mean all of you – will hold off on meddling from now on? Please?”
“Will do,” Jack says quietly before releasing you. His eyes get a little twinkle in them when he inclines his head toward the door and says, “Now go get your man.”
“I think I’m gonna change first.”
“Right. That sounds… yeah. Go do that.”
Once you’re in dry clothes, you find Matt in his room, in the process of changing shirts even though his was barely touched by the rain.
“Hey,” you say, rapping your knuckles gently against his door. “We still need to talk, right?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, patting the bed next to him. “Close the door, if you’re allowed?”
You nod, heading over to where he directs you without a word. The two of you spend at least a minute shifting in various ways, trying to make this comfortable. Because somehow it worked so much better when you were making out in a car.
“So. There’s a lot to talk about.”
He nods enthusiastically, running a hand through still-damp hair. But he doesn’t actually speak. He waits for you to continue, to decide what you want to bring up.
“I guess… to start, Jack kind of finally gave us his blessing, but there’s a lot more I want to discuss with you before we act on anything like that. Like all the ways you were complaining to Trevor about me a couple nights ago. That stuff… it didn’t sound like a guy with a crush,” you admit, avoiding his widening eyes by fiddling with the hem of your shirt.
“What all did you hear?” he questions, voice low.
“That you couldn’t stand me,” your throat tightens, but you force the words out. “How we could never be nice to each other, not in a million years, so you were going to start actively hating me. The way that I just drive you crazy, apparently.”
His hands enter your line of vision. One cups your cheek. The other gently tugs at your own hand until you let him envelop it in his. The hand partly cupping your chin is equally gentle, tilting your head up so you look at him. His eyes are almost glassy.
“Sunshine, you have to listen to me when I say that I was going crazy that night. I thought I’d fooled myself into thinking that you actually liked me the night before, and I hated myself for it more than anything. But you weren’t around, and you were an easy excuse, so I took it out on you there. I can’t forgive myself for it, so I’m not going to ask you to do it either. But you are missing a little bit of context.”
Matt closes his eyes briefly to take a quick breath. “I couldn’t be around you without trying to find some sign that could give me hope that we’d get over our rivalry, or whatever it was. I said you’re too out of reach, that you would never like me at all, let alone like that.”
“I pretended Trevor was being the really crazy one, but it was all me. But I still shouldn’t have said any of that, and I’m so sorry. Especially that you had to hear it,” he finishes.
“Thank you,” you tell him softly. “I really appreciate you admitting that.” Then you continue. “I have to apologize too. For all these years of teasing and taunting you, for trying to let you know that I heard you… literally in front of everyone else during Scum, where we couldn’t actually talk about it. That was uncool of me. I could’ve handled everything a lot better since we met. I should have. You…” You trail off once before you finally manage to get the words out. “Maybe you deserve someone who can handle all of their feelings like, I dunno, a grown-up.”
And this time, when you look up, you see that he really is tearing up a little bit. But he’s smiling. And he’s shaking his head. “I don’t want a grown-up, Sunshine. I want you. Have since we met.”
You giggle. It’s a little choked out, a little wet from making it around the lump that formed in your throat, but you get it out.
“Don’t tell Jack that,” you tell him. “He’ll be insufferable about being right.”
“God, I know,” Matt groans, falling back onto the bed and almost pulling you with him. “He’s just the worst about that, isn’t he?”
“We can’t forget Trevor,” you say. “He’s gonna be so bad too.”
He groans again, more muffled as he drags a hand down his face. “I’d say we shouldn’t date or change how we act just to fuck with ‘em, but it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”
You’ve swallowed whatever was building in your throat and started to dry your face before you reply, “Jack already asked me out on your behalf, actually, so no, I don’t think that’d work at all. Nice thought, though.”
“That’s kind of humiliating,” he points out. “Your cousin and my friend who told you to stay away from me got so sick of us acting like little kids around each other that he just – what, said ‘please date Matt’?”
“Bingo.”
This elicits a third groan from him, and he rolls over a little bit to sit back up. “You’re not serious.”
“Dead. Cross my heart. Swear it, all that stuff.”
When he falls back onto the bed like the drama queen you’ve always known he is, you follow. Matt re-opens his eyes to find you leaning over him. So he wraps his arms around you and pulls you down to lay on top of him, your faces just inches apart.
“Worry about it later?” he asks, distracted by your sudden proximity (as if it isn’t his doing).
A second passes, but you nod and lower your face to press your lips to his. Just like last time, it feels like breathing fresh air. It feels right.
Maybe it would escalate. Maybe you and Matt would realize that you’re not in a car and you have some space to move around a little, but your lovely baby cousin knocks something against the wall in his room next door and ruins the moment. When you separate, though, Matt still holds you close, his forehead meeting yours as you both catch your breath.
“Don’t make fun of me,” he mutters, making you open your eyes. When he continues his voice is breathy. “...but, wow.”
You feel a smirk spreading across your face before you can stop it.
“Hey, I said don’t make fun of me!”
Time passes without you getting into an argument with Matt. Not in front of the boys, not at all. But neither of you clarify what’s changed between the two of you either. So by day three of peace and quiet, some of them are understandably tense.
You and Matt are sitting out on the deck together during nap time when you hear the blinds hitting the other side of the door. The sound puts both of you on alert – making you look up from your book, Matt open his eyes from his half-nap.
“‘d you think it’s the guys?” he asks quietly, glancing back toward the house.
“Probably,” you shrug. “Made Jack promise not to meddle, but I doubt they can go this long without being nosy.” You look up at him over your book. “Not like there’s anything to tell, right? We’re kind of just… kissing. On occasion.”
He blinks slowly. “Yeah. I guess so.” Despite the agreement, his brows furrow. “And… you’re cool with just doing that?”
“If you are,” you respond. The air is growing heavy with the sudden awkwardness of trying to address whatever’s going on between you two now. Clearly, neither of you are the best at actually talking about your emotions, and that doesn’t seem like it’s going to change just because the feelings did.
Matt sits up, slow and lazy, reaching over to force you to lower your book.
“I don’t think I’m cool with that,” he says, voice quiet. “Sunshine, I’d like to actually date you. Take you out for dinner or something, make it kinda special and all that.”
“Make it special, huh?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.
His face reddens, but he nods. “Jack did ask you to date me, right? Not just ‘kiss me on occasion’?” He makes finger quotes as he reuses your words, then waits for your head to bob once in affirmation before standing. “Okay. Be ready at seven.”
And with that, he’s heading back inside. The situation reminds you a little bit of that night at the party. But better. This time, the fireworks in your stomach are mixed with butterflies instead of nausea. This time things are working out, you think.
Voices float out from the door when he opens it. Trevor, you recognize, and Luke. At least the two of them are converging on Matt inside, asking for clarification on why there’s no more fighting if you two aren’t officially a thing yet. Maybe Jack is there too. He’d probably be more defensive of you than your younger cousin, the ‘must defend her honor’ type. You hope for Matt’s sake that he’s still asleep or eating or doing literally anything else.
Trevor must somehow have a sixth sense for when things are happening between you and his old friend. Because as soon as you head up to your room to get ready for whatever’s being planned, he follows.
“So,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you as you start ruffling through your closet. “Matt asked me for restaurant recommendations tonight.”
“Okay?”
“C’mon, just admit that he’s finally really going after you. We all know how long he’s wanted to, and I’m pretty sure the last few days have put him as on edge as your cousins.”
His words make you frown. “Why are they worried? It has nothing to do with them.”
Trevor tsks, shaking his head dramatically. His hair falls into his face, so he has to brush it away. “Sunshine, Sunshine, Sunshine. Do you know what happened the last time you two were this quiet around each other, civil or otherwise?”
Even though you start to answer with a sigh, he cuts you off. “You went missing in the middle of a storm. Freaked out all of us pretty bad, especially your cousins and Matt.”
“He was freaked out?”
“Oh yeah. Went so quiet, just threw on a hoodie and headed out to find you without, like, a word to the rest of us. Almost like he knew where you were or something.” The way your friend answers makes it seem as if he doesn’t think too much of it, just knows that it indicates that Matt has feelings for you.
You, on the other hand, are struck by that last little admission. He did know where you were. Even that day in the rain, you’d had a feeling that he’d have found you even if you had stayed at the ice cream shop, but now you know.
And the warm fuzzy feeling grows in your chest until it’s spreading through the rest of your body, forcing you to hide your smile from Trevor behind the closet door.
“Did he tell you what we’re doing?” you question.
He nods.
“Can I know?”
He shakes his head. Heaving another deep sigh, you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Trevor, I at least need to know what to dress for. Can I have that much?”
“You’ll be moving around a little bit, but I’m pretty sure you can wear a skirt without worrying about it. Like, no jumping or anything crazy.”
“This- you make it sound so weird,” you comment, and Trevor just shrugs.
Still, you follow his advice even after you shoo him out of the room once more to really put something on. It keeps feeling strange – you’ve never dressed to get Matt’s attention before. You have no idea what he likes besides being pretty sure he likes you. But that’s not helpful.
There’s a knock on your door as soon as you’ve found your outfit, and you make the person wait until it’s on to enter. It turns out to be Jack.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he says casually, trying to hide the way his eyes widen when he sees your change of clothes. “Whatcha up to?”
“Going out tonight,” you say simply, because if Matt didn’t tell your cousins and friends then there must be a reason. “Why?”
“Just…be safe,” he replies. “Might be another storm coming in tonight. We really can’t have you getting sick. Mom would never forgive us.” You’re pretty sure he’s figured out that something is going on, but he’s just being sweet now.
You smile at him. “I will,” you promise him softly. “No more getting lost in bad weather, I understand.”
He looks like he might want to say something, but instead he just pulls you into a hug with a short nod. There he is, you think to yourself. This is the cousin that would insist upon walking your seven-year-old self down the aisle whenever you roped the boys into playing wedding with you. The one who promised to look after you forever because even if you would always be older, he’d get bigger and stronger.
So you squeeze him just that little bit tighter before you let go.
Matt isn’t in his room when you look, and he’s not in any of the common spaces. Eventually a confused Alex takes pity on you and directs you out to the driveway. You don’t see him by any of the cars, so you call his name.
“Hey!” he responds, popping up from the other side of his car. “You’re- um, you-” Tripping over his words, he has to take a moment to collect his thoughts before he can talk. “You look great, Sunshine.”
“Not so bad yourself,” you respond with an exaggerated wink. “What are you up to out here?”
Still seeming a little nervous, he gestures at his car. “Just… cleaning it up before you get back in. You know, since we’re going on an actual date and all.” The admission makes you smile. He keeps talking. “And, if you’re ready to go, we can head out. Starting to look like we might be on a bit of a time crunch with the weather and all.”
Matt gestures to the sky, rounding the car to open the passenger side door for you. He holds it open until you get there. At which point he promptly leaves you alone in the car to toss the garbage bag he’d been throwing his car trash in.
The ride to… wherever you’re going is awkward. Conversations are short, fading out quickly. Even though the two of you have managed to coexist peacefully for a little bit now, you still don’t really know how to interact with each other. Just be.
“So what are you gonna do now that you’ve graduated?” Matt asks at one point after being seated at the hole-in-the-wall, local secret pizzeria that he chose for dinner.
You shrug. “Look for jobs at home, I guess. Maybe around here, but that’d probably mean staying with Auntie Ellen for a bit and I’m not sure that would work.”
He nods in understanding. The conversation dies.
Later, you try starting something. “How do you think your team’s gonna be this season?”
“Well,” he says, brows furrowing in thought, “You always want to be better than you were, right? But with so many guys coming and going between seasons, it’s hard to know what kinda chemistry the lines will have on-ice.”
This time, you’re the one nodding like you get it. And you kinda do. But since you’re not a hockey player yourself, you don’t quite understand it at the same level as, say, anyone else at the lake house would.
Overall, dinner is pretty smooth, but the conversation doesn’t come easy. And the sky has definitely darkened prematurely since you went inside the place. Matt opens your door again, then the two of you are back in the car with only a Spotify playlist filling the air between you. The distinct awkwardness of the situation almost makes you giggle.
“We already know kind of a lot about each other, huh?” you think aloud, looking over to see his face bathed in the red of the brake lights in front of you. He smiles at you, hand reaching for yours over the console.
“Yeah,” he says, “I guess we do.”
There was more on your mind, but you cut yourself off with a little gasp as Matt pulls into a parking lot. The parking lot of a mini golf course, to be exact. His smile turns fond when you grab his arm excitedly with your free hand.
“Mini golf?” you half-ask, half-exclaim. “Matt!”
He shrugs bashfully. “I know you used to love it, and you probably haven’t gotten to do it much recently.”
“No,” you say happily, in agreement. Then your face turns to a pout. “All of y’all got too caught up in boring full-sized golf.” If it were even possible, you’d say that his smile only grows at your words. From pride, maybe, or endearment. “This is the best surprise date ever!” you continue, shaking his arm.
“I’m glad,” he chuckles, leaning over to gently touch his forehead to yours before leaving to help you out of the car.
The contrast between pizzeria and mini golf is stark. Playing a game brings out a competitive side in both of you, maybe the side that helped you form your strange bond in the first place. And each of you are fully convinced that you will come out victorious.
“Watch this!” you call to Matt before sending your brightly-colored ball into a tunnel that should shoot it out as a hole in one. He watches closely, and is very obviously trying not to laugh when it gets stuck in said tunnel and you have to ask if he’ll use his turn to help you out.
“Maybe next time, Sunshine,” he teases after the two of you free your ball, patting you on the back.
Though you try to glower at him, the expression doesn’t hold. It quickly dissolves into a grin and a giggle.
Surrounded by laughter and fake palm trees, the two of you manage to tie up the score by the sixteenth hole. Then something flashes in the distance. A low rumble follows, making some of the parents start herding their families to the exits immediately.
You exchange a look with Matt. “Keep going until they tell us to stop?” you ask, holding up a fist.
“Abso-freaking-lutely,” he answers, bumping his fist into yours.
Of course, the intercom chooses this exact moment to crackle to life and project a wobbly teenage voice commanding all guests to exit the course, but pick up a coupon for another free game on the way out due to the unfortunate weather-related circumstances.
Both you and Matt sigh, but have little choice other than to follow the instructions given.
“This sucks,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets along with the free game coupon. “We might not even get time to use this thing before it expires.”
“Hey,” you say, reaching to tug one of his hands into your own. “I still had fun tonight. Thank you.” He starts smiling at you just as the sky opens and the first raindrops start hitting your head and shoulders. An idea hits you. You let go of his hand, ignoring the offended look he shoots you. “Race you to the car!”
And he may have longer legs, but you have a headstart.
The clouds aren’t the only reason why the sky is dark when Matt pulls back into the driveway. There may have been another impromptu gas station stop, but you’d never admit to it. Glancing outside, you hesitate to get out of the car.
“C’mon, Sunshine, you’re already soaked,” Matt tries to urge you. “Let’s just get in there.” Your gaze redirects to him, a smirk spreading across your face, and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Silently, you start getting comfortable: unbuckling your seatbelt, leaning back in your seat, pulling out your phone. Your clothes just started feeling kind of dry again – why should you ruin it? It barely fazes you when the driver’s side door opens and closes. Then your door opens, and you jump a little.
Matt holds out a hand. “Are you coming inside with me or what?”
Sure, it’s no Prince Charming moment. But it’s your Matt. Only a second or so passes before you slip your phone into a pocket and slide off the seat until your feet hit the ground.
It’s still pouring out. There’s no way around that.
But the streetlights and the lanterns next to the front door are casting warm light over the pavement through the apparent wall of rain. Suddenly, you stop caring about the possibility of getting wet entirely.
Matt doesn’t flinch when you surge up to kiss him. He smiles into it, closing your car door for you and leaning down so you can wrap your arms around his neck. One of his hands finds your face in the semi-dark, his thumb moving back and forth, accidentally rubbing in the cold raindrops that fell there.
It doesn’t matter that you’re cold. It doesn’t matter that it’s after dark on a summer night. It doesn’t matter that your cousins and all of Matt’s friends are still awake, just inside.
All that matters is you and Matt, holding each other close in the face of everything else going on right now.
“Does this mean I win?” you ask cheekily when the two of you part.
The space between Matt’s brows crinkles for just a second before realization flashes across his face and he’s shaking his head. “Naw, Sunshine. If I’m here kissing you right now, I think it means I won.”
“Okay,” you murmur, stepping in closer to him so you’re almost completely in his space, “What’s your prize of choice then?”
“I have you, don’t I?”
You look up at him, eyes shining in the light like the puddles forming in the yard. “You mean that?”
Matt’s arms come down to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you even more into his chest and tucking your head under his chin. He’s about to say something else when a door opens and a voice calls into the night.
“Get in here, idiots! You’re gonna get hypothermia or whatever!”
Jack’s voice joins Cole’s. “You’re so gross! This is worse than when you were fighting!”
You and Matt exchange a look then burst out laughing. But you head into the house nonetheless, hand-in-hand, prepared to defend each other against the ruthless barrage of teasing all of your friends have prepared.
After all, only the two of you are allowed to antagonize each other.
what a privilege it is, to greet every new facet of you like an old friend [wj.53]
pairing: wyatt johnston x reader
nickname: coco
word count: 17.3k
summary: A month after your unforgettable time in Cabo, your long-lost vacation romance finds you again. But you were so sure it couldn't work between the two of you... right?
warnings: not at all realistic, brief angst, thomas harley x oc subplot
author's note: Here it is! Finally. Wyatt and Coco pt 2. It's been in the works since before the first part was posted, but I wanted to be completely and absolutely sure that I was doing their story justice before I released it. I hope y'all enjoy!!!
The bar and grill place is packed. The tv angled at your side of the table is displaying your city’s hockey team, currently losing to another team in yellow. You know the Kraken. That’s about all you need to know, right?
Your eyes are on the game – Wyatt’s game, to you – trying your best to understand the mechanics of it from a distance. Meanwhile, your friends are trying to get your attention. Carmen specifically.
“Coco!” she finally snaps. “You’re not paying attention. Where is your mind, hon?”
She didn’t have to ask. She knows. Even before you look at her, casting her the same mournful expression that had been pointed at the tv, she knows. So she sighs and moves on.
“This isn’t good for you, baby,” she tells you, softer now. Her hand finds yours on the table in between baskets of nachos and pretzel bites. “I know you really liked him, but you’ve gotta get over this hockey player or whatever he was.”
“Hockey player?” your other friend Romy repeats from her spot next to you. She was watching the game too – is the reason they turned it on that tv, in fact – but the word “hockey” caught her attention.
Across from you, your friend Lawton has been watching the game too, but on his phone. His eyes also make their way to you when Carm spills the beans.
“I don’t know if he plays or has played in what you watch, guys,” you tell them. They haven’t really heard the story about Cabo at all, just that you made a friend while you were there.
They exchange a glance. “Well, maybe just tell us what you do know about him,” Romy offers. “We don’t just follow the NHL. Maybe he could be in the AHL or the ECHL or something.”
“But he was off for the 4 Nations break,” Lawton interrupts. “How else would he have gone to Cabo?”
You shrug. It’s not like you would know any of that.
“What was his name again? I feel like I heard a story about Cabo with one of the NHL guys. I swear it, I’m not crazy,” Romy muses, voice rising to defend herself against the look she gets from Carmen. You’re pretty sure the look isn’t about her potential craziness, but more about enabling your craziness – the great romantic fantasy that had formed during your trip.
“Um, Wyatt?” you tell her meekly.
Lawton snaps his fingers. “What was he calling that friend of his?”
“Tom,” you say, “but I don’t see how that-”
You’re going to say that you don’t understand how that’s important, but Romy interrupts you with a triumphant exclamation.
“Johnston! I’ve got it,” she shows you her phone screen, on which she’d been typing furiously a minute ago.
And it’s him. There’s Wyatt, looking up at someone offscreen, green hat on his head in front of some black background. But it is unmistakably the boy you fell for over the course of a few days in Mexico a couple of weeks ago.
Your friends can tell from your reaction alone.
“The teammate must be Harley,” you overhear Lawton telling Romy, as well as Carmen asking why they had to go and find the guy for you.
“He plays for the Dallas Stars,” Romy leans in to tell you. “This is from after his first practice when he got back from Cabo. His friend Tom – Harls-,” she corrects herself, even though you obviously didn’t tell her that you saw that nickname on Wyatt’s phone. “-he was playing in the 4 Nations Face Off. It was awesome.”
The information was meant to make you feel better, but it just hurts to look at him. You turn away.
“I don’t think I wanna see it, Roms,” you tell your friend. You resolve to stick to that decision.
“Coco, he’s being asked about Cabo in this clip,” she tells you softly. “What if he says something? Did you guys have a code for wanting to see each other again, or anything?”
So you take the phone from her, bringing it close to you and turning up the volume because even though you didn’t make a code, you want to know. You have to hear this. Carmen is scolding your other friends some more, but the noise fades into the background as Wyatt’s video steals your attention.
