what’s the real story with argentina being a nazi haven, overblown stereotype or lib fabrication? or more an annoying rhetorical distraction from the fact that the real nazi haven was germany and that denazification simply did not happen?
I mean there *were* cases of nazis being smuggled into brazil, argentina, chile, and paraguay through illegal escape routes colloquially referred to as ratlines. That is a thing that did happen.
However, the way americans in particular seem to latch onto this fact to dismiss any latin american that pisses them off, either in a "well whatever your country gave refuge to nazis" sense, or in a "I'm directly implying your family were escaped nazis" sense (another example I remember seeing once was a post about US imperialism in latin america where a yankee replied that OP had no business bitching about imperialism because she was probably "a white brazilian called Helga or something") is a bit ironic to me, considering that:
The vast majority of german immigrants to these countries in the 20th century were jewish refugees fleeing the nazis
The US took in thousands more nazis after ww2 than the entirety of Latin America combined
A lot of the nazis that *did* escape to latin america did so with the direct help of US intelligence agencies
Nazis that escaped to the US were treated as valuable anti-soviet assets, and many of them were given cushy jobs by the US government. Most of the nazis who escaped to latin america spent their entire lives hiding from the authorities under false identities, and those who were discovered were extradited or jailed
So americans in particular thinking they have any right to joke about latin american countries being nazi havens is just plain xenophobic jingoism
Ok this is it, I have to get something of my chest. Because of this goddamned Odyssey film I keep reading everywhere that Emily Wilson is the first woman to translate the Odyssey and because of this she has a unique take on the text.... NO NO NO THIS IS NOT TRUE she's the first ENGLISH woman to translate the Odyssey but women have been translating and publishing their translation since the 1700s !!!! In French and Italian and I'm sure other languages too!!
I'm so mad because students in Italy have been studying on Rosa Calzecchi Onesti's translation for decades!! Her translation is so well regarded it keeps being used in academia to this day and it's from the 60s!!! There have been dozens of other translations since then but we keep using that one !!!
(and also many other women published their translations both before and after her)
The irresistible urge of english/american ppl to make universal statements out of their experience
are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 2
At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.
genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, smut nsfw mdni
word count: 12k+ (holy shit i'm sorry lmao)
(a/n: ahhh thank yall so much for waiting. i've been working so hard on this one. and honestly i feel like it's my weakest, but i'm proud of this little story. i really hope you enjoy it. also totally forgot last time i was going to explain the title lol. it's a line from the song Death & Romance by Magdalena Bay. A banger and I thought about Jack whilst listening to it, so naturally I wrote an almost 15k fic. so it goes. anywhoooo thank yall again. i hope you like it. plz let me know. )
part 1
Jack decided the universe was run by an absolute sadist.
When he’d left years ago, you had been just a girl he couldn’t save. No matter how much he had wanted to. Beautiful, sure, but dangerous. You had looked at him like he held the keys to the kingdom, completely oblivious to the fact that he was barely holding his own life together.
I’m going to marry you.
He hadn't corrected you back then. Not explicitly. He’d just gently steered you away from the edge of that particular cliff.
Driving home that night, he had tucked your confession away in the darkest drawer of his mind as an impossible fiction.
But the person standing across from him now was entirely different.
And, frustratingly, exactly the same.
Adolescence had turned into something elegant, but the defensive way you crossed your arms over your chest and the stubborn tilt of your chin was identical to when you were nineteen.
The familiarity hit him in the chest. Nostalgia making a wave over him. He’d cry right now if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated.
His eyes tracked your hand as you reached for your glass and that's when the light caught it.
Everything inside him ground to a halt.
Slowly, he pointed the drink and the hand that held it toward your hand. "What's that?"
The color drained from your face so fast it made his stomach drop. You pulled your hand back, tucking it close to your body. "Oh. I'm getting married."
Well, fuck.
Jack made sure to keep his features normal. Even though some part of himself (stupid and utterly selfish as it is) feels like something has just been taken away from him.
He just let out a breath, an only slightly tortured smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh yeah? Thought that slot was reserved for me."
You tore your gaze away, looking at anything but his face as heat crept up your neck.
He didn't look away. He couldn't. He just stared, tracing the line of your face, waiting out the silence until you finally forced yourself to look back. "Yeah, well." you muttered, your voice tight. "That's the kind of shit you say when you're nineteen and stupid."
"Stupid?" Jack countered, leaning an inch closer. "You wound me."
"Oh, don't act like you actually believed me back then."
He tilted his head, locking his eyes onto yours. "Well..you are here at this bar with me right now. After years of never seeing each other. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the universe is incapable of keeping us apart."
Instead of answering, you flagged down the bartender, your knuckles rapping against the sticky wood of the counter as you ordered another drink, completely shutting him out.
Jack watched you take a sip.
He needed to stop. He needed to be the adult in the room, to play the role of the supportive, well meaning ghost from your past.
"So," he said smoothly, "who's the lucky guy?"
The name David slipped past your lips, followed by a laundry list of details. His job, how you met, the stable life you’d built. Jack nodded in all the right places, but truth be told, he wasn't processing a single syllable.
Fuck that guy.
Fuck David and his immaculate timing. Fuck David for being the one who got to see you grow into this version of yourself, and fuck David for having the absolute privilege of taking care of you.
But as he watched the animated way your expression softened when you spoke, a bitter ache settled deep in Jack’s stomach.
By the time the bartender did last call, the room had thinned out to a handful of stragglers.
You stood up, sliding your purse over your shoulder and Jack was up a second later, tossing a stack of crumpled bills onto the counter without looking at them. "It's late. I’m walking you home."
You blinked up at him, shifting your weight. "Jack, I'm fine. I live right around the block. It’s a four minute walk."
He didn't say anything back. He just snagged his jacket, throwing it over one shoulder with a lazy shake of his head. "Don't fight me on this, sweetheart."
The walk was quiet at first, the pavement damp from an earlier rain, but Jack had never been excellent at staying quiet around you. He kept his pace slow, matching yours perfectly, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Your shoulders brushed with every third step.
Gradually, the conversation slipped back into its old rhythm, as if the lost years never existed. He looked down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a fleeting moment, he felt completely unmoored.
God, you were sharp. You were quick, funny, delivering lines with this effortless charm that made him want to pull you into the nearest shadowed doorway and never let you go.
Before he could entirely lose his mind, you stopped in front of a brick building with a heavy iron awning. "This is me." you said, turning to face him on the steps.
Jack braced his weight on one foot, looking up at you. The easy bravado finally dropped from his shoulders, replaced by something more exposed. "Can I have your number?" He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. Jesus, now who was the one acting like a nervous teenager? "I, uh..I texted your old one a few times. Over the years. But I think you had it changed."
Your expression softened, a flicker of something complicated crossing your eyes. "Yeah, I changed it once I got to college. So my dad couldn't reach me."
The mention of your father made Jack’s jaw tighten, a protective anger flaring in his chest. He just nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket.
...
Against your better judgment, you took it. Your fingers brushed his with a brief shock of heat, as you typed in your new digits and handed it back.
"There." you whispered. "Goodbye, Jack."
You turned, key already in hand, reaching for the glass door of your building. You took one step into the warm lobby, but you turned back, looking through the open doorway at him.
He hadn't moved an inch.
He was still standing exactly where you left him.
"I missed seeing you, Jack." you said, the confession slipping out before you could think better of it.
And before he could answer, before you could see exactly what those words did to him, you turned and walked inside, letting the door click shut between you.
…
"There was nothing wrong with any of them." you said, stepping onto the sidewalk as the boutique door clicked shut. You stared blankly at a crack in the pavement. "They were beautiful dresses, Meg. They just didn’t feel right."
Meg sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both started down the block. "You’re just overwhelmed. Wedding dress shopping is less about the fabric and more about the reality of the fact that you're actually doing this. It's a lot to process." She checked her watch, her face twisting into a grimace. "Crap. Speaking of reality, I have to run. If I don't meet the florist in fifteen minutes, she's going to take several liberties that I definitely will not approve of.”
"Go, go." you urged, waving her off with a weak smile. "I'll be fine."
"Are you going straight home? Do you want me to call you later?"
"No, don't worry about it." you said, gesturing toward the diner across the street. "I think I'm just going to go sit in a corner, get a slice of pie, and read my book for a bit. Decompress."
"Good. Unplug your brain." Meg said, giving your arm a quick squeeze before jogging toward the subway.
The diner was louder than usual, packed with the early dinner rush escaping the incoming rain. The bell above the door chimed as you walked inside, and a quick scan confirmed your worst nightmare. Every single private booth was taken. The long counter was packed shoulder to shoulder.
The only available spot in the entire place was a tiny two person table near the back window, and it was currently occupied by a very large man with a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. His head was turned toward the window, watching the starting drops of rain streak against the glass.
Curls.
Familiar curls, is all you saw first. And you should be embarrassed how much your body reacts to them. Even after all these years, he’s got your heart beating into your throat. The only thing that has changed is that he grew out of the red and exchanged it for grey.
To your disastrous conclusion, it only made him more handsome. More something. Magnetic? Maybe, but you’d always been drawn to Jack.
You should turn around. You should walk back out into the rain, go to your apartment, and eat whatever stale crackers were left in your pantry. Seeing him once at a bar was a fluke. Seeing him twice felt dangerous.
But your feet didn't move toward the door. Instead, driven by that same pull, you navigated the tight maze of tables until you were standing right at the edge of his space.
"Hey." you said softly.
Jack’s head turned immediately. The distant, checked out expression on his face instantly vanished, his eyes expanding as they locked onto yours. He took you in all at once. Your windblown hair, the slight line of stress between your eyebrows, the book clutched tightly against your chest.