You watch him tell everyone about how his buddy got called away, how he found out. And you hear an interviewer asking if he ended up taking a “solo trip.” The smile that blooms on his face both makes you smile and tear up.
“Oh, god,” you hear Carmen say, smacking someone on the shoulder who you assume to be Lawton. “Look what the two of you did. Now she’s crying.”
Despite feeling all three sets of eyes on you, you keep watching.
“I wasn’t alone,” you hear him tell the interviewer, not clarifying any further and turning the topic back to his teammate.
Somehow, you feel as if you’re reading his thoughts from during the video. You see the same memories flashing before your eyes that he must have been rewatching, because he isn’t making a lot of proper eye contact for the video.
He makes it a point to not say a whole lot about the trip, and it strikes some chord of gratitude in you. You did post about Cabo, afterward – nothing big, no recognizable signs of Wyatt – and you would rather not have a horde of NHL fans finding you to be an easy target.
There’s still two minutes left in the video, but you turn the phone off and hand it back to Romy.
“You don’t-” she starts questioning, but you shake your head. You’re done.
Carmen reaches for your hands again. You pull them back, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Honestly, you can’t say whether seeing that video is for the better or not. Part of you already wishes you could take it back, that you would never figure out who Wyatt really is. Not all of your friends seem to understand this.
“The Stars are spending, like, a whole weekend here at the end of this month,” Lawton informs you, showing you the Kraken schedule already pulled up on his phone. “They’re going to play two games against us.”
You don’t miss Carmen’s concerned glance before you cast your gaze back down at the drink in front of you. She knows before you do that you’re going to pick it up and finish it, and you do. Nobody stops you from getting up and heading for the bar, either. Romy does follow, but that might only be to save herself from Carm’s lecture.
“We can try to get tickets to one of their games?” she offers you a weak smile. “My girlfriend’s got some connections in the front office, there might be some seats available behind the visitors’ bench-”
“I’m not going to try anything, Roms,” you tell her as you receive your drink. “Nothing can happen between us. I mean, are you kidding?” Your tone is flippant, but she can see the hurt in your eyes. “Me? And him? That’s so unrealistic.”
As you lead her back to the table, you see Carmen flip her phone to lay face-down on the table. She must be planning something with her situationship tonight, you assume. They don’t usually hang out on Thursday nights, but whatever. You’ve stressed her out enough for her to have earned it.
Lawton, though, is fidgety. He’s done something.
Somehow, you’re all out of energy to deal with it. He types something out, and then Romy’s phone buzzes. She picks it up and turns it away from you while she reads. Still, her eyes widen. You decide you’re done with the antics for now.
“Okay,” you announce, slapping your hand on the table. “I’m going home. You guys enjoy the rest of your Thirsty Thursday deals. I can’t take this anymore. Goodnight, everyone.”
Carmen is ready to go too, so she catches an Uber with you back to your building so she can walk the block over to hers. She hugs you goodnight before she goes.
“Remember,” she whispers, hand firm on your shoulder. “You are strong and independent, and you don’t need a man, nor do you need to be devastated by the impossibility of one being good enough for you.”
“Thanks, Carm,” you tell her, reaching up and squeezing her hand before she lets you get in the elevator. “I needed that.”
You try to smile at her in a way that’s reassuring, but as the doors close between you, you know she isn’t taking the bait. You didn’t take hers either. No, you don’t need a relationship to be happy. That much is obvious.
Still, you were so close to one, and it felt so real and perfect. It wasn’t impossible. Not in Cabo. The pain comes from the loss, not the impossibility of replacing what was there. You’re fairly sure even she knows better than that.
You make it a point to hide Wyatt’s shirt, still protectively wrapped in a plastic bag. Somewhere in the upper back of your closet where you’ll have trouble reaching it. And you fall asleep holding a pillow that unfortunately only smells like your laundry detergent instead of cologne.
“No, Carm, I swear I’m not coming out the whole weekend!” you tell her over the phone with less than a week to go until the aforementioned dates.
To most people, it’s going to be a fun, competitive weekend at the end of the season. Or at least that’s what Romy and Lawton are telling you. For you, it’s hibernation time. You’re working from home on Friday instead of going into the office. You will be fully stocking up on snacks today. Much to Lawton’s dismay, you went as far as logging out of his ESPN+ account on your tv.
Any mentions of hockey around you are banned. Carmen sighs, because that makes it near-impossible for her to tell you just how ridiculous this is.
“Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by with some food. Will I be allowed in then? Is that okay?” she asks, and her tone screams sarcasm.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thank you.”
Your clear resignation is enough to give her pause.
“Honey-” she starts.
“I’m not sure I want to hear this, Carm,” you tell her, only half-teasing. She sighs, again, before continuing.
“You will recover from this.” She’s said this a lot recently. You have trouble finding it in yourself to really trust her on that. “Whether something in the universe brings the two of you back together someday or not, it won’t hurt forever. Not like this. Not so bad. I promise.”
You’re not sure whether she’s urging you to recover or herself to actually mean it, is a big part of the problem.
“Sure, Carm,” you respond, trying to be polite but not really entirely checked into the conversation anymore. “Time heals all wounds, right?”
“Right.” It’s just what she wanted to hear, but both of you know that you’re not paying attention at this point. So she sounds pretty defeated. “Just… hang in there, baby. I’ll ask for your order somewhere when I can. And please let me know if you need anything else.”
“I will. Thank you,” and that’s all you give her before the two of you are saying goodbyes.
You add another snack to your grocery list before you slip your phone back into your pocket and head into the office. It’s going to be a long week, you think to yourself only somewhat reassuringly as the workday begins.
Hibernation weekend is off to a great start. You’re participating in a little spring cleaning, which you’ve avoided for a long time. Nostalgic movies and shows play in the background. You can hear them even as you scrub out your shower.
The purpose of your cleaning remains unknown even to you. Is it for a visitor? A new perspective on life? Who knows, you decide when you get to your little kitchen area. It’s helping you avoid your city’s weekend visitors, and it’s making you feel better.
Your closet gives you pause. Because that’s when you find what you hid after the trip – your ornament, Wyatt’s shirt. Maybe, you realize, you don’t need to be hiding from everything. Maybe you can acknowledge that you had a wonderful, special time with a person who became very dear to you, without letting yourself drown in the undertow of how it had to end.
It’s not all about the loss. Sometimes it’s just supposed to be about the love.
So your more whimsical, potentially delusional side wins out. You throw on the tie-dye shirt, which is big enough to periodically slip off one shoulder or the other, and keep cleaning.
That first night of the hibernation weekend, you fall asleep on the couch midway through a rerun of an old rom-com.
Upon waking the next morning, a little later than planned, you find that you’ve left the tv on and your load of laundry in the washer to maybe rot overnight. You scramble to sniff it and throw it in the dryer before the rot gets to it as if those few minutes will make all the difference.
Only then do you take care of yourself – brush teeth, fix hair, all of it. Since you won’t be going out at all, you dismiss the part of you that questions why you aren’t having an everything shower even though it’s about time for one. No need, no effort.
Despite that, you take a little extra care of yourself getting out of the shower.
For some reason or another, you still end up in Wyatt’s shirt and a pair of old sweatpants. You’re folding that load of laundry when you think someone knocks on the door. It’s a little earlier than Carmen likes to be up and out of the house, but who are you to hold a schedule change against her?
You pause the sitcom on the tv. The person knocks again, and something swirls in your gut – dread, maybe, because Carmen has her own key and the knock is too heavy. If it is her, well, something is very wrong.
So you creep over to the door and swing it wide open. You’re not entirely sure what your plan is, but you know that it’s going to startle whoever is on the other side. Except you end up being the one startled.
Because Wyatt is on the other side. Wyatt Johnston, of the Dallas Stars. Your Wyatt from Cabo.
One hand was up in the air to knock on your door a third time – maybe you should’ve waited for the charm – but he shoves it in his front pocket like his other hand. Watching you. Waiting. You’re not quite sure what for, but there’s something in his face right now that just screams relief despite how crazily you answered.
You thought you had seen the last of him in person, and you sure tried to make that a reality, but the moment his eyes meet yours something in you snaps. Maybe it starts melting. You’re not sure – your body is hot and cold all over, fingers tingling.
It’s like a firework, you decide as you breathe out his name to make sure he’s real.
“Wyatt?”
The corners of his lips quirk up at the sound of his name in your voice. He forces them back down, but there was a smile for a second there. You know you saw it.
“Hi. Is it okay if I come in?”
As if commanded by his gentle question, you step to the side instantly. You come to your senses after a second and start ushering him in, glancing around the hallway to make sure nobody’s seen the famous professional hockey player outside of your apartment like it’s for an average Sunday brunch.
When you turn around to close the door behind you, you find Wyatt marveling at your apartment. He examines the way the kitchen transitions into the living room, the doors off to each side that lead to your bathroom and bedroom. You realize that the bedroom door is open and the floor is still messy from your closet-cleaning yesterday. Wyatt doesn’t seem to care.
He points at the living room window, the corner across from your beanbag.
“That’s where your Christmas tree was set up,” he reminds you, sounding almost… in awe, if you had to put a word to it.
“Yeah,” you agree, voice soft. “That’s the only place it would fit.” You wait a few seconds before delivering the punchline. “At least, without me nearly crashing into it every morning that I was running late.”
The way he finally turns to look at you again just to smile is so painfully familiar, you start to wonder why you thought the two of you wouldn’t make sense together outside of Mexico. Because even now you could probably recognize him anywhere.
“I love that,” he tells you. “I… I’m sorry for just showing up like this. I didn’t know how to reach out, and a letter didn’t feel right.”
“How did you even get my address?” you question. Sure, he could have friends that have stalking skills like yours. And the image of a bunch of hockey players sitting around a coffee table – in all their padding, of course – trying to locate a singular girl on Instagram makes you giggle. But something about him tells you that’s not quite how it went down.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opening it up to Instagram. But it’s not a post, it’s the private messages. You can’t even tell if he’s accepted this one, but the person sent him a single word before your address. All it says is “Coco”.
You reach for the phone and he lets you have it without a second thought. The date it was sent is the same night that you realized who Wyatt was, what would be bringing him here this weekend. And the username is one you know very well, have tagged in a number of posts and sent a great number more to.
But it’s not Lawton, like you thought. It was Carmen.
“And you just… trusted this random information?” you ask, looking back up at him when you hand the phone back.
He shrugs, lips still pursing and twisting slightly in an effort not to grin. He’s excited about something. “I checked out her page. I saw that she was friends with you, and I noticed the mug I picked out in one of her posts. Harls and I thought it was pretty legit.”
“Harls…,” you trail off, remembering this little detail. “That’s Tom… Thomas?”
Wyatt nods, slowly. The two of you just stand there for a minute, trying to figure out how much the other knows now. A lot can change in a month.
Obviously, though, the most glaring question to you is: why did he show up at your apartment this weekend?
“Do you want a drink?” you ask instead, taking a couple of steps toward the kitchen like this might defuse the tension.
“I’m okay, but thank you.” Mission unsuccessful.
“Would you maybe want to sit down? I feel like there’s a big conversation to be had here,” you half-joke in a second attempt.
Wyatt follows your lead, taking the couch while you shift your armchair to face it before you sit. It feels like here, the two of you could easily sit in silence forever. He’s just enjoying observing you in your natural habitat.
“I don’t want to be rude in saying this,” you start, crossing your legs and resting your hands almost delicately on top of them, “But since you’re the one who showed up here out of the blue, I’d like to ask that you do the talking part first.”
“That makes sense,” Wyatt agrees, shifting closer to you on the couch. “I… well, I missed you. After Cabo. I think now that letting you leave without trying to pursue something was a mistake. It wasn’t ever just the place that was special, it was always the person that I shared it with. You were the special part to me.” He pauses for a minute, looking away from you to consider his next words. Which you’re thankful for, because his words have brought tears to your eyes.
“Wyatt-” you start when you think he’s decided that he doesn’t have anything else to say. He holds up a finger.
“One more minute. Please. I know you could just call me crazy and ask me to leave right now, if that’s what you really wanted, but I don’t think that’s what you want either. You’re special to me, Coco, and I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since you walked out of my room that last morning. I’ve never liked sleeping so much because it’s been the only place I got to see you again.” He takes a deep breath. “I know I’m laying all my cards on the table here, and it might sound completely insane, but I’d like to try us… outside of Cabo.”
You blink. This isn’t real, right? This can’t be real. Wyatt Johnston, your Wyatt, is not in your apartment confessing to you.
Except the suspected specter reaches forward and takes one of your hands in his, big blue eyes shining in a way that makes you think you might not be the only one who wants to cry. You are the one who’s sniffling, though.
“Wyatt,” you say, tears really breaking through now, “You really want this-” your hand waves in front of your face, indicating the tears and maybe snot there. “-all this mess? In real life, outside of a few days in Mexico?”
“I do.”
And you love the solid way he says it. How sure he sounds. But what you’re unsure of is if he’s considered how this is really going to work out. Neither of you are in Cabo anymore – you work full-time in Seattle, he spends most of the year in Dallas and probably the rest in Toronto.
“How will that even work?” you ask.
“We’ll make it work,” he answers. “I know how to travel. If you have time and you want to, I’ll fly you out to Dallas and show you around. Nothing has to be set in stone right now.” His voice turns almost pleading. “Coco, life changed when I met you. I’ve tried living it without you since, and I hated it.”
You did too. You tell him so. Wyatt squeezes your hand, gently, in response.
“We’ll make it work?” you repeat his words back to him as a question, meeting his eyes. He nods. It seems that he senses your change in attitude about it, because the corners of his mouth loosen from the half-pout that they were forming. “Where do we start?”
“Well, I’d like to have a date while we’re both here – an official one,” he corrects himself, adding, “If you count all those instances in Cabo.”
Thinking back on that fateful trip, you realize you do count parts of those days as dates. Dinner, usually. Breakfast and dragging him to the mall on Valentine’s Day. The entire day trip to Todos Santos. Both of you had expressed sentiments to the contrary, but those were definitely dates.
“You want to go out on an official date?” you question, watching his eyes brighten.
He opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by your door bursting open. You hadn’t even noticed the sound of the key turning in the door.
“Coco! I’m so sorry I’m this late, I-” Carmen is rambling as she enters. “-there was this guy in your lobby with flowers-” She cuts herself off again with a squeak when she notices your guest. “Oh.” Nearly dropping the bag she’s carrying in shock, she instead opts to set the bag on your counter and start backing out of the apartment. “I’m so sorry. Don’t let me interrupt here.”
Then she’s gone as quickly as she had come, door closing in a flurry of apologies.
“That’s the one who sent me your address?” Wyatt asks.
“The one and only,” you tell him, smiling fondly. “That’s Carmen.”
He leans in, cupping his hand around his mouth to loudly whisper in your direction. “Harls thought she was really cute. I hope he was the guy she’s talking about.”
“He’s hanging out in my lobby?” you question, trying not to laugh.
Wyatt gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Just in case you weren’t here, or this didn’t go according to plan.”
“And he has flowers?” you continue. He nods. You lean over, tapping his phone on his leg. “Quick, tell him to give them to Carmen.” While he does listen to you, he raises a curious eyebrow. So you let him in on a not-so-secret. “She wouldn’t have been so flustered mentioning him if she didn’t think he was cute too.”
“Done,” he tells you, putting his phone back in his pocket. “I hope it works out.”
The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a minute, satisfied with your matchmaking skills. Or attempt, at least. Then you remember that the two of you were in the middle of a different conversation before Carmen and Harley became the topic.
“So…,” you start, “A date?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt agrees. “We can stay here, we can go out, I just have to be back at the hotel by nine.”
“You leaning any certain way?”
He scratches the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “I have some ideas if you wanna go out, maybe.”
This catches you off guard. Not only did he take his few hours of free time on the road trip (because you know from Romy and Lawton that hockey players have very little free time during the season) to show up at your door and practically beg you for a date (mostly unneccessary; you were hooked as soon as he said he missed you), but he made plans to take you out. Just in case.
“Can’t waste all that effort than, can I?” you tease him. “Mind if I go get changed first? I’m still in spring cleaning clothes.”
“I think you look beautiful,” Wyatt tells you, “But whatever makes you comfortable. It’ll be outside for a while, if that’s okay?”
You nod, just happy that he took the initiative of making plans. Cabo may not have been the best representation of your everyday personalities, but you got used to being the planner. It’s a pleasant surprise.
“I’ll be right back,” you let him know as you start heading toward your room, giving his hand one last squeeze.
“I’ll be right here,” he responds. As light as it sounds, you know it’s a promise.
Harls isn’t in your lobby by the time you get there, but Wyatt hasn’t checked his phone to know where his friend actually is and you’re not going to push him to do it. You’re still curious though.
The two of you swing by a cafe you’ve been recommended but haven’t visited for drinks (yours being a hot chocolate just in case it’s too cold out) before your date drives his rental car to your main destination. Which turns out to be the arboretum.
“I’ve heard the blossoming trees are beautiful this time of year,” he explains, opening your door for you.
“Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?” you ask, amused.
He shrugs. “Around.” The answer is vague and you know it’s supposed to be. He probably heard it from a local player whose relationship isn’t public or something. Lawton might know, but obviously you wouldn’t.
So the two of you walk around, just talking. Asking for updates or clarification on each other’s lives that you hadn’t gotten in or since Cabo. He tells you about his favorite teammates, who’s played mentor to him and now who he’s playing mentor to. You learn that there was a brief period earlier in the month where his friends were letting him win the ongoing ping-pong tournament because he had been so mopey since the trip.
And you make (loving) fun of your friends, their scramble to help you get tickets when you all realized exactly who he is and who he plays for. You go a little bit harder on Carmen’s “recovery” methods. But it’s still all in good fun. He gets you to admit that you’d been hiding from him and his team this weekend.
“I can’t believe you-” he’s saying when you shush him, waving your hands wildly to stop his words.
You point frantically, almost cartoonishly, down the path. His eyes follow your finger to two familiar figures. Then they widen. The two of you turn around and head the other way as fast as you can, making it only about a minute before bursting into laughter.
“That jerk!” Wyatt exclaims in fake exasperation. “I can’t believe he stole my date idea after helping me plan it!”
You giggle too. “Never in my life did I think I’d see Carmen going out with a guy she knows lives halfway across the country. She’s kinda the queen of realism.”
“Maybe they caught the crazy from us,” your date offers, holding up your entwined hands. “By the way, since it seems like we need to get out of here, do you like Vietnamese?”
In case you need to avoid Carmen and Harley (since they both like it too and Harley very much did point out the restaurant when Wyatt was looking at places near the arboretum), you head back to your apartment. It’s more private, anyway, and though he doesn’t say it you know Wyatt wants to get to know your home better.
Just like he wants to know you, which is still a little unbelievable.
“I’ve had the best time with you today,” he says during the last hug before he has to get going. “It’s been more than I dreamed, honestly.” There’s a gushiness, a note of disbelief in his voice that you know all too well.
“We’ll make some plans to see each other again when the hockey season is over, right?” you ask, letting him press you to his chest. You’re going to miss his smell, his warmth. At least this time you know you’ll experience it again.
“As soon as,” he tells you like a promise. “I swear it. And maybe we can try to get you out to a game nearby?” The question is hopeful.
You laugh a little, stepping back to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to understand a single second of it, but if you want me there and it’s within reason I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll even buy your ticket,” he offers. “Will probably play the best game of my life, too.”
“Just for lil’ old me?” you tease him, reaching up and linking your arms behind his neck, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s a little shorter than it was in Cabo.
Wyatt leans down, pressing his forehead to yours softly. “Of course for you,” he murmurs. “‘d do a lot of crazy stuff for you, if you haven’t caught on already.”
It isn’t really a secret at this point, but you blush at his words anyway. And you duck your head to nod into his chest so he knows you know – and that you appreciate it.
“Hey, come back here.” Then one of his hands is reaching under your chin to lift your face right back up to look at him. He’s still pouting, even though he can see you once more. His eyes flicker down to your lips. “Coco, can I-”
You cut him off, already nodding. It’s obvious what he wants. And you want it too.
Leaning down slowly, Wyatt’s lips meet yours for technically only the second time. The fluttering in your stomach is new – last time there was such a heavy sense of “now or never” that you couldn’t appreciate the feeling. But here, now, you lean into it.
His lips are a little chapped, probably from how often he’s on ice. He’s shaking a little bit. You only hear it when he parts from you to exhale.
“Wanted to do that so bad for so long,” he tells you, shaking his head a little bit. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I think I would,” you tell him, using your linked arms to tug him back down to your level.
He kisses you again and again before either of you muster the willpower to get him out the door. And when he texts you to let you know he’s gotten back to the hotel safely, he makes sure to add that his coach “was NOT happy” until he saw how happy Wyatt was. Even then, he was neutral at best.
Especially since Wyatt’s roommate Harls got in even later than he did.