A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained entirely intense. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually with his chin toward the empty seat across from him.
You swallowed the ridiculous spike of nerves in your throat, sliding into the chair.
Jack caught the eye of a passing waitress and raised two fingers. He looked back at you, eyes tracking the way you clutched your book like a shield. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low.
You had spent the last twenty minutes dreaming about a thick slice of cherry pie, but suddenly, the thought of him buying it for you made your stomach do things you didn’t like. It felt too intimate. It felt wrong, like you were allowing him to fill a need he no longer had the right to.
"Oh, I'm just reading." you lied smoothly, offering a dismissive wave. "No food."
He didn't say a word, but he leveled a look at you. His eyebrows pulling down just a fraction in that knowing way he used to when he caught you in a bluff. An ache of longing bloomed in your chest. You had missed the way he had looked at you.
You missed when someone knew you so completely that you didn’t even have to say a word.
"Really?" Jack murmured, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So was cherry pie just a phase, or is that still happening?"
A smile broke across your face before you could stop it, your shoulders dropping their defensive posture. Jack caught the change instantly. "We'll take a slice of the cherry. Two forks. And a black coffee."
When it arrived, you didn't fight him on it. Instead, a comfortable silence settled over the table. The only sound was the clinking of forks against the ceramic plate as you shared the slice, both of you staring out at the rain turning the streetlights blurry.
It was nice.
It was terrifyingly easy.
"So," Jack said, breaking the quiet as he pushed the last bite of crust toward your side of the plate. "What did you do today?"
The lingering warmth from the pie evaporated, replaced by white satin and tulle. You let out a defeated sigh, leaning your chin into your hand. "Wedding dress shopping." you admitted, your voice miserable. "With Meg. It went horribly."
You expected a retort. Or for him to make a joke about you looking like a cloud or to tease you about being difficult. But when you didn't hear a reply, you looked up.
Jack wasn't smiling. He was watching you, his eyes focused on the sadness radiating from you. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." he said softly.
Your eyes screwed shut instantly, a shock running straight down your spine at the cadence of his voice. You forced them open, aggressively pointing your pie covered fork directly at his chest. "Don't call me that."
That smirk slowly worked its way back onto his face as he watched your cheeks flood with color. "Why?" he challenged, leaning an inch closer. "You like it too much?"
You tore your gaze away from him, turning your head toward the window and grumbling something under your breath just to avoid the smug, insufferable certainty in his eyes.
Then your phone buzzed against the table. “Oh, I have to take this. I'm sorry."
…
Inside, Jack was working double overtime just to keep his features flat. His jaw clenched so hard his molars ached.
God, he needed to see his therapist.
This was stupid. It was childish. It was entirely unhinged for him to feel this surge of possessiveness over a woman who wasn't even his. He had no claim over you. None at all. He was the one who had walked away eleven years ago.
But logic didn't do a damn thing to stop the way his chest constricted when you brought the phone to your ear.
Then came the blow, delivered in the sweetest tone. "Okay. Love you too."
Jack bristled. The words hit him with white hot jealousy.
You hung up, sliding the phone back into your pocket with an apologetic sigh. "Gotta go. David needs some help with something at the apartment."
You stood up, immediately reaching for your purse and unzipping it to hunt for cash. "Let me just grab some money for the pie."
Jack reached across the small distance, his hand came down over yours, his fingers completely covering your knuckles and pinning your hand to the fabric of your purse, stopping you instantly.
He would think about it later. Hours from now, lying awake in his bed, he would analyze the exact feel of your skin, the way his palm seemed to memorize the curve of your knuckles, and the buzzing that went straight up his forearm.
But right now, he just needed to keep you from drawing another boundary between you.
"Don't even think about it." Jack said, leaving no room for debate. He didn't let go of your hand right away, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your wrist. "You don't pay for anything when you're with me."
You blinked down at his hand, then up at his face. You couldn't help the little smile that broke across your lips. "Oh, I see. Got that doctor money now and suddenly you're a big deal, huh?"
Jack laughed, his fingers reluctantly sliding off yours as he leaned back into his chair. "Are you kidding? I've always been a big deal."
You snorted, and to Jack, it was easily the best thing he had ever heard in his life. It was a sound he wanted to bottle up and keep. "Bye, Jack." you said softly, your smile lingering.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, standing by his seat. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached out. Your hand closed briefly over his shoulder, a firm squeeze that pressed through the fabric of his shirt.
Then you turned and walked away.
He sat completely frozen, slowly bringing his left hand up to press over the exact spot on his shoulder where your fingers had just been, trying to trap the lingering warmth against his skin.
…
It had been a week since you sat across from Jack in that diner, and your brain had spent the last several days thinking of absolutely nothing else.
Even now, with the late evening sun filtering through the trees of the park near your apartment, you were miles away. You were walking hand in hand with David. The gravel of the path was crunching beneath your sneakers, and his voice was steady beside you.
You weren't listening to a single syllable.
Instead, your mind was drifting back to a particular night a lifetime ago. You remembered the feeling when Jack had pulled his truck up to your house, the shouting of your dad’s latest explosive fit still echoing through the thin walls behind you.
Jack had taken one look at your face, grabbed your wrist, and thrown you into his passenger seat.
He’d driven straight to the nearest Olive Garden and the two of you had proceeded to eat an ungodly amount of breadsticks.
Looking back, you had probably been falling in love with Jack Abbot since the very first moment he’d ever shown up at your house, but watching him sit across from you under those tacky restaurant lights, making terrible faces just to make you forget the dark world you lived in, that was the exact moment your heart had stubbornly decided it wanted him.
But you had David now. Safe, stable, predictable David. Whose hand was currently wrapped around yours. He stopped walking, tilting his head down to look at you. "Hey. Did you hear me?"
You blinked, the memory dissipating as you forced yourself back into the present. "Hmm? No, sorry. I got completely lost in thought. What did you say?"
David didn't get annoyed. He just let out a patient laugh and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I was asking about our first dance song. I was thinking about it on the drive over. What do you think about Kiss Me?"
You couldn’t stop it then. Another memory slotting its way into your mind. You sitting shotgun flying down winding back roads with the windows cracked wide open. The radio blasting that exact song, the wind whipping your hair across your face while you and Jack screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, completely off key.
"Maybe." you forced out, the word catching uncomfortably in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression from cracking.
"Ah, that's okay." David said smoothly, entirely oblivious. "Don't stress. I'll make a running list of options tonight and we can go through them later..oh, shit!"
David’s foot caught on a deep lip of concrete where the park path intersected with a dirt trail. His ankle rolled inward with a crack. He pitched forward, his grip ripping away from your hand as he went down hard on his side in the grass.
"David!" You dropped to your knees beside him instantly. "Are you okay?"
He was pale, his jaw clenched tight as he clutched at his left leg, a groan escaping his teeth. "My ankle." he gasped out, his forehead breaking into a sweat. "I think I just broke the damn thing."
…
You hadn't thought anything of the location when the driver pulled up to the emergency room. It was simply the closest trauma center. Your only focus had been helping David limp through triage until they finally rolled him back into an exam room.
David was lying on the gurney, his face tight with pain as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the doctor on staff to see him. You stood by the edge of the bed, your hand holding his.
"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here." The fabric of the curtain was pulled back and your eyes flew upward. Standing in the entryway, a chart clutched in his hand and a stethoscope slung casually over his shoulders, was Jack.
Of course.
Jack’s eyes were locked onto the chart as he stepped into the room, his pen clicking once, and then he stopped. He raised his head and his gaze swept over the gurney, over David, and landed right on you.
"Sorry." David panted from the gurney, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal rail. He forced a strained smile. "Didn't mean to crowd your ER today, Doc. I think I completely destroyed my ankle on a rogue piece of park pavement."
"Let's take a look." Jack said. His voice was lower than usual. You could feel it rattle all the way down to your toes. He deliberately kept his eyes on David as he rolled a stool over, snapping on a pair of gloves.
As he knelt by the foot of the bed, his shoulder brushed right against your arm. It was a fleeting contact, but it sent a jolt straight up your spine. "So,” Jack said, his large fingers gently probing the swollen, purple bruising on David’s ankle. "How exactly did it happen? Lose your footing?"
"Yeah." David groaned, flinching slightly as Jack manipulated the joint. "I was totally distracted. We were just walking, talking about our wedding, and I didn't see the drop off."
Jack’s hands stayed perfectly still on David’s leg, but slowly, his head tilted up. His eyes locked dead onto yours, carrying a challenging spark that trapped your breath in your throat.
"Right." Jack said softly, his mouth curving into an almost smirk that was entirely meant for you. "Distractions will get you. Sometimes you think you're on solid ground, and then the universe completely shifts right out from under you. Isn't that right?"
You gripped the strap of your purse so hard your fingers turned numb. "I...yeah. I guess so."
David let out a painful laugh, completely oblivious to the suffocating layers of subtext heavy in the room. "Man, you can say that again. One minute you're picking out a first dance song, the next you're in a gown."
"A first dance song?" Jack repeated. He stood up, ripping off the gloves, his gaze still pinned to your face. He stepped closer, forcing you to slightly tilt your chin up to maintain eye contact. "What was the contender?"
"Oh, I was thinking Kiss Me." David called out from the pillow, letting his head fall back with a tired sigh. "You know that old nineties track? I think it's romantic. y/n was a little unsure, though."
A wicked gleam flashed in Jack’s eyes. A look of insufferable amusement mapping itself across his handsome face. He knew exactly what that song meant to you. "Unsure? That’s surprising. Not a big fan of long drives and loud music?"
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper, glaring at him in a stare. "It’s a bit cliché." you managed to squeeze out, your voice tight.