You aren’t sure what to tell your friends after that weekend, and you know Carmen isn’t either. Neither of you are sharing. What you can say is that you have an open line of communication with Wyatt. So it wouldn’t be that hard to ask him what you are, right?
There are plenty of oddly-timed phone calls after games and during lunch breaks where you think you might have the opportunity. Somehow, though, this thing between you still feels too fragile to question it.
So you resign yourself to daily texts and phone calls on alternating days. You wait patiently for Carm to open up to you about Wyatt’s friend, but she doesn’t. She just keeps looking at her phone as if waiting for something to appear on the screen. It is both sad and completely unlike the friend you know and love.
Wyatt brings it up one night on a call before you can. All by himself. His emotional depth is something that you hadn’t gotten to really experience in Cabo, but remains pleasantly surprising.
“Do you know what’s going on with Harls and Carmen?”
“No,” you say, eyes widening. “I have no idea, I was going to ask you!”
He smiles. It’s just a voice call, but you can tell he’s smiling in his hotel room in Detroit. “Well, we know they went on a date, right?”
“And that they enjoyed each other’s company enough for him to risk getting in trouble by getting back to the hotel after curfew,” you continue for him. “I know Carmen’s been looking at her phone a lot like they exchanged numbers, but it doesn’t seem to be producing much for her.”
You hear a sigh on the other end of the line.
“Harls has really been pushing himself since we got back from your town,” Wyatt tells you, sounding kind of sad about it. Picturing the smile falling from his face, you wait for him to continue. “Kinda throwing himself into training and stuff, if that makes sense? Like he’s trying to avoid his feelings?”
“Sounds like you’ve been able to relate before,” you note aloud. “But I guess… that makes sense for them?”
He said he was sitting on the bed, so when you hear shifting it makes sense. Then it gets muted. You stay quiet in case your… actually, you don’t know what he is to you for certain, but you just keep your mouth shut so he doesn’t get in trouble. No matter who he is.
When he comes back, he’s talking low.
“Coco, I’m so sorry. He came back early from the gym. He’s showering now, but I should probably let you go to be a good roommate.” The sadness is evident in his voice.
“I understand, Wyatt. That’s completely ok. I guess this is goodnight then?”
“Yeah,” he answers, sounding every bit like a kicked puppy. “I’m gonna miss talking to you this often when life gets playoff-crazy.”
The realization hits you when he says it – another thing that Romy and Lawton have mentioned when trying to get you into hockey. Their playoff games are difficult and in quick succession, back-and-forth between each team’s home ice.
“I’ll miss talking to you too. But at least this time, we’ll still be able to text and see if there is time for a call,” you point out. “Which is significantly better than it used to be.”
You hear a muffled snort. “Yeah, we really are doing better now, huh?” He pauses. You think you hear something like a door opening in the background, so you know he really needs to hang up now. His voice gets even lower. “Well, goodnight, Coco.”
“Goodnight, Wyatt,” you tell him, hoping he can hear your feelings for him in your tone. “Talk to you soon.”
Thus the call ends, with no real answers for either of you but growing concern for your beloved friends who helped send the two of you back to each other.
Playoff season is hard. Wyatt’s team goes pretty far but doesn’t make it to the championship round, a frustrating and apparently repeated occurrence. Some guys aren’t coming back after this season. He calls it “free agency” when he tells you about them leaving.
On top of all that, there’s less time to text, call, send pictures, anything. You get lucky – work picks up a little bit for whatever reason, so dealing with that takes a lot of your time. Even better, it earns you some vacation days that you might have a good reason to use when all the craziness is over.
Your friends, too, are swept up in life’s general craziness. Carmen starts to perk up again after a while. According to reports, Harls is completely distracted with playoffs. Wyatt jokes that it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a girlfriend this season, or else he’d be losing her this season. You giggle at the joke. Quietly, though, you wonder if that’s why he and Carmen seemingly didn’t work out. Or if it’s going to happen to you.
Eventually, the craziness dies down. Hockey season is over. Before he leaves Dallas, Wyatt offers to fly you down for a long weekend so you can get to know his “hometown” like he kind of did yours. You take him up on it.
The airport is bigger than you thought, even though you sized it up in your head to match Texas. Crowds are crazy. Still, there’s a sign labeled “Coco” past the luggage carousels.
“Wyatt!” you try to call over the noise, unsure that he sees you amongst everyone else.
Someone moves in front of you, blocking your view of him before you can see his response. You duck and weave a little closer. The small carry-on suitcase you brought is becoming such a hindrance as you try to avoid the many legs around you in your hurry.
Then the crowd clears, and you can see his smile, bright as day.
“Wyatt!” you call again, louder, speeding up.
“Coco!” he responds, dropping the sign and opening his arms for you.
You let go of the suitcase when you reach him, allowing your momentum to propel you forward into him. And he catches you. His arms latch securely around you, spinning you around in a tight hug that’s even better than all those romance movies made it seem.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says as the spin slows, even before your feet are back on the ground. One hand leaves your body to grab the handle of your suitcase.
“Happy to be here,” you respond. Neither of you look away from each other.
For once, you know exactly how much time you have with him – you fly back to Seattle on Monday morning – and there’s a reassurance in that. More familiar still is the silent but constant ticking in the back of your mind. It keeps track of how much time is left until you have to go again. Until the two of you let each other go once more.
His eyes follow the line of your nose down to your mouth and linger for only a second or two before he catches himself and corrects it.
“Um,” he asks, a little awkward. “You wanna… get out of here?”
He tightens his grip on your suitcase, taking your hand in his and leading you out into the light of the afternoon. Dallas is much warmer than Seattle right now. He was the overdressed one on your first day in Cabo, but today the roles have reversed. You let go of his hand for only a moment to peel off your sweatshirt.
He pouts at you. “I don’t get to have that very often, so can I have it back please?”
You grin as you finish tying it around your waist, sliding your hand back into his.
“There, is that better?”
“Yeah, but we’re already here,” he teases, swinging your hands between you and nodding to the baby blue car in front of you. His smile is proud. He definitely loves this car, though you didn’t take him for much of a car person.
“It matches your eyes,” you tell him. “Pretty.”
And you get exactly the reaction you want. His face starts turning pink, eyes mostly disappearing with his smile as he ducks his head. It’s easy for him to avoid your eyes as he opens the passenger door for you.
Gentlemanly as ever, he waits for you to get all the way in before handing the door over to you so he isn’t shutting it too hard. And when he gets back in the car, he turns to face you even before turning it on.
“Can I-” he starts nervously.
“Please.”
Wyatt is a good listener. He leans over the center console, one hand rising to cup your cheek sweetly while his mouth lands on yours. His lips are far less chapped now than they were in March. The kiss is less desperate than the kisses were then, less hesitant than it was in February, but you think you’re probably getting the most out of this one.
You don’t let him go until he’s kissed you breathless.
“Missed that mouth of yours,” you tease him when the two of you finally part.
Red-faced, he rolls his eyes while buckling up and starting the car. It doesn’t move an inch until you’ve buckled your own seatbelt. Then he’s placing one hand on your headrest to reverse out of his parking spot, and you have to fight the urge to fan your face.
“Missed yours too,” he replies eventually, eyes flicking downward from yours while you wait for the person in front of you to pay their parking fee.
All you can really do in response is giggle.
Wyatt spends most of the weekend showing you around Dallas. He drags you to his favorite gym, talks up all the good qualities of his town. He introduces you to a couple of his friends at a bar one night, including a couple that were involved in the ping-pong tournament in his apartment. They’re funny and chill, and you like seeing your… vacation-mate in his element with them.
Harls, unfortunately, is amongst the majority of Wyatt’s teammates and skipped town as soon as he could. But his friend is determined to give you the best experience possible here, so he shows you everything he can anyway. It’s fun. It’s a little bit tiring. Still you let him drive you around what feels like the entirety of Dallas.
On your last night, though, you stay in. Wyatt grabs takeout from a place near his apartment and you ride along just to spend the time with him.
“Here we are,” he says upon arrival at his building. “Home sweet home again.”
You chuckle, but it’s a bit on edge. There’s something in the air tonight that hasn’t been around for most of the trip. Part of you wonders if he’s about to end it. He seems nervous.
“Everything okay?” you ask him in the elevator.
“Yeah! Yeah, everything’s great,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry. I’m just gonna miss you.”
Smiling, you reach over and squeeze his arm since his hands are busy. “I’m gonna miss you too. But we’ll take some time to see each other again before the season starts, right?”
He takes a deep breath, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll figure it out. Maybe get all the specifics a little bit later though.”
It’s not the most reassuring thing you’ve heard. But you let it go and try to enjoy your dinner on the couch together, some comedy show on in the background. The living room is mostly quiet save for the laugh tracks.
Eventually, Wyatt sets down his food and turns to you.
“Coco,” he starts, “I feel like we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over all our time together.” There’s a pause. When he doesn’t continue, you nod and set down your own food. He goes on. “And I’ve enjoyed every moment I’ve had with you, even when I’ve been sad because I knew our time was about to end.”
“I have too. Should I be nervous?” you try to joke, but your breath really is catching in your throat.
He shakes his head. His eyes find yours, but they’re a little glassy.
“And I know we never really established what was okay to say, who we can talk to and about what,” he says, “but I haven’t been able to keep myself from mentioning you at all. Everyone who knows me knows that I’m crazy about you and have been since the first time we met. I think you probably heard a little bit about that the other night.” Wyatt pauses again, but you don’t try to fill the silence this time. You let him speak. “I know this isn’t how stuff normally goes, but we haven’t done any of this normally.”
The buildup is working. With every word, he sets another butterfly loose in your stomach. You reach over and take one of his hands since you’re sure now that you’re not about to lose him again.
“Coco, you are so special to me. I like being an ‘us,’ together. Will you please be my girlfriend?”
You nod, moving over the little bit of couch between you to pull him close. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck. A sniffle rises to your ear.
“Baby,” you try to pull away to look at his face, “Why are you crying?”
He doesn’t budge from his spot, but does answer. You feel him shake his head a little bit. “Just… thought for a while that I wouldn’t be able to have this. Even when I’d seen you again, I just didn’t know if we could make it work over the distance.”
“We’ll make it work,” you reassure him, even though his tears are more out of relief than pain. “Because you’re special to me too. You – this, all of it – is the best risk I’ve ever taken.”
Wyatt sighs happily, sinking into you more fully than he ever has. Completely at peace. You wish you could hold him like this forever.
Unfortunately, the two of you wake up in a panic the next morning in order to get you back to the airport in time for your flight. Wyatt gives you a lingering hug and kiss that are over too fast, but you can’t resist smiling as you walk away.
“Goodbye, boyfriend,” you tell him. “I’ll see you again!”
“See you soon, girlfriend,” he responds, tugging you back in for one more kiss. “Text me when you’ve landed. I wanna know you’re safe.”
Not much changes upon your return to Seattle, but things remain more. More flirty. More giggly. More solid, or so it feels. When you finally share the relationship status update with Carmen, she rolls her eyes at you (but still flashes a grin).
Puppy love, she calls it. Says it’s probably how the two of you looked to everyone else in Cabo, too.
“I’m glad it worked out for you two crazy kids,” she adds. “Seems to be pretty rare nowadays.”
“Oh yeah!” you remember. “Didn’t you go out with his friend? Thomas? Harls?”
She waves you off with one hand. “Don’t worry about it. Really isn’t a big deal, and if I ever decide it is… well, I guess I’ll let you know.”
Her answer is odd. So much so that you bring it up to Wyatt later that same night while you’re on a call.
“Carmen said something kinda weird about Thomas today,” you mention, trying to sound casual.
“Oh yeah?” your boyfriend prompts.
Examining your nails to keep up the charade of nonchalance, you continue. “She said it ‘really wasn’t a big deal,’ kind of brushed me off about it. Has he ever talked to you about it at all?”
“We don’t… really talk about that stuff too much, if I’m honest. I guess I could ask?”
“Only if you want to,” you tell him earnestly, preparing to let it go. “I just thought it was a little strange, you know? She normally tells me everything.” Your words trail off as you realize the gravity of what you’ve said.
Carmen, your best friend in Seattle if not the world, isn’t telling you something. Which means something is deeply wrong. You’ve told each other everything – from gross to embarrassing to downright horrifying – since you met upon your arrival in town. And you never expected a guy, one halfway across the country nonetheless, to change that.
Wyatt notices how your mood shifts.
“It’ll be okay, Coco,” he murmurs. “I’m sure she’s just working through it herself, and when she’s ready, she’ll tell you. You’re a good friend. She probably knows that better than anyone.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “I hope she does.”
The phone call doesn’t last too long after that. You bid your boyfriend goodbye and goodnight and wish that he has fun with his hometown family and friends the next day if you don’t get to talk to him. You bring up the idea of meeting somewhere for a short vacation not long before the season starts. He thinks it sounds like a great idea.
Which is how you find yourself in hot, crowded Los Angeles in late August, trying to avoid overpriced tourist traps as you walk down the street hand-in-hand with Wyatt. He leans down to talk in your ear.
“I think I still like Todos Santos better,” he whispers loudly, squeezing your hand. “Even if I couldn’t really call you mine at the time.”
You grin up at him, squeezing his hand in response.
Just like your time in Dallas, the trip flies by. The two of you get maybe two nights together, sharing the same bed in a hotel room that’s not familiar at all, and somehow it still feels like home. You worry for a moment when you make the observation out loud that Wyatt might not feel the same, but the words that fall out of his mouth only serve to reassure you further that it’s all right.
“I love you,” he says, eyes wide as if he didn’t mean for it to be audible.
“Oh?” you ask, offering him a chance to take it back. He doesn’t take the bait.
He just nods. “Yeah. I love you.” And he sounds more sure of it this time, sound in the decision to share the knowledge with you.
“I love you too,” you respond with a grin, “And I’m going to miss you so bad until I see you again.”
At least this time, you know that you’ll see him again before the season starts. Only a couple of weeks after you separate, in fact, he’ll be flying up to spend a long weekend with you in Seattle.
You’re on the phone one night in between the two trips discussing the plans for it, figuring out how tourist-y you want to be and what kind of insider places you’d like to show him.
“Would love to see your town through your eyes,” Wyatt’s telling you over the phone, a little distracted by the game he’s been watching.
“You’ll get all the-” you start to say.
A knock at your door interrupts you. You tell Wyatt that you’re going to grab it, but the door opens before you can get up.
It closes behind a panting Carmen. “I’m moving to Dallas,” she says. “I want you to come with me.”
Phone still in hand, you pause.
“Wyatt?” you ask, quietly. “Can I call you back? I love you.”
You hang up before he can answer, but he’ll understand. This is big. This is crazy. And it probably has a lot to do with Thomas.
“Carm-” you start. You’re trying your best for your voice to sound gentle, but she can hear your small panic.
She takes your hands in her own. They’re shaking slightly, but you pretend not to notice for her sake. And when your oldest friend in town looks you deeply in the eye, you know for sure – she’s already made her decision. Not a thing in the world, not even you, could stop her now.
“I’m moving,” she repeats. “I know this sounds crazy. It’s not about chasing a boy.”
“Then why?” you cut her off. The expression on your face is carefully-controlled neutral, but she still sighs when she sees it.
“I think there are more opportunities there. The cost of living is significantly lower than it is here, my family is closer, it’s warmer – I know that’s a plus for you – and I want to start over. Can’t take everyday life here anymore, you know? I swear I’ve been trying, but this is like… this is me avoiding a breakdown.”
The explanation makes some sense. Carmen’s been restless for a while, maybe even since your return from Cabo. She’s not a fan of her job. However, there’s one thing you don’t really understand still.
“But why do you say it’s not about chasing a boy?” you question. “Is there something that went on with Thomas that you haven’t been telling me?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh! Yeah, I never explained that part. Um, we went on the one date here, said we wouldn’t do anything else until the summer and if we really wanted to be together we’d meet again in Vegas…” she trails off, looking away from you.
“The bachelorette party trip,” you realize aloud. She nods.
“I went a little bit earlier than everyone else, and he was there just like he said he’d be.” Carm’s voice is taking on a sort of dreamy tone, like she’s still in disbelief herself. “The move isn’t for him, he just happens to be there.” She shrugs. “I know you have some reason to move to Dallas too, so…”
Her second shrug is forcing nonchalance. It’s obvious that she wants you to jump in head first, to join this scheme of hers so she feels less alone while she’s doing it. And it would be a dream. It really would.
“What about our lives here?” you ask softly, gesturing at the room around you. “All of our friends, our jobs, our homes?”
“What about living while we’re young?” Carmen counters. “What about adventure and fantastical, life-changing and time zone-bridging love, huh? We’re still young. Let’s make the most of it.”
You just look at her. “By going to settle in Dallas, Texas.”
She nods enthusiastically. “By uprooting! By exploring! Come on, Coco, you know you want to come along. This hesitation doesn’t seem like the girl who made an unimaginable leap and fell in love with a stranger on vacation in Mexico.”
“I don’t know, Carmen,” you tell her, shaking your head. “I just don’t think this is the kind of decision I can make in a single night.”
Her face falls. You know this is hurting her feelings, but the idea of just up-and-leaving a place you thought you would stay in for a whim – one that isn’t yours, nonetheless – sounds a bit crazy.
But she steels herself. “That’s okay,” she responds, voice steady. “When you come to a decision, whenever that may be, just let me know. Okay? I’d really like to do this with you.”
Carmen squeezes your hand one last time before getting up and letting herself out.
“Wait!” you call after her while she’s opening the door. “Don’t you wanna, I don’t know, stay and talk a little more?”
Her smile is big, but tinted with sadness. “Actually, Tom’s waiting in the lobby for me and I don’t want to leave him out there forever. Thanks for the invite though, hun. I have a feeling you’re going to want to talk to Wyatt about this, too.”
Your friend steps out, closing and locking the door behind her. Even though your thoughts are racing you still manage to pick up your phone to call your boyfriend back.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, even before you greet him. “That sounded serious.”
“Carmen wants to move to Dallas,” you sigh, “And you people need to stop leaving poor Harls in my lobby while you come up to talk to me if you don’t know what the outcome of the chat is going to be.”
“Hey, I only did that once-” Wyatt starts, before cutting himself off with a dramatic gasp. “So that’s his mystery West Coast vacation!”
It’s probably only necessary for him to realize that, and you get it. You weren’t even aware that Harls was away on a mystery vacation. Still, you wait for the attention to be directed back to you.
He clears his throat. “Sorry. Go on.”
“Carmen wants me to move with her,” you tell him. “She’s going with or without me, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her here, but I don’t know what I’d do in Dallas either, if that makes sense?”
There’s a moment of silence before Wyatt speaks. His tone is thoughtful, as if he hadn’t even considered asking you to move. And there’s another emotion, too – an undeniable underlying twinge of hope.
“It’s a good place,” he notes. “Lots of people to meet, places to hang out and eat, plenty of opportunities for your line of work if you want them. Housing prices aren’t too bad, either. I bet the two of you could share a two-bedroom apartment for less than what you’re paying for your one bedroom now.”
“Yeah,” you agree, pausing. “But don’t you think it’d be a bit crazy to make a move like this when we’ve only been together officially for, like, a couple of months?”
He shrugs. You know he does. Not only is it in his voice, but you can just picture the movement as he sits on his couch. “Only about as crazy as everything else we’ve done, really. Can’t say the story of us is the most typical, linear kind in the world.”
“I guess not.”
Another moment of silence falls between you. But this one stretches on into minutes as you picture yourself living in Dallas. You think he might just be imagining the same thing.
“It’s a big decision,” he says eventually. “And I can say honestly that I’d love having you around, and that I’d help you get to know the area, and that the guys and their ladies would welcome you with open arms, but we both know I can’t make this call for you. And I’d really hate for you to make it just because of me, you know? Seattle is your life right now. It’s why you’re there in the first place.”
“Yeah,” you repeat sullenly.
“And you’re not the one who came up with the idea of moving. That was all Carmen, right?”
Again, you murmur affirmation.
“Then I’d hate if you made this decision and ended up not liking Dallas at all, or wanted to go back after like a couple of months or something.”
“Would suck pretty bad, wouldn’t it?” Your laugh is a little bitter, lacking the humor you need to make your words feel as nonchalant as you want them to. He mutters his agreement, then retreats into quiet thought.
Nothing much is exchanged between the two of you before he excuses himself, saying that he and his parents are supposed to do something together tonight with the neighbors. That he loves you, and to please text him what you’re thinking as you grapple with the decision because above all else he just wants to support you.
“And I’ll do my best to be completely objective,” he promises, maybe jokingly. “I love you, Coco.”
“I love you too, Wyatt.”
You toss and turn before falling asleep, dreams of Dallas crowding your mind. A world in which you and your boyfriend feel more real than ever, and your best friends are there with you for double dates and movie nights.
It’s tempting, for sure.