Jack’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back to David, his professional demeanor slotting back into place like it was nothing. "Well, David, the good news is I don't think it's a fracture, but the bad news is we definitely need X-rays to check for a hairline break or ligament tears. I'm going to order them and have the tech come grab you."
"Awesome. Thank you, seriously." David said. He looked up at Jack like the man had just personally parted the sea. "Man, honey aren't we lucky? This guy is fantastic. I gotta say, Doc, your bedside manner is incredible. Super attentive."
Jack laughed and stepped back toward the door and gave a polite nod. "Don't mention it." Just before he left, he cut his eyes back to you, leveling you with one last look. "I always make sure to take extra special care of things that are important."
…
You kept running into Jack.
Not on purpose, but for a few weeks after that night at the diner, the universe just seemed entirely incapable of keeping you separate.
You were roaming through your favorite bookstore, losing yourself in the new releases, when you turned a corner into the biography aisle.
He was leaning against the wood paneling, casually flipping through a massive hardcover on the French Revolution. Typical, honestly. It made you want to roll your eyes, but before you could look away, he raised his head.
Did you proceed to sit at the tiny coffee shop inside the bookstore and talk for two straight hours? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
Then there was the afternoon you got caught in a downpour. You stood on the sidewalk, cursing under your breath as you shoved at your umbrella, which yeah was completely broken.
A familiar truck pulled up to the curb, the passenger window sliding down smoothly. Jack leaned across the console, eyeing the way the rain was already plastering your hair to your forehead.
“Get in.” he called out over the thunder.
When you started to refuse, shaking your head and gesturing toward the short walk home, Jack didn’t argue. He just killed the engine, threw his door open, and stepped straight out into the rain.
He just reached out, his hand wrapping gently around your elbow, and guided you toward his passenger side. He practically hovered over you, using his own body to protect you from the worst of the sheets of water while he got absolutely, completely soaked.
Did you sit up until three that night thinking about the way his hair looked all messy and plastered to his forehead? Did you think about the way his shirt had been completely soaked through, clinging to his shoulders? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
All of this was pure coincidence. A series of flukes. Not on purpose at all.
Until it wasn't.
…
David was away at a work conference in Boston. You were pulling books off your overflowing bookshelves, doing some late night reorganizing, when the banging on the front door started.
It was pounding that rattled the wood in its frame and sent panic right through you.
"I know you're in there, baby girl! Getting married without telling your old man!!"
The words through the door were slurred, thick with alcohol and malice. You froze on the spot, a book slipping from your numb fingers. How had he found you?
You frantically dialed David’s number, your hands shaking so much you almost dropped the phone. When he finally answered, you poured out the words in a breathless rush, begging him to come home, begging him to fix it.
But David was three hundred miles away, and he simply didn't realize the severity of the situation. He didn’t know the history, not all of it, so he didn’t know the monster on the other side of that door.
"Call the police." David said through the line, his voice calm and practical. "I can't leave right now."
He meant well. He really did. He just didn't know.
You hung up, the slurred shouting outside your door growing louder, followed by another heavy kick against the door.
Without thinking, you dialed Jack and he answered on the very first ring.
"My dad's here." you whispered. You didn't even say hello. Your voice fractured on the last word, and you were sure Jack could hear the muffled yelling through the background.
It took Jack no time to speak. "Stay right there. I'm coming."
David had retreated when you most needed him, hiding behind work responsibilities and distance. But Jack Abbot?
He would walk right into the fire.
…
Jack broke every speed limit getting there. He took the stairs two at a time, his feet pounding against the concrete, and when he rounded the corner into the hallway, he saw him.
Your father was swaying on his feet, one fist raised against your door, his knuckles already split and bleeding from the force of his own pounding. The smell of cheap whiskey hit Jack before he even got close.
"Hey!" Jack's voice cracked down the hallway. "Get away from that door."
Your father turned, bleary eyes struggling to focus. He blinked hard, swaying backward on unsteady feet as he took in the man closing the distance between them. "Who the hell are you?" he slurred, his words mashing together at the edges.
Jack stopped a few feet away, close enough to block him from the door, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists at his sides. There had been a time this man had known his face well. A time Jack had sat at his kitchen table, had shaken his hand, had been introduced as his friend from AA.
None of it registered. Not a flicker of recognition. Just glassy, unfocused eyes trying to place a stranger.
"Doesn't matter who I am." Jack said evenly, though his pulse was pounding in his ears. "You need to leave. Now."
Your father squinted at him a moment longer, some drunken calculation happening behind his eyes, weighing whether this stranger was worth the fight. Whatever he decided, it wasn't in Jack's favor to test. He muttered something incoherent under his breath, waved a dismissive hand through the air, and turned, stumbling back down the hallway toward the stairwell and the door banged shut behind him.
Jack stood there another few seconds, listening until the sound of uneven footsteps faded completely. Only then did he let his shoulders drop, some of the adrenaline bleeding out of him. He turned and knocked twice, soft. "It's me."