“So wait. When did they start dating?” Wyatt is asking you over breakfast in your bed about a week later. You run a frustrated hand through your hair, but one stubborn strand falls right back into your face. So you try to blow it up out of your face. It doesn’t work.
He tucks it behind your ear for you, smiling softly.
“I don’t know!” you tell him, a little bit louder than intended. “I think… maybe around July? That’s when Carm went to Las Vegas, but there’s no evidence that they made anything official there. As far as I know, it could’ve been in the freaking lobby that night and that’s why she came up with the whole Dallas thing.”
Wyatt’s eyes lift from his food to glance at you. There’s a worried line between his brows.
“She still wants to do it?” You nod, mouth full, and he waits for you to swallow before continuing. “And… what are your thoughts?”
All he gets in response is a shrug. Upon seeing his pout, you decide to try and talk it out with him again. Maybe it’ll grant you enough clarity to come to a decision about the whole move yourself, if nothing else.
“I’m still back and forth,” you tell him. “It’s not like it’s completely impossible for me to do it, especially if the cost of living down there is cheaper, but it’s kinda scary, you know?” He nods, and you realize that obviously he knows. He’s made that move too. “There’s certainly some benefits to going. I can’t deny that. And of course, you’re one of the biggest ones.”
“Just one of the biggest benefits?” he teases.
Your elbow in his side shuts it down fast. “Yeah, clearly the biggest pro for me is that it doesn’t get super cold down there. Unlike here.”
Wyatt just shakes his head, chucking quietly to himself while you cool down the sarcasm. A comfortable silence fills the room. It’s warm. It feels homey, like you’ve both been away for work and you just got home after a long day. Now you just bask in each other’s presence.
“What do you think?”
The question gets asked when he’s mid-sip, and his first response is to start coughing on the water that must have gone down wrong.
“Full honesty?” he asks, and you nod slowly. “I didn’t want to be selfish, or try to influence you at all, but I want you with me. I’d love to see us, together, like…” he trails off.
“Like most couples?” you finish the sentence for him.
“Yeah,” and he flashes a grateful smile at you before he goes on. “Don’t get me wrong, I love you and I think as long as I’m yours and I get to say you’re mine then we’re fine, but… I can’t say I didn’t get my hopes up when I heard Carmen tell you about her plan. Or that I didn’t check around for available apartments close to my building.”
It doesn’t make much sense to you, and it’s more emotional than you’d like to get about this, but your body isn’t going to obey you. There’s a telltale prickle at the back of your eyes.
“You did?” The disbelief is evident in your voice.
Wyatt looks down at his lap. You’re pretty sure he’s hiding a smile. “I did.”
“I wanna move,” you blurt, the realization hitting you hard as you say it. “I want to be in Dallas with you and Carmen.”
“You do?” And the way his head lifts, smile brightens, his entire energy changes… well, it only serves to make you feel more sound in your decision. There’s no way this isn’t the right call. Not if it’s making him so happy, if it’s taking a weight off your shoulders that you didn’t realize you were carrying.
The tears are starting to really spill now, but you ignore them. All you’re focused on is the brightness in Wyatt’s eyes as you push your breakfast aside to cup his face in your hands and lean in close.
“I do,” is the last thing you manage to say before he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours.
You have a feeling that if you had been standing, this would be the kind of moment where he picks you up and twirls you around in excitement, just like the first time you visited his town. Soon to be your town.
Oh, Carmen’s going to be thrilled.
Leaving Seattle is much easier than arriving in Seattle.
You’re initially sure that most of your friends will call you crazy, but once they hear the reasoning they support you (and Carmen) completely.
“No, I get it,” Romy says. “If it weren’t in Texas, Niamh and I might join you.”
“I’d move anywhere a hockey player asked me to,” is Lawton’s simple comment.
And since Carmen’s already mostly packed, they help you gather up your life into boxes. You shove them into a moving truck that’s already half-filled with her things and mentally prepare yourself for the two-day drive ahead. It doesn’t escape you that as much as you emphasized how your whole life was in Seattle to Carmen, there’s really just enough of it to fill half of a truck once you sell some of your furniture.
Wyatt even helped you, after you made the decision. His main role was to find items in your room for you to decide whether to keep or not keep. He put his shirt and your ornament in the keep pile himself.
He noticed your sadness, too. Double-checked that you were making this decision on your own and not because of him or your best friend. And when you wanted to take a break from packing, walk around the block telling him about every significant memory you’ve had in or around your apartment building, he came along happily.
“This is where the love interest from a rom-com in Mexico showed up out of nowhere one day,” you told him when you get back to your door, only a little teary, “and he asked me to try and make that dream into a reality together.”
“This is where I took one of the biggest, scariest risks of my life,” he whispered to you. “And it’s where I will only ever have to leave you again one more time.” He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he talked, the excitement for your move making him both jittery and warm. You couldn’t help your smile either.
So you pulled him in for a kiss and continued packing, together.
This is the moment you’re thinking of as you step out and lock the door for the last time.
Having left her apartment earlier, Carmen is with you. She knows exactly what you’re thinking about, and she reaches over to rub your arm gently before pressing her spare key into your hand.
“Thank you for taking this leap with me,” she murmurs. “I’m not sure I would have actually gone through with it if you weren’t coming too.”
You lean over to her, not taking your eyes off the door. As if it’ll change before your eyes – suddenly become unfamiliar. “You would have, Carm, you’re the strongest and bravest person I know.” Finally tearing your eyes from the door, you grin at her. “But I’m happy to be along for this ride.” She squeezes your arm, tearing up a little.
And your eyes are probably getting glassy too, but you’ve spent the past three weeks debating and doubting this choice. Now that it’s done, all you feel is excitement. Relief. Readiness for the future ahead of you, which feels so much bigger than it did in the month after Cabo.
“C’mon,” you tell your friend, letting her hand trail down your arm as you pull away until it reaches yours for you to pull her away, “It’s Dallas time.”
It is not, in fact, Dallas time. You’ve realized that now – six hours in and not even through Oregon. Carmen took the first shift driving, which is both lucky and unfortunate for you. Lucky because she had to figure out how to drive this thing and now she can teach you. Highly unfortunate because you are incredibly bored.
Wyatt would be texting you, but he’s preparing for a game so it’s more like he’s ducking in and out. Lawton and Romy are trying to entertain you with little text games of chess, but that isn’t working too well either. You don’t know how to play chess.
“Did you know you’re using-” Lawton’s text reads, and you know it’s going to finish with some oddly-named strategy but you don’t really care right now.
Your mind wanders to Wyatt’s apartment as it was when you left it: ping-pong table still set up, somehow looking barely-lived in. That’s what your apartment is going to look like for a while (minus the ping-pong table which is so central to his living room). Your new apartment. The one you’re going to share with Carmen.
Somehow, she picks up on these thoughts.
“I hope there’s a lot of cute little shops where we can find decorations for the apartment,” she says. “I mean, I know the guys probably can’t show them to us, but I hope we find them, you know?”
You smile at her. “I was just thinking about how our new place is going to look. Kinda hoping it looks better than their apartments.”
“Of course it will!” your friend tells you, gasping in mock offense. “Our apartment will never look like a single boy-home.” Her declaration makes you snort, your own laughter jostling you just as much as the many potholes in this stretch of road. “Never,” she repeats, just for emphasis, chuckling to herself.
“It’s gonna be adorable,” you say, starting to verbally imagine it. “It’ll have a perfect spot for the Christmas tree-”
Carmen cuts you off to build on your idea. “And plenty of places for little knick-knacks! Somewhere that I can sit in the mornings and drink out of my Cabo mug.”
And the two of you continue to let your creativity spiral for the next little bit of the drive, before Carmen pulls off for dinner. You decide that the apartment is going to be warm and cozy and, like, artfully cluttered so that people can tell you still have taste but you’re making it look effortless.
After eating, you have to figure out how to drive the truck. Just a couple of hours to where Harls booked a hotel room for you and his girlfriend to stay. Carm gets the privilege of watching the game and narrating it to you.
“Seggy scored! No – no, that’s, uh…” she trails off, squinting at the screen. “Really really blue eyes? Marchment?”
“Mush,” you remember his nickname, how Wyatt usually refers to him. “Good for him.”
She watches a minute or so more before she observes something else aloud. “Wyatt seems to have a lot of energy tonight. Kinda jittery, you know?”
You don’t say anything, just smile to yourself. You know why he’s excited. You are too.
Almost two days later, you’re finally driving into your new city for the first time. And it’s hellish.
“Hey, watch it!” Carmen scolds a driver in the lane next to her, adding a Spanish curse that you’ve never asked her to translate for you. She throws one arm up dramatically, then turns to you in the driver’s seat. “How are there so many bad drivers here?”
You just shrug. Your mind is elsewhere – focused on the fact that you’re nearly to Wyatt. They have a game tonight, but he’s picking you up after so you can stay the night with him before picking up the apartment keys tomorrow.
It still doesn’t quite feel real.
Eventually, Carm picks up on your thoughtful mood.
“Finally here, huh?” she asks you. “How are you feeling?”
“How are you feeling?” you counter. “This was your crazy idea, after all.”
Her smile says it all, but you wait for her to say it. “This is a breath of fresh air, babe – metaphorically, of course. But I’m so happy to be here. It feels right.”
“And you and Harls?” you question.
“Interested to see how it works out,” she replies, looking out the window absentmindedly. “Kinda had an agreement where we wouldn’t use any titles until we lived in the same place.”
When you glance over, she’s twiddling her thumbs. Like she’s well aware of how crazy her words are. You raise an eyebrow as you slow to a stop for a red light, and she still pretends not to notice your expression.
“Carmen.”
“Mm?”
There’s way too much effort being put into her fake innocence. She knows exactly how crazy she sounds to you right now.
“Are you telling me that, technically, we moved two time zones away for a guy you aren’t even officially dating?”
“I told you it wasn’t just about him,” she protests weakly. “And you are officially dating your guy!”
You sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “This is insane. I can’t believe we did this. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Well, we’re almost done with it now!” your friend crows, pointing out the complex up ahead. “Home sweet home!”
There were some doubts about how nice the place would be initially. Carmen’s cousin had been the one to handle the in-person tour, and while Carm assured you that she had been extremely thorough, you couldn’t help but feel that something may have slipped through the cracks. You were wrong.
As your almost-roommate guides you into the spot that the office said you could put the truck in, you marvel at the complex around you. And when you’re finally parked, your phone buzzes with a text.
“On intermission. Can’t wait to see you tonight!” from Wyatt. A simple message, but you understand how quickly he probably had to type it out. And you know exactly how thrilled he is about your move.
This is your life now: best friend beside you, the air outside of the truck cab warmer than it’s been in Seattle for at least a month, and your boyfriend maybe half an hour away with traffic. Smiling to yourself, you bring your phone to your chest in a pseudo-hug and lean back into the driver’s seat. Carmen giggles from the passenger side.
“You and your romantic hero,” she says with a shake of her head, though she isn’t really upset by the two of you at all.
Wyatt gets out of the car before you can even read the text that says he’s here. Harls drove, so your boyfriend comes barreling out of the passenger side. He sweeps you off your feet into a spinning hug, holding you as tight as he can.
“You’re here!” he exclaims, maybe a second before he gets to you, and he repeats it again softly as he’s lowering you to the ground. “You’re finally here.”
“I’m here,” you confirm, teary but happy.
On the other side of the car, Carmen and Harls are embracing too. Maybe not quite as dramatic as you and your boyfriend, but you can tell that there’s a lot of emotion even if you can’t hear it. When they separate, she calls to you.
“Lovebirds! Are we ready to tuck in for the night yet?”
You just giggle, rising to press a quick kiss to Wyatt’s lips before letting him take your overnight bag and open the rear door for you to climb in.
There’s something that just feels so right about the trek up to the apartments from the parking garage. The way that you, Carmen, your boyfriend and her not-quite-boyfriend all rib each other and talk about the game they played. The way you recognize Wyatt’s car and remind him again how much you love the custom color.
Not least of all is the way your best friend practically squishes you in a hug, whispering a quiet thank you before letting Wyatt lead you out of the elevator.
“Home sweet home,” he says as he closes the door behind you. Your eyes take a minute to adjust to the light that he flicks on.
“Home sweet Dallas,” you tell him. “Or should it be Dallas, sweet home?”
You don’t get a reply. He must tired, or distracted. But when you turn, you find him looking straight at you. You’ve seen this particular look quite a bit by now, but you’ll always recognize it from the trip where you met: a mix of fascination and adoration, like you’re irreplaceably precious to him – like he loves you and has since the day you met.
This look used to hurt. Now, you can act on it.
Stepping forward and taking his face in your hands, you watch a smile overtake the somewhat dazed expression.
“Hi,” you whisper, not wanting to break his little trance. “Are you tired, sweet boy?”
One of his hands raises to cover yours. He nods simply, leaning into your touch.
“Ready for bed?”
“Almost,” he responds. “Just wanna enjoy you being here a little longer first.” So he’s the one to press his lips to yours, noses bumping for just a hint of awkwardness. Maybe the two of you are a little out of practice. But the next kiss is perfect – soft, sweet, loving, with a faint taste of mint when you part.
“Did you start using new chapstick?” you ask, and Wyatt blushes. His hand falls from yours to scratch the back of his neck.
He doesn’t answer, but you see him take the tube out of his suit pants and dump it on his dresser with his wallet and earbuds as the two of you get ready for bed.
“Goodnight, baby, I’m so glad you’re here,” he mumbles into your hair before you fall asleep.
“Happy to be here,” you reply, though you aren’t sure he hears. You’re fairly sure that he was half-gone by the time he finished his sentence. Still, his arms tighten around you, and you drift off happy.
The longer you’re in Dallas, the more you face the unfortunate realities of dating a hockey player. Wyatt’s “roadies” weren’t a problem for you at all before. They are here. Because not only are you losing your boyfriend, you lose the only person you know who’s relatively local when he goes.
He introduces you to the other team wives and girlfriends as soon as he can, but Harls and Carm aren’t ready to take that step so you’re all alone as the new girl. While you’re sure they’re all nice people, it’s intimidating.
You’d love to share these feelings with your best friend. Unfortunately, she’s busy bonding with family members that she rarely if ever got to see before now.
Most of the time, you just end up going into your new job early and staying late. It’s not even a requirement to be in-office. You see Carmen some mornings when you sleep in your shared apartment, Wyatt some nights when the two of you are staying the night together. And that kinda has to be enough for now, you figure.
It’s hard to mind the reasoning behind the absences in your life. Who would you be if you were mad at Wyatt for doing his job, or Carmen for rebuilding relationships with her family? So you don’t say anything. You try not to let the sadness show as it compounds, but eventually it gets too big for you to just hold onto.
“I’m going to have a sleepover with Rita and Amy, but I’ll be back in the morning!” is the note that Carmen leaves on your kitchen counter.
The timing is perfect for a little self-pity party: the boys won’t be back for another night, and obviously Carmen isn’t going to be in the apartment. You order in from a decent place near the complex, change out of your work clothes into the tie-dye shirt of Wyatt’s that you’ve now had for the better part of a year, and turn on a classic sad romance to help produce tears.
Your phone is on Do Not Disturb, and you’re going to stay up until you cry yourself to sleep. Snack binge, feelings purge. Totally healthy.
The door opens in what’s supposed to be the middle of your sobfest – an especially angsty scene in the second movie.
“Coco?” Wyatt’s voice rings through the apartment. You freeze. “Are you okay?”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow night,” you say in response, deliberately not answering him as you pause the movie. You’d like to think that the confusion in your voice hides the tightness, but you know better. And so does Wyatt.
He comes over to you, setting down a bag of takeout from the place that has rapidly emerged as your favorite takeout spot in your new city – so far. Something inside you pangs guiltily.
“No,” he disagrees simply. “I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be. What’s wrong, baby?”
You shake your head, wiping away the tears as fast as you can. “It’s no big deal, really-”
“The fact that you won’t even give me a straight answer makes it a big deal to me.” He takes one of your hands in his. “Come on. I’m here for you. So what’s up?”
“I just-” you pause, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I’m just having kind of a rough time adjusting, is all. Life is different here than it was for me in Seattle.” He waits for you to be finished talking before saying anything, and you realize there’s more to explain. “It’s not that I hate my new job or I don’t like the other girls from the team, but more like I don’t really know where I fit here, and Carmen’s always with her family-”
Now, he cuts you off, his face downcast. “And I’m always busy with hockey stuff.”
Nodding, you wipe fresh tears off your cheeks. “Kinda. Yeah. I just really don’t want to burden either of you with this, if that makes sense?”
“Coco. I love you. You’re not a burden, ever.” His first words seem almost automatic, but when he continues it sounds more thoughtful. “Even if I’m at practice or on the road or something, I can make time for your texts and calls. That’s not a big deal. I want to be here for you. I want to support you in hard times. That’s kind of a big part of the whole boyfriend-girlfriend agreement.”
His words are very sweet, but they have the unintended effect of making you burst into tears again. Eyes widening, he tries to fix it with physical affection – pulling you into his arms, stroking your hair, letting you cry into the crook of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” you feel him say as much as you hear it. “I didn’t mean to make you cry-”
“You didn’t, not in a bad way,” you correct him. “That was just…really sweet. Thank you.” You pause for a minute. “I’m sorry for not telling you, I just didn’t-”
He finishes the sentence for you. “-want to be a burden, I know. But I’m happy to be here for you, and I’d rather put in a little bit of extra effort than have you bottle everything up like this. Anytime. Promise you’ll talk to me next time?”
And while you know he’d like it in words, he seems to accept the way you nod into his chest and burrow closer to him. You fall asleep that night with your boyfriend holding you close to his chest protectively. As early as the next morning he starts arranging – without another word from you on the subject, even – for you to get to know his teammates and their wives or girlfriends better.
Then, Dallas really starts to feel like home.
Maybe a couple months in, you start thinking that you’ve found your routine. You’ve made a couple new friends in a few new places. There are the work buddies that you eat lunch with, Carmen’s cousins Rita and Amy (who were almost as excited to meet you as they were to see her again, surprisingly), and your fellow WAGs Rachel, Kennedi, and Stella.
You had to invest in a car because Dallas is a far less walkable city than Seattle, but you’re okay with the trade since it stays decently warm well into December.
Still, for whatever reason, Wyatt tells you to “dress like you’re back in Washington this time of year” when he plans an impromptu date for the two of you one day. Even weirder? He isn’t dressed all that warm when he comes to pick you up.
“I’m warm-blooded,” he grins when you ask about it. He’s distracted by your confused face for a minute before he remembers something. “And, here! You’re gonna need to wear this.” You are presented with a crisply folded bandana. When you look up at him with a raised brow, he turns pink before clarifying, “To keep it a surprise. I tried looking for blindfolds, but they were all… yeah.”
If it were possible, you’d say he gets even redder, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck like he’s feeling awkward. You have to fight the urge to giggle. But you take it from him anyway, holding it up behind your head for him to tie.
Three stumbles, two bumps, and one fall later, Wyatt has made the executive decision to put the blindfold on you in the car. For safety reasons. He’s a perfect gentleman as usual, opening and closing your door for you before pressing one last kiss to your lips, tying the blindfold just tight enough for it to not slip, and turning on music that he knows you like for background noise.
“Hey, this played on the drive up to Todos!” you recall fondly of one.
“It did,” your boyfriend agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You feel his gaze on you, too, even though he won’t admit it because he’s supposed to be looking at the road. “I was so nervous that day.”
“Yeah?” you prompt, wanting to hear more.
He hums in affirmation. “Had a pretty girl in the passenger seat of a car that wasn’t mine, testing me on my music taste and my driving skills, and I was just hoping the whole day that I wasn’t pushing things far enough to scare her away.”
“You weren’t,” you tell him, which makes him chuckle a little bit.
“Well yeah, of course I know that now,” he responds, reaching over to hold your hand. “Goofball.”
Not long after that, the car comes to a stop. Wyatt announces the fact before telling you that he’s coming around to let you out, and the two of you are gonna have to be so careful, because he doesn’t want to get you any more hurt than you did leaving the apartment.
His muttering is the last thing you hear before the driver’s door shuts, and a few seconds later yours opens. Then his hands are on yours. You are guided out of the car gently – so gently – with words of reassurance accompanying every movement.
“There you go, baby,” Wyatt praises you once both your feet are solidly on the ground. “We’re doing it. So proud of us.”
It feels like you walk for a while before you’re led into an elevator which takes you up inside of a building. Not that you mind too much, because Wyatt’s hand is in yours every step of the way, and he responds whenever you talk to him. Mostly asking him where you’re going or if you’re allowed to remove the makeshift blindfold yet.
But on his own, he’s being kind of quiet.
The temperature drops, degree by degree, as you feel yourself approaching your destination. Finally, Wyatt’s soft hands take the bandana off your head without you even having to ask. You blink a couple of times, unsure that you’re seeing correctly.