The door opened and Jack’s heart twisted. You were pale, your hand trembling on the frame, eyes glassy with barely held tears.
Jack stepped inside without a word.
You shut the door behind him, the deadbolt sliding home and the second you turned around, whatever was holding you together gave out completely. You crossed the small distance and folded into him, your face pressing into his chest, your fists curling into the fabric of his shirt. A sob broke loose, shaking through your whole body.
Jack's arms came around you immediately, one hand splayed wide across your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you together at the seams. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay."
You just shook against him, gripping tighter. "He's gone." Jack said quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "He's not coming back. I promise you that."
"I was so scared." you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest.
"I know." His hand moved in steady circles against your back. "I know, baby. But you're safe. You hear me? You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."
…
You didn't know how you'd ended up like this. Flat on your back on the couch, feet in Jack's lap, his hand wrapped loose around your ankle, thumb tracing slow circles against the bone there. His other hand rested just below your knee, warm, doing absolutely nothing except being there.
Somewhere in the deep, buried recesses of your mind, nineteen year old you was losing it.
Screaming, actually.
He hadn't said much. Just steered you gently toward the couch, dropped down at the end of it, and flipped on your favorite show without asking if that's what you wanted. You let the noise of it wash over you, let your heart rate go back down out of your throat, and for a while, neither of you said anything at all.
"I don't know how he found me." Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "We're 3 hours from where he lives."
Jack turned his head to look at you, his hand stilling against your ankle.
"I honestly thought he was dead." You sat up then, pulling your feet out of his lap, curling your knees against your chest instead, wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
"A neighbor called a few years ago. Said he'd been evicted from the house. The city shut it down because he let it get too run down." You sighed, staring at the carpet. "And so I just thought to myself, that's it. I have to let him go now. For real. And it was over for me then. Even if he's still alive somewhere."
Jack was quiet for a moment, just watching you, something soft and aching behind his eyes. "You did what you had to do to survive him." he said finally. "That's not something to feel guilty about. You were trying to keep your head above water with somebody who should've been protecting you instead of drowning you." He shifted closer, his knee brushed yours. "Letting go of him wasn't you giving up. It was you finally choosing yourself. That takes more strength than most people ever have to find."
You didn't say anything, just picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.
"You're doing so well." he continued, quieter now. "Look at you. You built a whole life he doesn't get to touch. And tonight, when it got hard, you didn't fall apart. You're still standing." His mouth curved, just barely. "You're gonna be okay. I mean that."
You didn't fully believe it. Not yet. But something about the way he said it, like it was fact and not comfort, made it easier to breathe.
Before you could stop yourself, you sat up and threw your arms around him.
Jack didn't hesitate. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in tight against his chest. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in, deep, the way you used to when you were younger.
You'd thought you hid it well back then. Some guilty part of you had always known he'd caught on anyway.
When you pulled back, you just stared at him.
For one long moment, the apartment, the show still playing, your father somewhere out there in the dark, none of it existed. There was just his face close to yours.
You cleared your throat and looked away first, scooting back to the opposite end of the couch, eyes fixed on the TV.
…
You didn't remember falling asleep.
You did vaguely register the sound of the television clicking off. You felt strong arms slide beneath you, lifting you and cradling you against a solid chest as he carried you down the hall. He laid you down in your bed and pulled the blanket up over your shoulders. You reached out before he could straighten, catching his hand. "Please don't go." Your voice was thick with sleep, barely above a whisper. "Don't leave me."
Jack went still, but then his fingers curled around yours, and he crouched down beside the bed so you didn't have to strain to see him. "I'm here. I'll always be here."
…
Jack was up before you.
He'd wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed, pull you against his chest, and hold you until the sun came up. But he wasn't that guy. Not with you asleep and vulnerable and still shaking from the night before. So he'd taken the couch instead, folding his tall frame onto cushions clearly built for someone half his size, and told himself it was fine.
Your coffee machine looked like it belonged on the bridge of a spaceship. Jack stood in front of it at six in the morning, squinting at a control panel with more buttons than his car dashboard, trying to figure out which one didn't require a PhD to operate.
That's when he heard the key turn in the lock. David stepped through the door, travel bag still slung over one shoulder, and rounded the corner into the kitchen before he saw Jack standing there. He let out a yelp, jerking backward, one hand flying to his chest. "Fuck!"
He squinted, still catching his breath, confusion slowly replacing the alarm on his face. "Dr. Abbot? What are you doing here?"
Jack had a few answers loaded and ready.
Oh I don’t know, taking care of your fiancee.
Doing your job for you.
Petty, satisfying, and exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't say out loud to the man about to marry you.
"David?" Your voice came from the hallway. You crossed the room fast, wrapping your arms around him, and Jack watched David's shoulders sag with relief as he held you. "Thank god you're here." you said into his shoulder.