“Are we… at your workplace?” Your question is whispered. Maybe it’s silly, but you don’t want to disturb the place. It’s so big, so empty. You’ve never seen it like this before.
He nods, leaning down to murmur in your ear as he points to a dark spot on the ice. “Thought you might miss the cold.” It takes one look for him to say that he’s kidding, that he wanted to do something special and kind of crazy for you like when you had first met.
Only as you’re making your way over to the dark spot do you realize that it’s a little blanket, spread out over something on top of the ice. Right in the middle of his team’s logo. Where the two of you are going to have to go.
“They keep it very chilly in here,” you state, huddling yourself deeper into your coat as if that might actually do something about the temperature.
“Come on,” he tells you, swinging open a gate to the ice. “I promise it’s not that bad once you’re actually on here.” Then he reaches out a hand, and you’re reminded of a much warmer time where he did something similar and he did happen to be right, so you listen.
Wyatt holds your hands as you step out into the rink, making sure you don’t fall and bust your face like you nearly did at home.
“What do you think?” he says, trying to hide his nerves by looking around the arena.
“It’s incredible,” you tell him. “Very special. Almost as unforgettable as the guy I met on that one trip.”
Wyatt’s pink again, and you’re fairly sure it’s not just from the cold.
The two of you sit down to find a small arrangement of snacks waiting for you, some of which you didn’t think you could find in Dallas. When you question this, Wyatt gives a one-shouldered shrug and says he called in some favors.
“This is very romantic,” you observe eventually. “Is there… any special reason for all this, maybe?”
There has to be. Because your date’s eyes widen the slightest bit at the word ‘special,’ and he swallows the food a little faster than he meant to.
“Um.”
You rub his back reassuringly while he coughs, takes a swig from his drink, and tries again.
“Well,” he says as he finally begins a little speech (that he must have rehearsed in the mirror or something while he got dressed, because you know it’s more scripted than just how he talks), “We’ve- um, you and I went through kind of a lot to get where we are. And you know I love you, and you are so special to me, and since we’ve been together for a minute now, I was kinda hoping…” Wyatt trails off, face pink, hand on the back of his neck. You feel your anxiety building a little bit.
It’s not… he can’t be building himself up to propose, right? You’re both young. You love him, very much, but the two of you really haven’t been together that long despite all the ups and downs you’ve experienced. If you had to give an answer right now, you can’t say that it would be what he’s hoping for.
His eyes dart up to the ceiling far above you, then back down to you when he sighs. He looks down at his lap. Then back up to you, slow smile spreading across his face. One of his hands settles on yours.
“I’ve been making this maybe a bigger deal than it needs to be, Coco. My parents are coming in to spend Christmas with me this year, and I was hoping that… if you weren’t going anywhere, I mean, that you might want to meet them when they come in and spend the day with us.”
When he finally gets it all out, he kind of sighs in relief. You do too, but you try to make it less obvious.
“But only if you want to!” he adds after a minute. “There’s no expectations, I haven’t, like, told them you’re going to meet them or anything yet, I just know they’ve heard about you and they’d really like to, you-”
You cut him off, squeezing his hand gently in both of yours. “I’d love to, Wyatt. Thank you for the invitation.”
And he sighs again, happily this time, leaning forward over the snack array to give you a short kiss. His hands and lips are so much warmer than yours. The cold from the ice feels like it’s starting to seep into your bones. You shiver a little when he pulls away.
“We can go now, if you’re getting too cold,” Wyatt offers, starting to gather the snacks back into a little basket at the edge of the blanket. “Since you’ve said yes, there’s a little more I’d like to do today. If you’re up to it.”
“Oh?”
He nods excitedly as he helps you off the frozen floor. You smile at him, then notice the piece of fabric sticking out of his pocket.
“I’m not gonna have to wear a blindfold this time, right?” you question.
“No,” he responds, chuckling to himself even though he backs up his statement with a shake of his head. “No, you don’t. In fact, I think we’re probably going to need your eyes a little bit more than mine.”
You’re at a Home Depot. Why in the world has your boyfriend (beloved but proven to be not especially handy) brought you to a hardware store?
There’s no chance to ask before he’s leading you in by the hand, directing you past the lighting aisle to the seasonal section. When you start marveling at all the tinsel and tree skirts, he leans down to talk lowly in your ear as he hugs you from behind playfully.
“I bought my own Christmas tree for the first year ever,” he says, “And I was hoping you’d help me decorate it and kind of my apartment before my parents come down.”
“Oh my gosh, yes!” you gush, spinning in his arms immediately to start pulling him around. You rattle off question after question, all of which he answers to the best of his ability while trying to keep a straight face: what kind of aesthetic is he going for – classic, rustic, modern? Does he have an idea of the best Christmas colors? Is he allergic to cinnamon or pinecones or holly or-
He stops you for a second, looking a little more serious. “I just want it to be warm and cozy like your place. Because that’s perfect to me.”
And you know he feels it when your muscles tense in excitement, ready to run off again – then relax as you pout in realization.
“A lot of my ornaments come from experiences,” you explain, “like the one I picked up in Cabo. I’ve kinda been doing that for years, just… wherever I go, but…” You trail off. He understands nonetheless.
His brows furrow in thought, darkening his pretty eyes a little bit. Eventually he pipes up. “Well, what if we see how many ornaments we can get from different places today and then go add to what I already have?”
The corner of your lips twitches. You know he notices. “You already have some?”
All you get as an official answer is a forced-nonchalant one-shouldered shrug, but he fails to properly hide the way he smirks a little bit as he turns away.
The two of you bounce from place to place until night falls, at which point you find it necessary to return to Wyatt’s apartment. Giggles and murmurs fill the quiet hallway as you try to avoid making too much of a ruckus on your way in. It doesn’t seem to work, but nobody feels the need to complain to your faces. Luckily.
Your first order of business is changing into a pair of matching holiday-themed pajama bottoms you picked up somewhere along the way. You head into the kitchen to prepare hot chocolate while Wyatt finishes setting up the actual tree, which apparently he got almost a week ago in preparation.
“It’s still, like, fifty degrees out!” he’d protested when you had tossed the box into the cart.
“And?” you replied, “That doesn’t make it less of a holiday. It’s part of my process.”
So the cocoa mix had stayed.
Based on the sounds coming from the living area alone, you can’t even tell whether tree setup is going well. You turn away from the stove to look. Your boyfriend has tangled himself up in a string of colored lights somehow, the cord wrapped around one ankle and the opposite wrist even as he tries to tug it off.
You just can’t help yourself – you burst into laughter at the sight. A big, strong hockey player, conquered by a string of Christmas lights.
Wyatt doesn’t try to fight it when you come over to help. He stands very still, tensing when you let the free end swing a little too freely. After you get them completely off of him, you hold up the loop you made.
“Want me to handle it?”
He nods sullenly, automatically heading over to stir the hot chocolate. You catch him watching you as you fluff the tree branches expertly and weave the lights through them. Having reached a certain height, you call him back over.
“Could you finish this, handsome? I can’t really reach the top section of the tree here.” And you gesture for emphasis, if only to see his eyes light up as bright as the tree is going to. Just because you need his help. (You don’t. You and Carmen managed to set up your tree by yourselves this year, and your tree when you were living on your own last year was a major source for bragging rights. But he looks so sad.)
Grabbing two generic mugs from the lowest shelf, you thank him for getting that last little bit for you. He gives an absent-minded response. You find after pouring the drinks that he still isn’t done with it – his movements are slow, calculated – because he’s trying to mimic what you did exactly. Something warm stirs inside you at the sight.
He smiles at you, almost sheepishly, as he crouches to plug in the lights. And you know he knows.
The ornaments seem to fly onto the tree after the initial near-disaster. At the very end, before he places the silver star on top of the tree (because of course it had to be), he returns from his room with a small bag.
“A Christmas gift, kinda,” Wyatt says as he holds it out to you.
When you open it, you find two ornaments: one, a colorful and stylized skyline over the word “Dallas” in cursive. The other is almost pastel, imitating stained glass, labeled “Cabo San Lucas.” It would be beautiful on its own even if you didn’t recognize the scene.
But you do. It’s the sun setting over the ocean, turning the outlines of the ornament brilliant shades of pink and orange and purple.
“Where we started, and where we are now,” you hear the murmur as he wraps his arms loosely around you.
The tears start filling your eyes as soon as he says it. They’re happy, but your lovely boyfriend and former vacationmate seems to panic when he notices them.
“No, wait, I didn’t mean to-” he tries to protest, but you turn yourself into him and wrap your arms around his neck before he can finish.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, mostly to his collarbone. “Thank you so much. I love them.”
He relaxes in your hold, moving one hand up to rub your back a little bit. It might be more to comfort himself than you. The two of you kind of fall, kind of lower yourselves onto the couch behind you, never letting go of each other.
“I bought that in Cabo,” Wyatt says, pulling away from you to look at the ornament in your hand again. “Even if I didn’t get to see you again, I never wanted to forget that trip.”
“Me neither.”
“But now you’re here, and you’re with me.”
“But now I’m here,” you echo with a grin, leaving the ornament in his care to wipe the last drops from your eyes. “With you.”
His lips press against your forehead, if only for a moment. You recall the first time he did it, so nervously, outside of your hotel room. The rest of the memories from the trip follow in quick succession, ending with that look of his – the same one that you find when you look back up at him.
“We need to put these on your tree,” you blurt. “They belong here.”
He squeezes your hand, but silently helps you up to find a perfect spot on the tree for them. He manages to find a place for the Cabo ornament right in front of a yellow bulb so it looks like there really is a sun in it. You hang the Dallas ornament under a specific light so it’s bathed in green.
When the two of you reveal this to the other, you both laugh. It quickly settles.
“I think this tree is simply perfect,” you declare, hands on hips as he comes up behind you to wrap you in yet another hug.
“You’re perfect,” is the immediate, quiet response.
Which is very sweet, but it makes you giggle just the tiniest bit. “Well, thank you, but that’s not really what I was going for. This tree is perfect because it’s ours, and we did it together.”
“Sure.” He presses one last kiss to your temple, arms readjusting around you but never letting go. His next words are kind of mumbled into your hair, but you still hear them. “You’re the best gift I’ve ever gotten, and you didn’t even come from under a pretty tree.” Then he speaks up again. “I love you, Coco.”
“I love you too,” you tell him, gently forcing him to let go so you can take his face in your hands and kiss him. The taste of hot chocolate lingers on his lips, so much better than lime and beer. It makes you smile when you part.
The two of you stay up late into the night, looking at the beauty in front of you and reminiscing on all the memories it holds. When Wyatt eventually leads you to bed because he does have practice tomorrow, you fall asleep easily knowing that he’s right next to you.
And neither of you plan on going anywhere this time.
wip playlist - what a privilege it is, to greet every new facet of you like an old friend [wj.53]
pairing: wyatt johnston x reader (coco)
anticipated arrival: Sunday, April 27 ~12 pm est
summary: A month after your unforgettable time in Cabo, your long-lost vacation romance finds you again. But you were so sure it couldn't work between the two of you... right?
the writing playlist:
Afterglow - THE DRIVER ERA
Talking to the Moon - Bruno Mars
I Think I Met You In A Dream - COIN
How You Get The Girl (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift
i'd let you fool me over and over if it meant i got to believe in you (and love) again [jd.9]
pairing: jamie drysdale x reader
nickname: lovie
word count: 7.4k
summary: You and your ex got your roommates together, and then were forced to break up by circumstance. Now, at their wedding, you have to reunite.
warnings: one cuss word, jamie trade is technically a major plot point, trevor zegras being an unrealistically good s/o
author's note: While I'm working on the second part to the beloved Wyatt fic, have some small and completely unrealistic fluff. I can't fully express my gratitude for all the love and attention I've been getting since I started this account, but I will say again: thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy!!
When you never in your life assumed you would one day take half a week off work to attend a celebrity wedding in the Hamptons, you were among the majority of people. It’s not a common occurrence, and the chances of you being one of the (admittedly many) people in attendance were slim.
And then you helped set up an heiress and a professional hockey player.
You take a lot of pride in it nowadays – Trevor and Sierra are, after all, maybe one of the best matches you’ve ever encountered in your life, which explains why they’re already getting married. In fact, it’s even mentioned in your co-maid of honor speech. Sierra told you as early as the day you were asked to be in the wedding that she was going to introduce you as their matchmaker.
Of course, that meant the person who had helped you set them up was also being introduced as such for his wedding speech as the co-best man. That’s going to be fun to explain to people who don’t know you.
It’s not something you can hold against them. You and your boyfriend at the time had talked your roommates into coming on a half-blind double date with the two of you. There was definitely a promise made to Sierra that if it was a bust, you’d buy her a drink. Not that you needed to, because they were crazy into each other from the very beginning and even stayed out later than you and your now-ex just to talk.
You and Jamie had literally high-fived as soon as you’d gotten back into the car. This is a fact you’d also like to mention in your speech, but you aren’t sure if he’s going to talk about it or not.
Trevor had proposed on Christmas morning two years later, maybe two weeks before the trade that ultimately resulted in your mutual, amicable-yet-painful breakup from his roommate.
So here you are: tired from working longer hours this week in order to make up the days you’re going to be missing, looking like a literal zombie, when Sierra runs up to you in the hotel lobby and throws her arms around you.
“Lovie!” she squeals, making sure to squeeze you extra tight. “You’re finally here!”
“Just when I was supposed to be,” you tease her back as she lets you go. You’re almost taken aback by how stunning she is in white. It’s just a sundress, too, not anywhere close to the gown she chose.
Her voice lowers as she continues. “Um, he’s already here, by the way. But the boys are out playing golf, and-”
“I’ll be fine, Siri,” you reassure her, squeezing her arm to emphasize your point. “It’s not like I didn’t know he was going to be here. ‘d have to be crazy to forget how much those guys love each other.”
She nods, but there’s still a wrinkle between her perfect brows. And when she glances up, gorgeous hazel eyes widening, you know what – or rather, who – has appeared behind you. The golf outing must have ended.
Trevor’s a great guy, and he’s perfect for your beloved friend, he really is. But he does not specialize in subtlety. You hear him and his group practically burst into the lobby, then feel his hand land on your shoulder to pull you in for a hug.
“The person who made this happen!” he exclaims, squeezing you almost tighter than his soon-to-be wife did. “Thanks again, kiddo. Really can’t thank you enough for that.” Only when he pulls back does he notice the panicked look on his bride’s face.
His eyes flick from you back to his co-best man.
“Sorry,” he mouths to you as his groomsmen crowd the lobby, a couple of the ones who you’ve met before making it a point to greet you.
Jamie doesn’t. You’re kind of grateful to be ignored. But you glance up at the wrong time, and his eyes meet yours. There’s this look in them that you don’t recognize. It’s the middle of July, but something makes a chill run down your spine.
You excuse yourself as quickly as you can to check into your room so you can hide.
But Sierra follows you, all the way up to your room. “I’m so sorry,” she keeps repeating. “I had no idea they would be back so soon-”
“It’s okay,” you say, waving her off. “I’m just going to take a little nap, if that’s alright?”
“Yeah,” she replies, quiet. When you look up from trying to scan into your room, you notice that she’s got a strange look on her face. It’s one you recognize, though you haven’t seen it too often: analysis, maybe with a hint of worry.
Then she shakes her head and her eyes brighten again. “You’re coming to dinner with the girls, right? It’s at this really nice place down the road. No boys guaranteed.” She pauses to think. “Well, except for Bas, but you know him.”
You do. Bas, short for Sebastian, is another friend from college. He’d met Sierra not long after you had, and the two bonded over their shared North-of-LA origins. He’s the proud lone bridesman. While you’re not a fan of his gossip-loving nature, he has never failed to be a good time and an even better distraction from life’s problems. Sierra waits for your agreement before she goes on.
“You’re welcome to ride with my mom, Dawn and I,” she says, voice lowering again. Your normally bold friend seems a bit hesitant about something, which is unusual for her. “Again, I’m really so sorry about earlier.”
“Don’t be,” you tell her, spilling a little more than you mean to. “It’s nice… seeing him again. He looks good.”
She grins almost conspiratorally. “He really grew up over in Philly, huh? Darcy said something similar.” You bristle, but she doesn’t notice. “Anyway, we’re going to leave at 5:30? Reservations are at six.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great!” she chirps.
It looks like there might be more she wants to say, but you really would like to take a nap. So you bid her goodbye with a promise that you’ll see her later.
Falling asleep takes a good twenty minutes or so despite your exhaustion. And when you finally get there, you dream vividly of pale blue eyes framed by soft brown hair under a backwards hat. You don’t normally remember the sounds of your dreams after regaining consciousness. But today it’s the soft strumming of a guitar, half-forming the instrumental to one of your favorite songs.
You wake up with an all-too-familiar heartache. The pillow is wet, but you can’t say whether it’s from tears or drool.
Since your split from Jamie, you’ve shed a lot of tears over him. You’ve heard a million times that it would be “completely valid” for you to hate your former love, but that isn’t the case at all. You still love him. You still want the best for him. Simply put, you wish that what was best for him could have been what was best for you too.
These are the thoughts that stick with you as you get dressed for the girls’ (and Bas) dinner. Sierra said the place wasn’t too fancy, but knowing her and her family, that still likely means somewhere you’d want to wear a dress to. Most of your clothes for the weekend are pink to match your (co) maid of honor dress.
A knock sounds on your door.
“One second!” you call, readjusting the dress around yourself and saying a silent thanks for the fact that everyone’s attention will be entirely on Sierra this weekend.
When you open the door, you find a slightly shorter, darker-haired Sierra lookalike dressed in a pale blue jumpsuit.
“Hi, Dawn,” you greet her older sister. “Am I running late?”
“No, no!” she reassures you, beach waves falling in her face from the force with which she shakes her head. “We just had a question for you that Sierra felt needed to be asked in person, but she’s busy getting ready-”
You feel your brows furrow before you can stop them. “Okay?”
“This is going to sound so crazy.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, and you’re taken aback by how much she looks like her younger sister. “Okay, so Trevor’s younger brother Griffin brought his new girlfriend-” you can feel your heart drop. You were reassured that he would be your aisle partner. “-and she’s apparently very insecure, no offense to her, but she doesn’t want him paired up on the aisle walk with a single woman. Especially one as gorgeous as you.”
“I’m… sorry?” you say.
“We would really, really appreciate it if you would be okay walking down the aisle with Jamie,” Dawn finishes, hands together as if in a desperate prayer to you. “We already asked him, and he’s fine with it.”
Shrugging, you step out into the hallway with her and shut the door behind you. “Okay then. If he doesn’t have a problem with it, I don’t.”
She pulls you into a tight hug. “Thank you, ohmygod, Sierra’s going to be so happy and relieved.”
The phrasing is a bit odd but you let it be. Your friend the bride is happy, which means all is well in your world this weekend. After all, isn’t it your job as maid of honor to protect her peace? Still, you ponder the potential double meanings of the words as Dawn leads you to her sister’s suite.
“Lovie! Oh, I am so happy to see you,” Sierra says over her shoulder when you walk in. Her mom, Meadow (and she insists that you call her just that), is messing with her curls as she does her makeup at the desk. She doesn’t need it.
“What’s up, Sissi?” you ask her, plopping down on the bed behind her. “Miss me too much while I was napping?”
Meadow giggles. “So that’s why you finally look well-rested, huh?”
You playfully swat at her shoulder. Her daughter goes on. “No, I feel like there was just…” she trails off, heaving a deep sigh. “So much to deal with that I didn’t consider happening at all two days before my fairytale ending.”
“I’m sorry, hun,” you tell her, leaning off the bed to rub her arm in support. “We’ll get it all worked out. You don’t have to worry about any of this, I promise.”
“Thank you,” she exhales, laying her hand over yours. Only briefly, before she returns to poking and prodding at her model-level pretty face. “I’m sorry about you getting the short end of the stick this weekend.” She pouts at herself in the mirror. “I really wanted you to enjoy the day too, we owe you so much for making it all happen in a hundred different ways.”
Her mom glances over at you, keeping a close watch on your expression as you realize what she’s talking about. But you just shake your head. “No, I will! I’m sure we can get along for the cause. It’s not like there was ever any bad blood, or anything…” Running out of things to say, you just let yourself shut up.
Sierra nods, using the mirror to make eye contact with you. “And if there is, you’ll tell me.”
“Of course, my queen.”
The growing tension is dissolved when she giggles. It sounds so much like her mother’s laugh. Meadow really hit copy and paste with her daughters, you think.
Dawn is the one to check her phone and herd all four of you out to her car so she can take you to the end of the beach to dine. You man the group chat, where Bas and the other bridesmaids are announcing their estimated times of arrival and making random comments that you read aloud for the sisters to hear.
The four of you are not the first to arrive at the restaurant. Bas, Paulina and Darcy are all waiting for you, and they exchange hugs and cheek kisses with Sierra when she steps inside. Meadow gives the host the name for the reservation, but opts to stay behind waiting for Trevor’s mom and sister who drove separately.
Bas links an arm with you as you approach the table.
“So, Lovergirl, what’s the latest?” he asks you teasingly. “Any new beaus we should know about?” He practically interrupts himself in his excitement to get some tea. “Ooh, did you bring anybody?”
“Single and unsure about mingling, Bas,” you reassure him, laughing and patting his arm. You know he thinks you miss the way he glances at Darcy. “Heard anything good since you got here?”
This successfully distracts him. He launches into a tale in which he frames Trevor’s aunt for having an ever-so-scandalous affair with one of the pool boys. It seems that his most solid point of belief is hinged upon the fact that she’s been here all week instead of arriving at the same time as everyone else, though her husband did choose to do so.
Meadow interrupts him by bringing in the Zegras ladies. Before she sits, she calls for a toast to the happy couple.
“Sierra has always been a happy girl, but nothing compares to the way Trevor makes her glow,” she says, shooting a wink to Julie. “And, of course, an extra special thank you to their matchmaker. Congratulations, sweetie. Feel free to start a business and hook some other lucky people up sometime.”
This draws a laugh from everyone at the table, though yours borders on nervous more than sheepish. Meadow’s comments made everyone turn toward you. The look that Darcy is shooting you is jealousy battling confusion. You don’t understand what you’ve done – she’s always had the hots for Jamie, but the two of you have been broken up for a while.
You don’t have a claim on him anymore. He can date whoever he wants.
Still, this conclusion makes the back of your throat burn in a way that you hate to recognize. So you drink your wine as fast as you subtly can, and get lost in the chatter of the bridal party.
By the end of the night, you have concluded that as much fun as Bas and Darcy can be, they are not the best influences for Sierra. And by extension, you. They seem to pride themselves on their influence though.
Because the two of them talk most of the group into staying at the resort bar into the later hours of the night, then attempt to rally everyone to find a club nearby. Luckily Dawn stayed long enough to talk Sierra out of it, but no one could change the other two’s minds. Bas and Darcy head off, leaving you to escort a very tipsy bride back to her suite. You aren’t even sure you remember the number.
“I’m sorry,” Sierra keeps telling you as you help her upstairs. She isn’t short, but still insists on wearing heels a lot. That is certainly not helping your case now.
“It’s okay, babe,” you reassure her. “This is what I’m here for.”
She nods and accepts it for a few minutes, then apologizes again when the elevator reaches her floor.
“Why, Sissi?” you ask, keeping your eyes on her feet to make sure she doesn’t fall.
“It was supposed to be you,” your best friend half-sobs, half-hiccups. “You should be married now too.”
“You’re not quite married yet,” you remind her, smiling as you scan the two of you into her room. She’s always been a cutesy drunk, and a romantic sober. You haven’t gotten to experience taking her home like this in a long time. Not since Trevor started handling it. “But why was it supposed to be me? Jamie and I weren’t engaged, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head. “He was looking at rings. Before… before he got traded. He wanted to surprise you after you graduated.”
You freeze. Trevor and Sierra had kept in constant communication with you after the trade and the breakup, but you’ve never heard this. Mostly it was updates on how he was doing. Until those started hurting too much. It doesn’t line up with what you and Jamie had talked about together, really, so you try to correct your friend. Maybe she’s too drunk to know better.
“No, honey, we weren’t going to get engaged for a while. Not until after I was all the way out of college. I told you about that.”
Sierra’s curls go flying as she shakes her head again, harder this time. “He was getting impatient. Told Trevor he wanted to be able to call you his and just his for the rest of his life. He was even gonna have you keep your name so that went on your graduate degree.”
Her indignant pout quickly makes way for a face of alarm, right before she lurches into the bathroom. You hear the toilet seat being lifted before you remember you need to go in there with her.
And you just manage to gather her hair in your hands before she spews – from what little you unfortunately have to see before you look away, it’s mostly a mix of champagne and strawberry daiquiri.
“I want Trev,” she sobs between heaves.
“Calling him right now, baby,” you inform her, rubbing her shoulder. “Do you think there’s more?”
She nods, then pauses. Shakes her head. Pauses again with a dramatic sigh. “I dunno.”
In that moment, Trevor picks up with a dorky, maybe half-tipsy-himself answer. He definitely read the caller ID, though.
“Hey, Trevor,” you start, stepping just outside of the bathroom to make sure he hears you. “Could you come to Sierra’s room, please? She’s not feeling well but all she wants is you.”
When he responds, you hear other voices – including one you think you know well – in the background, but they aren’t too loud. You guess that they’re hanging out in his room. You’re right. He tells you he’ll be right over before hanging up.
“He’s on his way, honey,” you repeat to Sierra, still curled around the toilet. You rub her back a little bit before moving to unbuckle her heeled sandals. The second one is almost off when Trevor knocks quietly on her door.
Instead of giving him a proper greeting, you simply say, “I’m not sure if she’s asleep or just taking a break from crying.”
His brows knit together. “Crying?”
“She worked herself into some kind of tizzy about how I should’ve gotten married first,” you explain as you lead him into the bathroom, folding your arms and leaning against the wall. “Said that, um, Jamie was looking at rings before…?”
Though you trail off, both of you understand the question. Trevor swallows nervously.
“He was,” your friend confirms, voice rough. Another few moments of silence pass as you process the news. Maybe, if you had known back then, it could have saved your relationship. Whether you had to stay in California or not. Your eyes start to sting.
“Trevor?”
“Yeah, Lovie?”
“Does he hate me?”
He glances down at his fiancée, who looks peaceful enough for him to back you into the entryway of her suite.
“He could never. I swear.” You nod, sniffling. “You know, I think it’d help if you talk to him.”
Still quiet, you nod again. What Trevor’s saying makes sense, even though it’s so much more than you ever dared to hope for. A reunion with Jamie always seemed too good to be true. You didn’t have to end on bad terms for the breakup to be mutually terrible, which was clear from the months spent recovering – for both of you, which you knew through your friends.
Trevor speaks again, lowering his voice to make sure Sierra doesn’t hear. Which may be unnecessary, because she seems to be asleep from where you’re standing.
“Lovie, we know how hard the long distance was on you. He may not have realized it immediately, but Jimmy was busy making plans for it, to make it work. I don’t wanna speak for him when I say this, but I think… maybe you aren’t the only one who isn’t really past it, whether you want to admit it or not. He hasn’t said it outright, but he misses you.”
“You can be pretty wise on occasion, you know that?” you ask him, trying to smile casually as you wipe the tears from your eyes.
He shrugs, putting his hands in his front pockets. “Only because I’m about to be an old married man, now. Your girl here did that to me.” As if on cue, she groans from the bathroom. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go take care of my lovely puke-faced fiancée.”
Trevor pats you on the shoulder with a wink before he returns to Sierra’s side. You see yourself out, but press your back to their door for a minute.
Your head is spinning. Jamie misses you. Jamie isn’t over you. He would want to talk to you, if you tried. It’s unbelievable.
As you make your way back to your room, the time of night starting to register, you pull out your phone and open a contact that may as well have gathered dust in the time you spent away from him. Messages get typed, deleted, and rephrased before you finally land on one. Even then, you refuse to hit send until you’re on the verge of sleep.
Whatever comes from this, you’ll deal with it tomorrow.
You wake when the morning light hits your face, grumbling and turning away. A gentle voice laughs from beside you. It’s felt more than heard. Then an arm comes to rest on your body, pulling you closer to someone else.
If the voice wasn’t a dead giveaway, the warmth that blooms in your body is. The feelings of comfort and familiarity are.
You roll back over to face Jamie, but his arm falls away as you do. He just looks at you. Even if you normally can read his every expression, this one doesn’t qualify – his eyes are looking somewhere else, far away.
“Jamie?” you try to ask, but nothing comes out. So you try again. “How are you here?”
Your own voice echos around the room, growing louder and louder as it bounces off the walls until it’s too much. You squeeze your eyes shut. When you re-open them, Jamie is gone.
Heart rate spiking, you attempt to fling the covers off to find him. They’re so heavy, though. You try slipping out from under them, but they hold you tight. You can’t move, you can’t speak, you can’t do anything to chase your lost love.
When you wake, your cheeks are wet again. You wipe the tears on your shirt, embarrassed even if no one’s around to see it. There’s a family brunch at 10:30 and though Sierra invited you, you never planned on going. Rolling over to check the time on your phone, you realize there’s no way you would be ready in time anyhow.
There’s also a text message.
“When and where?” Jamie has responded simply to your request for a conversation.
You only need a minute to come up with a suggestion. It may not be the same beach that you used to walk on, but there’s still one nearby.
Jamie is already waiting at the edge of the resort patio when you arrive. He doesn’t say anything, but inclines his head toward the beach when you approach. The two of you proceed to the sand silently.
You’re taking turns pretending not to look at each other, but you notice that Jamie’s facial hair has filled in since he left. Maybe it was the chill of Philly. He just looks more like a full-grown man now – a little rugged, a bit less energetic than the boy you originally fell in love with.
Stopping to take off your shoes, you remember that you need to tell him you’re doing so. But when you look up, he’s stopped with you as if by muscle memory.
“So,” he starts, clearing his throat when you stand back up. “What’s up?”
The question is awkward. It nearly gets blown away by the breeze coming off the ocean before you answer.
“Can’t I just want to know how you’re doing?” you try to joke, but it falls flat.
His silence speaks volumes. When you look over, he’s already looking back at you. “C’mon, Lovie.”
You sigh, looking back down to play with your shoes. “I talked to Trevor a little bit last night. Sierra said something when she was drunk, but I didn’t really believe her until he confirmed what I’d heard.” Your eyes find his, wide, green-blue like seafoam. Your head stays down as you continue. “I’m not sure he would have ever told me if Sierra hadn’t, but he said…” you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Said I should talk to you about it.”
And maybe it’s lucky, maybe it’s unlucky, but Jamie knows exactly what you’re talking about.
“The ring.”
Except the way he’s phrased it, it’s like he found one. And purchased it.
“Well, ring shopping, yeah,” you tell him, finally looking back up at him. “After I got my bachelors, huh?”
He rubs his face awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “I know that wasn’t part of your five-year plan, or whatever. Just… couldn’t wait anymore.”
“I think I would have been okay with it,” you tell him. You hug your arms to yourself, suddenly feeling cold in the middle of July. “You were always a part of the plan, you know? Even if it was just… watching every game I could with no contact, I couldn’t ever really let you go.” Jamie stops, tugging on your hand to keep you there with him.
“No?” he asks, making sure you hold eye contact with him.
“No,” you confirm, shaking your head for emphasis. There’s more you would like to say, but his lips are on yours before you can. His hands are tangling themselves in your hair. Unable to think for a moment, you exhale a short, disbelieving laugh.
At your reaction, Jamie starts pulling away. You don’t let him, rising onto your toes to close the gap between you again.
“I’ve already made that mistake once,” you mumble into the kiss. “Believe me, never again.”
Only when you’re running out of air do you let him pull back again. But you hold onto his wrists, hands still cupping your head. In the daydreams you imagined of you two finding each other again, there was always a moment where you locked eyes and felt that each other had remained exactly the same.
Real life isn’t quite like that. His eyes meet yours and indeed, they are the same as they’ve always been – gorgeous, expressive, trusting. But his face as a whole is older. You can read the pain of his trade and the long recovery right there, moving one of your hands up to his stubbly cheek and rubbing your thumb over the bone.
“I missed you,” you say, voice cracking under all the emotion it’s trying to carry.
“So much,” he replies, using the phrase you used to tack onto the end of every “I love you.” Your tears start to spill at the words. Still, you echo his words in agreement.
“So damn much.”
He uses his hold on you to pull you closer so he can press his lips against your forehead. While you’re close, he shifts so that he’s hugging mostly your shoulders and head. You feel one of his arms reach back up to his face as you tuck yours into his neck.
Neither of you are sure how long you stay there, but there are still tear streaks on both faces when you part.
“What does this mean?” you ask Jamie, adding for clarification, “For us, I mean?”
He shakes his head, arms dropping to your waist. “Told Trevor a long time ago that if I ever found out you still felt anything at all for me, I’d take advantage of it.”
“Sounds cryptic.”
Your comment earns only a half-quirk of his lips as he goes on. “I suppose the real question is what you want it to mean, Lovie.”
“Even this means so much to me,” you admit, building up the courage to tell him something you haven’t even told Sierra yet. “Um, I know I hadn’t applied anywhere when we last talked, but I did some research on grad programs, and I got into the University of Pennsylvania-”
“No way,” Jamie breathes. “You’re moving to Philly?”
“I am.” You watch his face light up in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, even though you kept an eye on his new team’s social media. It’s like someone turned his mind from night to day, removed all the clouds. “I don’t expect, and never did expect, us to immediately go back to exactly how it used to be, and I really wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want anything to do with me-”
Jamie interrupts you again. “Don’t say that, please. I want everything to do with you. I can’t stand the idea of you thinking otherwise.” He takes your hand in his, holding it up as his fingers weave in between yours. “We spent some time apart, and it hurt doing that, but I know we had to. I’d rather find you again like this than have grown resentful of each other from stress and lose you forever.”
“Jamie,” you try to say something, and you aren’t entirely sure what. Because the tears start streaming down your face. All you can say is his name again. “Jamie, god, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too, Lovie,” he says, pulling you into a hug again with his free hand.
Eventually, your tears dry up. The sun-like warmth emanating from your not-boyfriend, maybe-not-ex cheers you up again. Your beach walk resumes as you start talking – about what your time apart has been like, about what the future is going to look like.
Most importantly, of course, you outline what this means for the two of you and what you’re going to tell everyone else at the wedding. You only manage to get through deciding that you aren’t going to be official again until you’re living in the same city and you see how that goes when Jamie’s phone starts buzzing.
“It’s Trevor,” he tells you, reaching out to pull you into his side before he answers. “What’s up, man?”
You don’t hear what the groom says, but he must say something about you. Jamie’s gaze changes directions to your face, flickers down to your mouth but is quickly redirected back to the beach.
“Yeah, I’ll let her know. She should be there soon.” With that, the phone call ends. All you have to do is look at him to make him tell you. “Sierra’s freaking out about something some of the other brides…people did last night? And, apparently, only you can help her?”
“We should probably head back, then,” you decide.
So the two of you turn around, hand in hand, to figure out what the two of you are and what you’re allowed to tell the bride, groom, and anyone else who asks.
When you arrive in Sierra’s room, she’s alone. But she answered the door with a daiquiri in hand.
“Siri, what’s going on?” you ask her, eyeing the drink. “What’s wrong?”
“You were talking to Jamie,” she says, smiling wide. You’re not sure whether it’s an accusation or not.
You step inside the room, looking around for any evidence of the supposed chaos that Trevor felt the need to call about. “Yeah, but… Sierra, what was the problem? Trevor didn’t give any details.”
She waves her hand, shutting the door behind her. “Bas and Darcy ended up having a sleepover with some locals and thought they lost their room keys. We got it sorted pretty fast. Now, tell me about Jamie.”
“He’s… fine?” you try to say plainly, but you can’t hide the smile in your voice. Not from her. Your best friend whips around to face you, pointer finger raised accusatorily. “We were just catching up, Sissi.”
“No.”
“No?”
She sits on the bed, patting the spot next to her for you to come sit too. “You two never stopped loving each other. There’s no way you could have ‘just caught up,’ not when you look so happy about it.” The statement is accessorized with finger quotations. “So tell me what’s going on.”
“Pretty much what you said,” you tell her, trying to play it off. “Told him about one of the graduate programs I got into, talked about what we did in our time apart.”
And you really don’t want to tell her right before her wedding that you’ll be moving across the country in a little over a month. But it’s equally impossible to not tell her anything, which you knew when you talked it over with Jamie.
“One of the ones I got into,” you continue, “was the University of Pennsylvania.”
Her eyes widen. “In Philadelphia?!” You nod. “You have to go, Lovie! This could be your chance!” Her voice grows in volume. “Finally, my best friend getting her long-deserved second-chance romance!” Finally, she sets her drink on the nightstand to collapse dramatically on the bed, head landing in your lap. “Reuniting with the love of her life.”
“I’d miss you,” you say gently, trying to hide the warmth you feel from her encouragement. She waves her hand dismissively. Her ring distracts you as she does, catching the light streaming in through her windows. Trevor really did pick a beautiful one (though of course you helped).
“My darling best friend,” she starts again. “We can travel. We can take vacations together in the summer. We’ve had a long-distance friendship before when you went home from college after the schoolyears ended.” She takes your hands in hers, making sure that you meet her eyes. “I could never deny you the kind of love that you shared with me. That’s just cruel.”
You feel yourself tearing up, but try to hide it from her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course!” Sierra exclaims, sitting up to pull you into a hug. “And I know how good that program will be for you. I want you to have everything you’ve ever wanted, hon.”
This breaks the dam. You don’t know why the emotions are manifesting like this, but you hold tight to your best friend as you sob.
“I’m going to move to Philadelphia with Jamie,” you say when you recover a little bit. It’s mostly for your own benefit and clarity, but Sierra nods enthusiastically. “I’m going to be with Jamie again.”
“You’re going to be with Jamie again!” she repeats, louder and more excited-sounding than you. “And it’s gonna work out for good this time!”
Sniffling, you speak the manifestation with her. “And it’s gonna work out for good this time.”
And she leads you through the last sentence, the biggest confession: “Because you never stopped loving him.”
You repeat this easily. “Because I never stopped loving him.”
Sierra wraps her arms around you tighter and squeals, sending the both of you crashing back onto the bed. The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon together giggling over the boys and fairytale romances. Until you have to go back to your room to get dressed for the rehearsal dinner, that is. At that point, Meadow and Dawn have joined you in your little festivities.
“Make sure to look hot!” Sierra instructs you as you’re heading out. “I want to see Jamie’s eyes pop out of his head!”
You roll your eyes jokingly, but you do intend to listen.
“I’ll see you at the dinner, Sissi,” you tell her.
“I can’t wait to see you!” she calls back.
Meadow is the one to finally shoo you out of the room, taking a step out into the hall with you. She has a very particular look on her face. It looks very familiar to an expression that Sierra makes, but rarely.
“Should I take it that you and Jamie are acknowledging that there’s too much between you to lose?” she asks gently.
You nod, a little stunned by her phrasing.
“Good,” she continues, winking. “We were all rooting for you, you know.”
And you aren’t quite sure what to say in response, so you just thank her. But her words keep a smile on your face all the way back to your room.
There isn’t a chance for you and Jamie to talk again before the rehearsal. In fact, he’s already out on the beach lined up with the rest of the groomsmen and Trevor when you get sent down.
Still, the look on his face at your arrival makes you feel like you’re the blushing bride instead of your best friend, who is waiting at the top of the walkway with her parents behind you and Dawn.
You’re supposed to be pretending to hold a bouquet, but you break the illusion to send him a little wave. His smile makes it all worth it, even the clear glare you’re getting from Darcy. He waves back too. Distracted from trying to see his bride, Trevor looks back and forth between the two of you with a knowing grin.
Eventually, you do reach the end of the aisle. You join Trevor’s younger sister Ava in the bridesmaid line to watch Dawn finish her journey down. She, too, shoots you a happy look when she turns around to face her baby sister.
Oh, how beautiful Sierra looks. So happy. You lean back a bit, hoping to see Trevor’s face around Dawn. Instead you catch a glimpse of Jamie. He’s not watching Sierra walk down, but seems to have known that you would be looking for Trevor’s reaction. And he’s just watching you.
Jamie winks, inclining his head toward your friends. The match the two of you made. So you redirect your attention.
You don’t have to see it to hear the sniffle from Trevor. This sets off the waterworks for you and Dawn, who reaches into some hidden pocket in her dress to offer you a tissue.
When Sierra and her parents reach the end of the aisle, she hands her pretend bouquet over to Dawn. Both Meadow and John hug her before turning her over to Trevor. They exchange quiet words before turning to their respective parties and shouting.
“Now we eat!” you hear Trevor bellow, even over Sierra’s similar proclamation.
“Don’t we need to walk back down the aisle?” Dawn points out.
“Right. We walk down the aisle,” Trevor says, continuing in a yell, “And then we eat!”
He and Sierra lead the way back down, pausing in between where the chairs are going to be for him to kiss her with a dramatic dip. Their siblings meet for Griffin to escort Dawn.
Then it’s time for you to meet Jamie.
He links his arm with yours respectfully, minding your fake bouquet. As you walk, he leans down to murmur in your ear.
“I’m the luckiest guy here,” he says, “to even have another chance with you.”
You just giggle. “I’m the luckiest person in the world just because you don’t hate me,” you respond.
At the top of the dunes, near the hotel’s patio, you see Sierra and Trevor watching you hand in hand. They wait until you get closer to speak.
“Don’t the two of you look nice together,” Trevor teases. “The soon-to-be Philadelphia version of us, so I’m told.”