Jack kept his face carefully blank, ignoring the way that sentence sliced through him.
"I know, I'm sorry. I left as soon as I could." David pulled back, and you both turned to look at Jack, still standing there with an untouched mug in his hand.
"Oh! Right, David. This is Jack." you said. "I didn't get a chance to tell you when we were at the hospital, but we've known each other a long time. He was friends with my dad briefly. He got him to leave last night."
And held her while she cried and shook until she fell asleep, Jack thought.
David's whole face opened up. "Oh, wow. Small world!" He crossed the kitchen, hand extended. "Thank you, man. Seriously."
Jack took the handshake, grip firm, and let it go. "Don't mention it."
You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone in the living room. Jack figured that was his cue. He set the mug down and grabbed his jacket off the arm of the couch.
But before he headed for the door, he stopped, and let some of the easy charm drop out of his voice. "Hey. David." He waited until he had the guy's full attention. "Last night, her father was pounding on that door drunk enough to put his fist through it."
David's expression faltered.
"I get that you didn't know the whole situation." Jack tried his best to keep his tone civil. To not let the way his blood was boiling come through. "But you need to understand what you're marrying into. That man is dangerous, and he's not going to stop just because he struck out once. If he shows up again, you don't wait it out on the phone. You call me first, because I know exactly what he looks like and what he's capable of. Then you call the police. And then you get home as fast as humanly possible. She should never be alone behind that door with him on the other side of it again."
David swallowed, nodding slowly, all the earlier warmth gone out of his face, replaced by something more sober. "Of course." he said. "Yeah. You're right. I..I didn't realize how bad it was."
"Now you do." Jack said simply.
He gave the guy one last look and let himself out the door.
…
You'd decided to try veils this time, some last ditch effort to actually picture yourself walking down the aisle. You stood in front of the three way mirror, tulle pinned into your hair, and felt absolutely nothing shift into place.
You weren't sure what possessed you to do it, but you pulled out your phone. The lighting in here was stupidly flattering, if nothing else. You angled the camera, snapped a picture, and before you could think too hard about who you were about to send it to, your thumb had already done it.
Too much?
The one person on the entire planet you probably shouldn't be sending bridal photos to.
"This isn't the one either." you called out to Meg, already reaching for the zipper.
You thought you heard her sigh from the other side of the curtain.
Twenty minutes later you were back in your jeans, walking to the coffee shop around the corner to debrief, like you always did. You ordered, sat down across from her, and Meg leveled you with a look before you'd even taken a sip. "You've tried on twenty dresses this month." she said. "In the grand scheme of things that's not that many. But you'd think by now you'd have some idea of what you actually want."
You shrugged, staring into your cup.
"What's going on?"
You looked up at her, and the excuse died in your throat. You couldn't lie to her. Not about this.
So you told her. All of it.
Meg's mouth had fallen fully open. "Okay, wait." she said, holding up a hand. "Jack. The Jack? From when you were a teenager? The one you used to talk about like he hung the moon?"
"That's the one."
"And he's been what, just reappearing in your life this whole time you've been dress shopping?"
"It's not like that." you said, too fast.
Meg just stared at you, unblinking, waiting.
"It's not." you said again, weaker this time.
"So you're not going to leave David?"
"What? No." The word came out of you immediately and it was unconvincing even to your own ears. You heard it yourself, the way it hung there in the air between you.
Meg didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She just reached across the table and squeezed your hand. "I'm not going to tell you what to do." she said finally. "But I've known you a long time, and I've never once seen you struggle like this. You need to actually sit with why nothing about this is feeling right.”
She gathered her bag, dropped a kiss on the top of your head, and left you sitting there. It was only once you were alone that you remembered your phone.
You'd almost forgotten you'd sent that picture at all.
Jack: You can't just send a man a photo like that with zero warning
Jack: I had to set my phone down and collect myself.
Jack: You look stunning, sweetheart. Take a picture in every single dress you try on if it looks anywhere close to that good.
You sat there staring at the screen, feeling something warm and inconvenient bloom in your chest, right where it absolutely had no business blooming at all.
…
Jack was still staring at the picture, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen, when John's voice came from directly behind him. "Ooh, who is that?"
Jack locked the phone so fast he nearly dropped it, shoving it deep into his scrub pocket. "Someone I can't have. That's who."
John just stood there, genuinely stunned into silence. Jack Abbot didn't talk about his personal life. Ever. The man was a vault. "I have so many follow up questions."
"And I'm not answering any of them." Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he passed and left him standing there, already halfway down the hall before John could get another word out.
He took the stairwell up instead of the elevator, needing the burn, needing something physical to focus on besides the picture still branded behind his eyes. The door to the roof access swung open onto cold air and the first thin streaks of orange bleeding up over the skyline, the city still mostly asleep below him.
He braced his forearms against the railing and just breathed.
You cannot have her.
He'd known that fact for years. Had built an entire life around avoiding the truth of it, had buried it under residency and fellowships and every double shift he could volunteer for, until the burying had just become who he was.