Sierra is more blunt. “Ohmygosh, I’m almost more excited about this than the wedding,” she tells you breathlessly, ignoring Trevor’s sound of protest. “We’ve been looking for an excuse to make this happen since… well…” And she trails off, but you know what she means.
Since the two of you made the decision to end things. Since anyone realized that the two of you were still in love with each other. Since your friends knew better than you did.
They only tease you and Jamie for a few moments more before they leave to start hosting their rehearsal dinner. You step off to the side so everybody else can make their way in. You’re fairly sure you hear Darcy complaining about you stealing Jamie to Bas as they go, but you know better now.
He was never hers to have. He’s always been yours.
“I missed you,” he says softly, cupping your face equally as soft.
“I missed you too,” you reply, knowing that he means for longer than just this afternoon. “So much.”
“So much.”
Jamie makes sure to kiss you again – gently, deeply – before the two of you make your way into the rehearsal dinner. Somehow, you know that this is the (second) first of many.
The wedding ceremony the next day is beautiful. Dawn teaches you how to hide tissues in your bouquet and how to dab at your eyes without ruining your makeup. Jamie walks you back down the aisle holding your hand, and the two of you make the best entrance of the bridal party (according to guest vote).
Even better, he saves every dance for you. At least, when he’s not dancing with Trevor and the guys, or the moms and aunts who request a turn. And at the end of the night it’s you who he walks respectfully back to the room as if on a first date. He asks permission before he kisses you, promising to find you in the morning – and help you move into your new apartment in Philly.
Your relationship isn’t exactly the same as it was before, but the hopes for it remain. This time, you feel even more reassured in them.
~~~
Moving across the country to live by yourself was hard. Somehow, this feels more difficult.
“I don’t think I can do it, Jamie,” you tell him. “There’s no way it’s going to work out like this.”
He sighs. “I’ll tell you again, Lovie – we’re going to do it together. That means we can do it.”
“The power of love isn’t going to magically get this couch through the front door, Jamie!” you exclaim, chuckling despite yourself. Your boyfriend of two consecutive years now, ever the optimist, tries to demonstrate how holding the couch this way is, in fact, going to get it through the door. You don’t believe him.
One call to Cam later, you have proven that the couch actually wouldn’t get through the door the way Jamie was trying, and you’ve met some of your new neighbors in one of the most embarrassing manners possible.
Jamie’s teammate heads home, leaving the two of you to collapse on your new couch.
“I think we made the right choice,” Jamie tells you.
You just nod in agreement, reaching for his hand from your side. The complex left the AC off until move-in day, and it’s struggling against the summer heat. So are you. Jamie gets up, heading into the bedroom – to change his sweat-soaked shirt or to put on less company-appropriate clothing, if you had to guess.
So you just close your eyes until he gets back, hoping it’ll make the heat go away.
“Lovie, could you look at me, please?”
When you open them, you see Jamie. He’s sitting on the floor in front of you, hands resting in his pockets. Wait, no. He’s down on one knee. His hands have pulled something out of his pocket.
The tears come so fast you can barely make out the ring.
“If I thought I was impatient last time, this time I was getting desperate to do this,” Jamie jokes. “But, y’know, you’re out of school now and have a nice fancy degree with your name on it, so I think we’re doing alright timeline-wise.”
“Yes,” you tell him.
He laughs, shaking his head at your silliness. “I haven’t even asked the question yet!”
“Okay, ask me.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” you say, sliding off the couch to join him on the floor. “A million times, yes.”
Jamie smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls the ring out of the box for you to slide on. “Finally, right?”
You nod. Sierra’s going to want to hear about this, but right now you just want to bask in it: you, Jamie, and your own little happily ever after.
you were never meant to be so tough. i know the softness of your heart [jh.86]
pairing: jack hughes x reader
nickname: kitty
word count: 8.5k
summary: When a boy starts showing up at the animal shelter you work at simply to get acquainted with them enough to find himself a pet, both of you end up wanting a lot more than you originally bargained for.
warnings: slight angst, mentions of jack's injury (sorry), deep down jack hughes is a cat person agenda
author's note: I figured he would be missed, so here we go. Have some fluffy Jack Hughes and fluffy friends.
You’re holding a little goblin of a dog when the bell over the door rings and you see him for the first time. He – not the dog – isn’t a huge guy, but the way he’s walking with his shoulders so hunched makes it seem like he’s trying to hide. It reminds you of the dog, a little bit. Just if you’re being completely honest.
Someone told you that when the pup was found on the street, he wasn’t yet a year old, but he had been absolutely terrified of the kind soul that ended up bringing him to your shelter. Even with all the love and care you and your coworkers had poured into him, the poor little guy still gets pretty nervous. Which is why you let him out to practice being your lapdog sometimes.
This young man, who doesn’t quite seem to know what he’s doing here, has similar vibes: antsy. Maybe like the world’s beaten him down a little bit. Not unkind, not like a horrible person, which you can sense as soon as they step foot inside.
Just kind of… weathered. Exhausted. Too tired for his young age.
So you put on a bright smile, propping Oscar up in your arms a little bit to give him a fair chance at being the one this kid is looking for.
“Hi! Welcome to Fuzzy Paws Sanctuary. How can I help you today?”
The sound of your voice seems to startle the guy, whose eyes widen as he turns to face you. Under his black beanie, his eyes are a deep stormy gray.
“Um,” he starts, voice soft. “I’ve never really had a pet, but I heard that animals are great therapy, and…” He trails off, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to come up with his next words. “I’m just really not sure where to start with maybe getting a pet.”
You nod, stepping out from behind the reception desk. Oscar wiggles, trying to reach the guy as you recall your script and introduce yourself.
“We here at Fuzzy Paws mainly care for dogs and cats, so unfortunately we don’t have much variety in pets for you to look at, but you’re welcome to take your time getting to know any of our animals here. In fact, we recommend it before taking one home,” you explain, gesturing to the door leading to the kennels. “That way, you have a better idea of their personality and whether it’s compatible with you and your lifestyle or not.”
He nods, stuffing his hands in his front pockets nervously as he peeks through the semi-frosted window in the door. You know he’ll only see the concrete-floored hallway and kennel doors, but he doesn’t have to know that. It would be rude to say so.
“Do you know if you’d rather have a cat or dog,” you start to ask, but hesitate when you realize he still hasn’t given you a name.
“Jack,” he clarifies, the faintest hints of a smile starting to appear on his face.
“Jack,” you repeat after him, feeling yourself start to smile again. The name suits him. The smile suits him.
Both of you stand there looking at each other for a moment. Then you remember that you have a job to be doing here. You indicate the little rascal in your hands, who’s actually been behaving well for the duration of the interaction.
“So, Jack,” you try again. “Dog, or cat?”
He shrugs. “I really don’t know, honestly. Like I said, haven’t really been around animals. Some of my older friends have been telling me that they help with anxiety and stuff, so I thought…,” he trails off, chewing on his lip and shrugging again.
“I could see you going either way, myself,” you offer. “If you’ve got an active lifestyle and a big yard, most dogs would love that. Take Oscar, here. He’s got little legs, but if he gets a chance he’ll run until they’ll fall off. In the meantime, he’s pretty content with being a lapdog. If you don’t want an animal who needs a lot of attention, you’ll probably be a lot better off with a cat. They tend to be more independent.”
The little half-smile starts to reappear on his face. “Cats sound like my older brother.”
“Would you like to meet some?” you ask, returning the expression.
You can feel the excitement swelling in you like it always does, maybe with a hint of a crush because he’s cute, but ultimately because you know he might be adopting one of your furry babies. There’s sadness at that, but sending them off to a happy home is one of your favorite things in the world.
“Cats or dogs?” he questions, the semi-grin remaining but eyebrows furrowing in confusion. It’s a cute expression, and you want to kick yourself for thinking so.
“Well, we can start with dogs since I’ll need to put Oscar away unless you want to start with him?”
The wheels are turning in his head as he looks at the small Pomeranian mix in your hands. As if he knows that he’s being evaluated, his puffy tail starts wagging when Jack makes eye contact. Good boy, you tell him silently.
“Yeah, I think I’d like to get to know Oscar,” he agrees, hand flexing like he wants to try petting but isn’t sure.
“Perfect. He’s a little bit shy, but he’s a total sweetheart.”
You scan your pass to unlock the door, leading Jack back through the kennel hall to the “conference” room. You and your coworkers originally called it the meeting room, but someone had once joked that if it was the room where so many meetings happened then it was more of a conference room and the name stuck. Technically, the sign outside the door still labels it as the meeting room.
“Right in here,” you tell him. Launching into your normal spiel as you let the door close behind you, you notice Jack is listening intently. “So, like I’ve said this is Oscar. He is a Pom mix, so a longer-haired dog, and he’s about a year and a half old. If you’d like to sit down, get a bit closer to his level, I think it might make both of you a little more comfortable.”
The young man does as you say, quickly, though you notice his jeans straining on his thighs when he sits criss-cross applesauce on the floor. That can’t be comfortable, but you digress.
“I’m going to put Oscar down now. We recommend, especially with the dogs who may need a minute to warm up like Oscar does, staying mostly still and offering a closed fist for them to sniff when they come near you. Once he shows signs of being comfortable with you, you’re welcome to pet him – he’s an especially soft little guy, so not only does he love it but hopefully you will too.” As you talk, you lower the pup to the floor.
His little legs start moving to go before he’s even fully on the ground. Almost miraculously, he runs over to Jack and starts licking the offered hand. Jack laughs.
“That tickles, bud,” he informs the dog, who instead of refraining decides to try and go for Jack’s face.
“I’m so sorry, I promise he isn’t normally like this–” you cut yourself off as you get closer. “I can pick him back up if he’s being too much for you.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Jack says, waving you off with one hand while the other keeps Oscar at bay. “I’m glad he likes me. I wasn’t sure animals would.”
You feel the tension leave your shoulders, heaving a sigh of relief. “Animals have a great sense of character,” you say, though neither of the happy boys on the floor seem to be giving you much of their attention.
When Oscar calms down, you eventually put him back in his kennel to introduce Jack to a couple of other dogs in different sizes. None of them react with quite the same intensity as your favorite little puffball. But they all seem to really like the kid.
Similarly, when you bring a cat or two in, they warm up quicker than normal.
“If you don’t already have a career, I think it would be morally wrong if I didn’t suggest you get into the animal care business,” you joke to Jack, whose bright eyes dim at the mention a little.
“Already got a job, but thank you,” he says, avoiding your eyes once more.
You see him out almost two hours after he first came in, and he looks much happier than the first time he made that bell ring.
“Thank you for coming in, Jack. I hope we-” your phrasing makes you wince a little, so you correct it as quick as you can. “-the pets, I mean, get to see you again soon. I think you’ll find a really great match here.”
He smiles, really smiles at you, for the first time since he’s been here. He had smiled before, but that was at the animals. Much different. Not that you could hold that against him, of course.
“Me too,” he says quietly, and then he’s gone.
It feels like a while goes by before Jack comes back – maybe a month, but that’s longer than most adoptees wait. By the time he does, it’s gotten a lot colder outside. Most of the dogs hate going out even to potty. And when he opens the door, a big gust of wind practically throws him inside, sending a shiver down your spine for more than one reason.
You’re caught in his gaze for a moment, entirely lost for words. He was cute before in just a jacket and beanie. Now, with a scarf around his neck that brings out the bright blue in his eyes, he’s pretty mesmerizing.
“Kitty!” your fellow front desk worker Mara gets your attention. “Do you want to work with this one?”
You nod, still silent, wiping your clammy palms on your thighs. And you get up and approach him. This time, he smiles just at that.
“Hi again, Jack,” you greet him, hoping he hadn’t heard the nickname that your coworkers use for you. “How have you been? Oscar’s missed you.”
“I missed him too,” he tells you earnestly, then pauses. “Kitty?” You see him glance down to your nametag, which has your real name and definitely not Kitty. That’s more of an inside joke.
You sigh. “There’s this sound that people make to get a cat’s attention, and my friends here figured out that it also… got, it gets mine too. So they nicknamed me ‘Kitty Cat’, that got too long, and… yeah. Here we are.”
He nods, but doesn’t say anything else about it, which you’re grateful for.
“So what brings you back in today, Jack?”
“I was hoping to meet a few more of the animals?” he says, seemingly unsure if he will be allowed to come and just hang out with them again. As if he’s afraid that you might turn him away for his hesitation.
“Of course,” you tell him, scanning the two of you into the back. “Do you have a preference for dogs or cats first today?”
He wants to meet some more dogs – you bring out Oscar just because you know the two of them like each other so much, and it helps warm Jack up to animal time again. Then he meets a stray that had been found while he was away. Her name is Violet. You haven’t been told why yet.
Like every other animal, Violet is head over paws for Jack, and he seems to like her a lot too.
As he sits with the animals, he talks to you. It helps them get used to the sound of his voice and get to know him, as you explained. You’re just lucky that it helps you get to know him too.
You and Violet learn that he works out often, but in a gym with a trainer and sometimes his younger brother who lives with him.
“Are you sure your little brother would want a pet?” you ask, hoping that if he does end up bringing one of your little guys home he wouldn’t be bringing them back anytime soon, if at all.
“It’s my apartment. He kinda has to deal with it. But he’s really chill, I don’t think he’d mind anyway,” Jack explains casually.
He shares, too, that he does most of the cooking for himself and his brother, because they have to eat a certain way to stay in shape. And that he’s shorter than the brother that lives with him but is not the shortest in the family, because he has a whole one inch on his older brother. That’s the one that has a cat-like personality.
When you get to the cats – a couple of sweet, fluffy, outgoing girls and one sassy tom – Jack opens up about his family a little more. He tells you that they moved a few times as he grew up, first for his dad’s job and then for his older brother Quinn’s schooling. He’s happy that they ended up where they did, but he gets a little homesick.
Less so, now that his younger brother is here from college, but he still misses his parents and Quinn.
The tomcat, Barney, has a lot of energy to get out today. You show Jack how to use one of his favorite toys to goad him into running around the room, and the topic of sports comes up. Your family only really follows basketball, but you know better than to root for a New York team so you only vaguely keep up with the 76ers. His family is big into hockey, apparently.
“Oh really?” you ask. “Do you guys keep up with our team? The… Demons, or whatever they’re called?”
He laughs. “The Devils. Yeah, we keep up with them pretty well.”
“How are they this year?”
Your question was only meant to be friendly, but the mood in the room drops. The smile slides off his face like a sheet of ice off a windshield. His head drops and he focuses on Barney in front of him, rolling around the floor batting at the toy Jack holds.
“They’re alright, for now,” he tells you, kind of sadly. “Lotta young guys on the team and we know they’re always putting in one hundred percent, it just… doesn’t always turn out in their favor. It’s easy to get unlucky in sports, y’know?”
“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “Do you enjoy watching them, still?”
“I don’t get to watch as much hockey as I did when I was young,” Jack says, and you can hear the strain in his voice.
You aren’t really sure what else to say, so you just apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories or anything.”
“No, Kitty, you’re fine,” he reassures you. “Just thinking about work and all. It’s been a lot more stressful lately. That’s what’s keeping me away from being a super involved fan.”
So you redirect the conversation a little bit, though it’s still a worrying topic for you.
“Do you think you’d have enough time for an animal, if it’s taking so much from you?”
“I’m not really sure,” he says, squinting. “I travel a lot too. Do you think most animals could handle that?”
You think on it for a minute. They all love him, so there might be a bit of separation trouble, but he’s clearly meant to have an animal of some kind. You just know it.
“Well, like I said last time. Cats are the independent ones, most dogs need a little more direct attention. So a cat could probably be okay with you leaving often as long as someone stops by and feeds them once or twice a day and scoops the litter, but you’d have to have someone stay with a dog or take it to an overnight kennel,” you conclude.
Jack listens to every word of your little speech, even forgetting to play with Barney because of it. The cat, now bored, gets up and stalks away to find something else to entertain him. The young man doesn’t even seem to notice.
“I really don’t want to get an animal and then accidentally mistreat it because I’m so busy with my job,” he confesses. When he finally meets your eyes again, his are a little shiny.
Though you know he’s not a child or an animal himself, you lower yourself to his level. You make sure he’s making eye contact before you start speaking.
“Jack, if you’re putting in the effort to take care of an animal, they’ll know that even if you leave them alone for a bit. If we had to be with pets twenty-four-seven, nobody would have any at all. I promise, it’s not going to ruin your relationship with your future pet.”
He nods. You can tell that he’s really thinking about it, too. It warms you from the inside out – how seriously he’s taking your advice.
“I’m really glad you’re the person guiding me through this, Kitty,” he says eventually. “I’m sure a lot of people wouldn’t care enough to reassure me so much. You’re really good at your job.”
“It’s so much more than a job to me,” you say quietly. “But thank you.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” he teases, pointing at your hands. You barely noticed, but they’ve ended up playing with Barney while you talked with Jack.
You can feel yourself turning pink. “Oops, sorry!” You dust off your pants and stand up. “Right now, that’s actually your job!” The joke doesn’t land fully, but enough for Jack to remember that he should be entertaining the cat.
“Thank you, though,” he tells you. And you just nod, because is there really a way to respond to that without seeming entirely too arrogant or invested?
Shortly after, Jack has to go. You put Barney up before you escort him out. He’s getting more comfortable with animals, you make it a point to tell him, and soon enough you could see him loving the company of a little fuzzy friend at home.
“Thank you, Kitty, again,” he makes sure you hear before he leaves. “It’s been really nice to see you again.”
“I look forward to your next visit!” you call as the door closes. And you cringe at yourself, again, because that statement should have been a we to include the animals that might be starting to get attached to him.
Your fellow desk worker, Mara, gives you a look when you collapse back into your chair. Though you try to ignore it you can’t escape her gaze. The look on her face is one you know well, but it’s never been directed at you like this before.
In an attempt to cut her off before she starts, you spin and turn the other way. A hand yanks your chair back.
“Looking forward to someone’s next visit, eh?” Mara teases in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. “If I didn’t know any better-”
“Don’t!” you exclaim, giggling despite yourself. “Shut up, Mara!”
She continues anyway. “-the baby of the work family is developing a little crush!”
You duck, covering your face with your hands. It’s not reasonable at all to crush on the random boy who could stop coming back at any time, but Mara isn’t necessarily wrong. He’s cute, he’s good with the animals, he’s just… perfect. A little mysterious, but as long as that isn’t hiding a dark past you think you’ll be ok.
“I’m not even sure he’ll come back, Mara,” you say seriously. “Even this time took a month.”
“You never know, Kitty. Maybe he’ll keep coming back until he has a pet and you,” she says, still-half teasing but definitely trying to cheer you up a little.
So you shrug, pulling out some papers for busy work. Of course, what you actually end up doing is daydreaming about the soft-spoken boy with the big heart.
Jack visits a couple of times more, each about a month apart. Each time, he gets to know more animals. He gets more comfortable with their names, their mannerisms. You’re not quite sure he’s found the pet for him, but you know he’s leaning toward getting a cat with his travel schedule. Still, he keeps coming back.
He comes back for the second time in January, and you don’t even notice him coming in. Your head is on the desk, trying to hide your sniffling. You almost jump a foot in the air when you feel a hand, hesitant but gentle, on your back.
“Kitty,” Jack says when you look at him. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you try to dismiss the emotion clear on your face, waving your hand flippantly in the air. “I just… Oscar got adopted last night, after my shift, and I only found out when I got in today. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
His thumb starts rubbing back and forth. It seems to radiate heat, even through your uniform shirt.
“That sucks. I’m sorry,” he says simply, though something about his tone gives you an impression that he knows exactly what that’s like.
“You’re back early,” you realize, wiping your final tears away as you turn to really face him. His hand slips from your back onto your chair. He moves it quickly before it comes near your butt, for which you are thankful.
“I… uh, work’s gonna keep me away for most of February – there’s this big international thing coming up – so I wanted to make absolute sure I got back in here before I went away for that. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to in the break between regular work and the other thing.”
You smile at his awkwardness, which has becoming endearing over the course of your time together.
“That’s sweet. I’m sure some of the animals would love to see you today. They’ve been pretty down with the weather and all,” you explain, getting up to take him back to the conference room. He’s since been let in on the joke, even though he’s not an official volunteer or anything.
And even though you’ve been careful to handle all of his visits, your coworkers have gotten to know him a little bit in the months he’s been visiting. Nearly as well as the animals. It’s kind of a general consensus now that he’s an absolute sweetheart, and he needs an animal.
“We haven’t really gotten anyone new recently,” you tell him, “but unfortunately a couple of Christmas gifts have already come back, so if you’d like to have visits with them I’m sure they would appreciate it.”
“Christmas gifts?” Jack’s brows furrow when he says it, and your heart aches a bit.
You think it’s one of the worst holiday trends, but you try not to let your bitterness seep into your voice when you clarify it for him.
“Animals that are adopted or bought for the sake of the holidays and then returned to shelters within a month because the families weren’t actually prepared for the reality of owning a pet.”
“That’s so gross,” he responds immediately, making you nod. Then, a second later, he continues. “Of course I wanna see them. Poor little guys.”
The two of you walk in silence down the hall. It’s not as uncomfortable as you would expect. Of course you’re used to some quiet moments when he’s busy playing with the animals, but it’s never really been just the two of you. You have to convince yourself that he’s only looking over to see the kennels on your side of the hall.
He couldn’t be looking at you. Right?
Jack re-meets a few animals today. Marina the tortoiseshell, Diamond the Persian, and Duke the pitbull were all brought back sometime after New Years celebrations, each family with a different (pathetic) excuse.
Mara was the most upset about Duke, but you mourned for Marina. She had been let outside too much by the family, and was nearly frostbitten and feral when she came back. Those people have since been blacklisted by the owner of the shelter, but the damage has already been done.
It’s maybe Jack’s longest visit yet, considering the amount of time he spends with each of them. You bring up an idea you had when he’s on his way out.
“Hey Jack, have you ever considered volunteering here?” you question, as if you haven’t been thinking about trying to talk him into it since December.
“I really don’t think I could have a steady schedule or anything. Work’s just too crazy,” he explains. “And I’m actually not from the area, so this is a little out of the way to be coming down too often. I’m sorry, though. I wish I could.”
You shake your head. “It’s no problem, we’re just always looking and you seem to really enjoy the company of the animals, so I thought…” Trailing off, you shrug. “Just an idea. We’re happy to have you come spend time with our little friends here no matter what. Soon enough, I think we’ll be able to introduce you to this litter of kittens that was born last month. So I hope you come back before they’re gone.”
“I will,” he tells you softly, pausing. To your surprise, he pulls you in for a quick hug. When he parts, he explains, “I’m sorry that you couldn’t say goodbye to Oscar, and that it’s such a sad month for you right now. I hope it’ll get better. And I hope I can come back before the big work thing.” There’s another, longer pause before he continues this time. You wonder what’s on his mind. It seems pretty serious. “I could, uh, use the motivation from all my little buddies here.”
“We’ll be rooting for you, whatever you’re doing,” you reassure him, patting his shoulder. “Promise.”
His eyes brighten at your words, and a smile stretches across his face. A big, genuine one. “Thanks, Kitty. That means a lot.”
And then he’s gone again.
Before his next visit, Mara gets on you when she realizes how bad your yearning and curiosity is as you recap his parting words to you, his warning that he might not be around in February. She reminds you that though it’s not necessarily work-level ethical, you could ask him out anytime because there’s no way anyone at the shelter would fire you, least of all the owner.
Simultaneously, she points out that for most people, getting the two of you together has become as much of a mission as finding Jack an animal has.
So when Jack shows up maybe two weeks after his last visit, you’re understandably a bit flustered already.
“Hey, Kitty!” he calls warmly over the sound of the door bell.
You startle, hand flying to your heart. Hopefully it muffles how fast and loud it’s beating – not just because you’re dealing with a case of the Mondays and got scared. Somehow you doubt it.
“Hi, Jack!” you exclaim back, trying to match his random burst of energy. “What brings you in today? Finally going to take somebody home?”
“Not quite,” he says, grinning. “Just missed you guys. Had a little bit of time to get away from work.”
It’s not a very satisfying answer, but you take it anyway. Because he’s him. And, if he has the time to visit the animals, you have some very interesting little siblings for him to meet. Technically, Marina’s nieces and nephew.
“Alright, do you want to make some new friends today?” you ask him as you make your way to the conference room.
“You sound really excited about these guys, whoever they are,” he fakes sounding nervous. “Should I be worried? Is this how you rope me in and make me start working here?”
“No, they’re Marina’s niblings. You remember her from last time? Her sister had kittens in December and they’re finally old enough to start socializing,” you explain, keeping the smile on your face.
Jack’s expression softens when he looks over at you. Quickly, he agrees to meet the gang. He must be really starting to like cats, you think, because you’ve never really seen him do that for any other animal before. Silently, you coo to yourself. That’s kinda precious.
So he makes himself at home in the conference room, and you go to gather the little family. It’s not really a requirement to bring their mother in with them to meet people anymore, but you still make sure to add Isla to the basket you use for transport.
“Jack,” you announce as you join him in the room, basket in your arms, “This is Isla and her babies. Kittens, this is Jack.”
There are two girls and one boy. Isla is an energetic and playful orange tabby like Barney, but her kittens look very different. None of them have been named yet, all nicknamed “Baby,” but at least you can tell them apart. One of the girls is a fluffy little calico, the other a grey tabby with her momma’s stripe patterns. Both of the girls have green eyes in contrast to Isla’s yellow-brown.
Then there’s the boy. He was born with blue eyes that he still hasn’t grown out of and silky, jet black fur that stayed short like his mom’s. And though you don’t have much to go by socially, he hasn’t seemed to really like anyone besides his little family.
Until now, apparently, when you gently scoop his wriggly little body out of the basket and place him on the floor. Because he confidently struts right over to Jack and starts rubbing his face on the young man’s sneakers.
“Um, wow,” you say. Out loud.
“What?” Jack asks, looking between you and the kitten. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, he just-” you cut yourself off in your disbelief. “He doesn’t really like anyone, hasn’t been very good with people- until now, I guess, because he seems to love you.”
Jack grins, almost as bright as you’ve ever seen. “This means he likes me?” he asks, pointing to where the kitten is still shoving his face into Jack’s shoes.
“Yeah, Jack, that means he’s, like, claiming you. He wants his sisters to know you’re his, I think?”
“Thanks, bud,” he tells the kitten, picking him up gently and transferring him to his lap. “It’s nice to meet you too. I think we’re gonna get along.” Then he looks up at you, eyes still shining with pride from being chosen. “Do they have names?”
You shake your head. “We’ve all been in disagreement for a while, and we thought… well, if they were going to get adopted anytime soon, we’d leave that privilege to their new families.”
It’s obvious that Jack is excited about the initial response, but his face falls a bit at the “families” part. You don’t have to wonder why for long.
“I kind of had an idea for this guy’s name, if he didn’t have one already,” he tells you, shrugging and trying to play it off as nonchalant. But clearly he cares. So you egg him on.
“Yeah?” you prompt, sitting down and letting Isla come over for pets. “And what would that be?”
“I thought Puck would be good.”
“Oh,” you say. “Like from that Shakespeare play?”
Jack laughs, shaking his head. You notice the way his hair – which has grown since the first time you met him – moves around his face and neck as he does. It looks soft. Something in you, you’re not sure what, represses the urge to reach up and tuck a stray strand behind his ear.
“No, Puck like a hockey puck. He’s about the same color,” is the explanation you get. “Besides his eyes.” Jack lifts the cat to see his eyes better, and the kitten mews at him. You suspect the cat might be getting a little mad at how Jack’s handling him, but before you can correct it Jack tucks the kitten into his arms and chest and starts petting his head with three fingers.
Suddenly, the cat is once again content. He just likes being close to Jack. You can’t really blame him.
“I think he likes it,” you point with your chin at where Jack is holding him. He tries to look down, but can’t really see the cat too well from his angle. “He seems really happy with you. You guys are a great pair.”
“Thank you, Kitty,” Jack says softly, looking back up at you. “I think if I could take anybody, I’d like to take him.”
You’d like to pounce on the opportunity, but two big things hold you back. For one, Isla’s kittens are supposed to stay with her until they’re 12 weeks old – it’s just better for them, helps them be more independent in their new homes. So Jack couldn’t take Puck home today even if he wanted to.
Also, him taking an animal home today would mean an extremely low likelihood of him coming back. And while you would be happy for him and his new pet, your heart would break a little. It’s just inevitable.
Success in your mission means losing Jack. You hadn’t really faced the reality of that until now. But it can’t happen today nonetheless, so you brush off the thought and come up with a reply.
“But you can’t take him today?”
“Going away, remember? The tournament starts in Montreal-” and he freezes, big blue eyes wide. Puck reaches up and bats at him, asking for more attention. You’re focused on whatever Jack has just revealed by saying this.
“Tournament?”
And he sighs, putting his kitten back on the floor. Puck is not happy about it. “I play for the Devils,” Jack finally confesses, refusing to look at you. “And the big international work thing is a tournament, where I’ve been chosen to represent the States.”
“I’m so sorry!” you blurt, mortified. The only thing you remember about the team right now is calling them demons – to his face. “I didn’t mean to offend you by not knowing or anything-”
“No, Kitty, it was really nice. I promise,” he sighs again. “It’s been nice having a place where none of that stuff mattered. But I guess, now, the cat’s out of the bag.”
You giggle despite yourself. He looks up at you, surprised at the noise.
“What?”
“I just- good pun. And I really don’t want to be offensive with this, Jack, but I promise you playing big-time hockey doesn’t make much of a difference here. All we care about is whether you’ll be a good pet owner or not,” you tell him. “Personally, I don’t know enough about hockey to want to treat you different, and I probably won’t unless you want me to.”
“Please don’t. Not like that,” he says, and you wonder what other way he means he wants you to treat him. But he keeps going too fast for you to react. “I really like what we have going here, and I’m glad that my job isn’t going to change anything. I feel like it changes everything else.”
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he has to distract Puck from trying to climb back into his lap while he checks it.
“I’ve actually got to get going, though. I’m supposed to take my brother to the airport soon. So I’ll see you after the tournament, if that’s okay?”
“Yeah,” you say, a little absentmindedly. Your head is going crazy, about to burst with all the revelations of this visit. “Yeah, that’s okay. I have to put the kittens back, if you have time to wait for me to do that, but if you don’t I get it and you’re allowed to let yourself out.”
“I’m already running late,” he checks the time on his phone, sounding apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Kitty. I’ll definitely be back when everything’s done, though.”
He leaves you with that one last promise and a sorrowful smile. Then he’s gone.
But you find him on the Devils’ roster, and you watch as many of the tournament games as you can. You learn that it’s called the 4 Nations Face Off. Once it’s over, you don’t have as much time to see the games, and you aren’t even sure that Jack wants you to see him play like that.
So you’re a bit shocked when Jack and a taller guy with curly brown hair come in together in late March. Even more so that Jack’s right arm is in a sling.
“Are you okay?” is the first thing you ask, even before saying hi or introducing yourself to the other guy, who shoots Jack a look at your words. You rush out from behind the desk too. Just can’t help yourself. “What happened to you, Jack?”
You don’t reach for him, but you want to.
“Got tripped, hurt my shoulder, had to have reconstructive surgery. It was a whole mess, Kitty, but I’m okay,” he reassures you, laying his good hand on your arm with a smile as gentle as his touch. You nod, laying your hand on top of his for a second before letting it go. He indicates the other guy. “This is my younger brother by the way, and my roommate. Luke.”
“Hi, Luke. It’s nice to meet you. Are you here to meet animals too?”
He glances at his older brother nervously. “We’re just here for the one, I think.”
“The one?” you question, following Luke’s gaze to Jack. The older boy’s face breaks out in a proud grin.
“I’m back for Puck. Think we had something good going the last time I was here, and I’m gonna need a little buddy while I recover,” he announces.
Inside your chest, something twinges. You cover it up with your widest smile, clapping your hands together a little bit and bouncing on the balls of your feet.
“That’s amazing!” you exclaim. “I’m sure Puck’s going to be thrilled. We’ll have you sign some forms then before we go back, okay?” You turn to Luke. “I think you’re going to like Puck too. He’s just a completely different cat around your brother, it’s crazy.”
The younger boy, who seems a little bit more shy than Jack has become with you, just nods. It reminds you of Jack’s first time coming here. Something about the thought reminds you that this is now, also, Jack’s last time visiting the shelter. Unless something happens and he can’t keep Puck, but he’s been considering this for too long to not be sure.
You lead the two of them through the formal part of the process and make a list of everything Puck will need in the apartment, from a litter box to the type of food he likes and his favorite toys.
Like with everyone, you talk them through the benefits of neutering and recommend the veterinary clinic that works with the shelter. But since it’s so far from their actual home, you offer to find a partner closer. Jack thanks you sincerely for “all the work you are and have been putting into us.”
His excitement while going down the kennel hall is palpable. You wonder if he called ahead to be sure that Puck was still here – his sisters have both been adopted already, but he’s maintained a dedicated level of unfriendliness with all of his visitors after Jack.
“Here he is, your boy’s back!” you announce when you bring Puck into the conference room.
Honestly, you aren’t sure which one you’re talking to. But since it was a little exaggerated, you decide you’ll play it off as talking to the cat if Jack asks.
“Hi again, bud,” he tells the cat, reaching out with his good hand. Puck sniffs it for only a second before recognizing his person and getting into Jack’s space. Jack chuckles, “Missed you too,” as Puck starts rubbing his face on Jack’s legs.
“You two were definitely meant for each other,” you tell him warmly, watching Puck head over to investigate Luke, who’s sitting next to his brother.
The cat doesn’t like him quite as much, but he does give Luke the chance to pet him. Which is more than most other people got. You find out that the boys came prepared with a cat carrier just in case, and they even made sure it didn’t smell like other cats or too much like cleaning product. Jack informs you of this while Luke goes out to the car to get it.
“I’ve been so excited, honestly,” he positively gushes. “Just had a feeling this little guy here would hold out for me.” He cups his hand under Puck’s chin and looks him in the eye. “Thank you for that, buddy.”
Instead of audibly aww-ing like you want to at the sight, you press a hand to your heart. The two of them are cute on their own, but together it’s almost too much for you. Especially when Puck lowers his head to lick Jack’s hand before he moves it away.
You think your heart might explode.
When they get Puck into the carrier, Luke has to carry it, but Jack keeps a hand near the door of it so Puck can still smell him. It would be okay if he didn’t, but he’s so concerned about whether the cat feels safe or loved. You’re thrilled that it worked out for the two of them.
“Well, it’s been nice getting to know you, Jack,” you tell him as the boys are on their way out. “Feel free to send us pictures of Puck on social media or something, we always love seeing how well the pets are doing after they leave. I’m so glad you two found each other after all.”
“Me too,” he says, “But I’m also glad I got to meet you through this. I’ll make sure to check in. Thank you again, Kitty.”
He pulls you in for a one-armed hug and lets you say goodbye to Puck. You watch the three boys leave, barely hearing the jingle of the bell when the door hits it as it closes.
Though it hurts a little to lose Jack and Puck all at once, you’re proud of yourself for the match you’ve made between them. And you tell Mara so when she comes in for her shift later in the day.
“I’m kind of glad Puck’s been adopted, like not in the regular way,” she admits to you quietly. Leaning in like it’s a big secret, she continues, “He hated me for being the one to separate him from Isla when she got spayed. Cat can hold a grudge like nobody else.”
Her words make you laugh, which in turn makes her smile.
“Good,” she notes. “I thought you’d be depressed forever when you finally let those boys go.”
“Not forever!” you defend yourself. “It’s like with any pet we let ourselves get too attached to. You’re just gonna have to give me a couple of weeks.”
“Not with this one,” Mara disagrees, shaking her head as she turns away. “Not this one.” And her tone is so knowing that you almost let her have the last word on the matter.
Almost. “C’mon. I’ll be fine. Just watch.”
You’re pretty close, but you can’t say you are quite fine as time goes by without the guarantee of Jack’s return. The full weight of the realization doesn’t even hit until a couple of days after you helped him adopt Puck.
Still, you throw yourself into your work. You form bonds with new animals, including a rambunctious new puppy named Raccoon (because he was found digging through someone’s recycling bin).
Mara is handling the desk work one day while you’re playing with him in the yard. She can be a bit sassy, but she knows her stuff behind the desk. You’re very confused when you hear her calling your name from the door.
“Kitty! Get in here!”
“What?” you yell back across the yard, half-giving her your attention but dedicating the other half to Raccoon, who is trying to steal your shoe right off your foot.
“I’ve got the puppy, just get to the desk!” Mara jogs over, a little out of breath. Still, she points at the door and huffs at you. “Get in there. Somebody’s asking for you.”
“Wha- who-” you try to ask, but she just shakes her head.
She even starts snapping when you bend down to re-tie your shoe, commanding you to get moving before she sics Raccoon on you.
“He doesn’t know how to do that,” you inform her, looking down at the pup. His head tilts, confused but flattered by all the attention he’s getting.
“Yet, but I have a prime opportunity to teach him right here and now if you don’t get back in there. I don’t think they have all day, Kitty. Go.” And she makes a shooing motion with her hands to emphasize the need for you to get back inside as she’s telling you to.
Raising your hands in surrender, you back towards the door. Mara keeps an eye on you the entire way.
Raccoon, on the other hand, tries to tackle you.
“No, boy!” your coworker cries, lunging for the dog. But he’s off his leash, and he’s got plenty of energy.
Luckily he isn’t big enough to do much damage besides getting dirt on your pants.
“Aw, boy,” you sigh. “What if I needed to look nice for this, huh? Look at you, messing up my work pants. That’s not great.”
“I- puppy’s mine,” Mara pants, pulling him into her arms. “Now go.”
Finally, you make your way inside. You’re maybe a little more nervous than you should be, but you didn’t get much of an explanation and now you look terrible from Raccoon’s attack. Your calves are covered in little brown paw prints, and your hair is half-falling out of where you had it up.
You take an opportunity in the kennel hallway to attempt to clean up, rubbing a paper towel over your legs (it doesn’t do much) and just letting your hair down. Running your fingers through what feels like the biggest problem area, you let yourself into the front room of the shelter.
And you find Jack, standing next to Puck’s cat carrier on the floor. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers in his good hand.
“Jack?” you ask, eyes darting between him and the cat. “Is everything okay? Has Puck been good to you?”
“Yeah,” he answers casually, then realizes how it looks to you with him bringing the cat back to the shelter. “Wait no! That’s not- I’m keeping him, I just- he just-” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “I’m sorry, this is not going how I planned it at all.” The nervous chuckle tries and fails to hide the extent of his nerves.
You take a couple of steps closer, curiosity piqued. “Okay, how did you plan this going?”
He smiles – for real – as he steps forward to offer you the flowers. You take them, still a little confused as to what’s going on.
“The plan was just to come back here and ask you out, but I was too nervous to leave Puck all alone and then I figured I’d use him as an excuse, say he missed you and all,” Jack admits. “Which he does, by the way.”
“How do you know that?” you question, but can’t help the grin spreading across your face.
He shrugs, still smiling himself. “Just can.”
“Are you sure it’s Puck that misses me?” You try a different angle.
This time, Jack shakes his head and looks at Puck’s carrier on the floor. When he looks back up at you, he raises his good hand in surrender.
“Fine, Kitty, you caught me,” he tells you, but he’s not upset by being forced to confess at all. You can just tell. “I missed you. All these months, I was getting to see my crush and getting animal therapy in one place, and suddenly I got round-the-clock animal time but it wasn’t enough to balance out not seeing you anymore.”
You wait patiently for him to go on, setting the flowers down gently on the reception desk.
“Kitty, I’m not entirely sure if you feel the same way about me, but I’m really in awe of who you are, and I think you’re cute, and I’d really like if you let me take you out on a date sometime. Outside of the shelter.”
At his words, you finally let yourself step forward and hug him, being careful to avoid his injury. His good arm squeezes you tight. You can feel him tilting his head down to look at you.
“So is this a yes?” he teases.
“Of course,” you tell him. “It’s the biggest yes ever.”
You hear another yes, louder but very muffled. Both of you turn to look at the door leading to the kennel hallway, where Mara and another one of your coworkers are jumping up and down in celebration. Amused and embarrassed, you return your attention to Jack in front of you.
“I can give you my number now and we can make plans from there?” you offer. “I’m not sure how much more spying you feel like experiencing here but, y’know, it’ll be a lot easier to plan a date when we’re not being watched.”
“I gotcha,” Jack says, handing you his phone to type in your number. “Do you have any requests for what we do?”
“As long as we’re meeting away from here, I’m good,” you giggle.
Puck meows, so when you hand Jack’s phone back you bend down to retrieve him. You scratch behind his ears, almost second nature to you, while you watch Jack call your number.
“So you have mine too,” he explains.
He adds that he couldn’t stay too long today, but he couldn’t wait any longer to see you again and he didn’t want to ask you out over the phone. You help him get Puck back in the carrier and walk him out.
“I’ll see you later, right, Kitty?” he asks before he closes the door to his car.
“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you confirm, smiling hard enough for your cheeks to be sore.
And you watch him drive away with Puck in the passenger seat, taking his one good hand off the wheel to wave to you when they’re waiting to pull out of the parking lot. You wave back.
When you get back inside, Mara is waiting for you. She’s covered in dirt and little clumps of grass, and you just know Raccoon put her through her paces while they were outside. Still, she’s happy.
She already knows, but you recount for her anyway that Jack asked you out. Her one word response sums up how you’re feeling about it pretty well.