He was so fucked.
Because the truth was that he'd never stopped. Not for one day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, you'd always been the one. The girl who told him she was going to marry him when she was young and terrified and had no business making promises like that, and he'd been arrogant enough, or maybe just honest enough with himself, to believe her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. You had a life. A good one, from what he could see. David was steady. David showed up, mostly, and when he didn't, well, that one was on David to figure out, not Jack.
Jack was the disruption. He was the thing crashing back into your orbit and tearing it apart at the seams, one diner pie and one rescued night at a time. He didn't have the right to do that to you. Not when you'd fought so hard to build something that didn't look anything like the wreckage you came from.
He thought about the way you'd grabbed his hand last night and asked him not to leave, and he hadn't wanted to.
God, he hadn't wanted to at all.
You were supposed to be mine.
Maybe you were. Maybe in some other version of this, some world where he hadn't left, where your father hadn't been the kind of man he was, where the timing had lined up right, maybe there was a version where it was his ring on your hand and his name you said into a phone with that same soft affection.
But this wasn't that world. In this one, you were engaged.
In this one, he had a job to walk you back to your life and hand you off in one piece, not to unravel it because he couldn't get over you.
He loved you too much to be the reason you didn't get your happy ending. Even if it wasn't with him.
Stop seeing her.
The thought was simple. Easy to think and impossible, apparently, to actually do. Not when you'd called him first last night, not when your name lighting up his phone did something to his pulse he couldn't explain away as friendship.
He had to be the one to put the distance back. You wouldn't. Not with the way this thing between you kept pulling you both back together like gravity, like the two of you were simply incapable of staying apart no matter how hard either of you tried.
So it had to be him.
He just wasn't sure if he actually had it in him to do it.
…
David had been quiet all through dinner, pushing his food around his plate more than actually eating it.
It wasn't until the dishes were cleared and you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing something neither of you were watching, that he finally spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
You looked over at him. "Of course."
He was quiet for a second, turning something over in his head, and when he finally looked at you, there was none of his usual easy calm in his face. Just something tired. "When's the last time you were actually excited about the wedding?"
You sat up. "What?" you managed.
"I'm not trying to start a fight." he said gently. "I just..I've been watching you for months now. Every time we talk about the venue, or the flowers, or the song, you get this look on your face." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "And I told myself it was stress. Wedding planning is stressful, everyone says that. But it's been going on so long now that I don't think that's it anymore."
You opened your mouth to argue, some defense already forming. But nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong, and some exhausted part of you didn't want to keep lying about it anymore.
"David."
He shifted to face you fully. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you actually want this? Do you want to marry me? Or have you just been going along with it because I'm safe, and easy, and I never gave you a reason to say no?"
The tears came before you could stop them, blurring the outline of him sitting there so patiently, waiting for an answer you didn't know how to give without breaking something neither of you could put back together.
"I don't know." The words scraped out of you. "David, I don't know. I love you. I do. You've been so good to me. You've never once made me feel unsafe, or scared, or like I had to brace myself for anything, and after everything with my dad, that meant more than I think I ever told you." You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand. "But I don't know if that's the same thing as being in love with you. And I think some part of me has known that for a long time and just didn't want to look at it too closely, because looking at it meant I had to admit I was about to marry you for the wrong reasons."
David's face didn't crumple the way you thought it might. He just nodded slowly, like some quiet piece of him had already made peace with hearing this before you'd even said it.
"I think I've known too." he admitted. "I kept telling myself it was just cold feet. That everybody gets like this before a wedding." He let out a breath that shook slightly on the way out. "But cold feet doesn't usually last eight months, does it?"
You shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.
"Is there someone else?" he asked.
You thought about Jack's hands wrapped around your ankle on this exact couch. "I don't know what he is." you said honestly. "But there's someone from a long time ago who came back into my life a few months ago, and ever since he did, I haven't been able to feel the same about anything. Including this."
David nodded again, slower this time, and reached out to take your hand. "I'm not going to pretend that doesn't hurt." he said. "But I'd rather know now than stand up in front of everyone we love and marry someone who's not sure I'm the one she wants standing there." He squeezed your hand once. "You deserve to be with somebody you don't have to talk yourself into loving. And so do I."
You cried harder then, not because it was cruel, but because it wasn't. Because David, steady and safe and undeserving of any of the mess of the last few months, had just done the bravest, kindest thing anyone had done for you in a long time.
"Go figure out what you actually want." he said softly. "I hope it's good, whatever it is."
…
The evening sun was dipping below the tree line, painting the park in golds. You walked along the path, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket.
It was beautiful out and for the first time in what felt like forever, life had been good.
It was a strange kind of good, but it was yours. You had a new apartment now, entirely of your own making, filled with half unpacked cardboard boxes. Meg had been over earlier that afternoon, helping you put everything in its place, handing you coffee, and keeping the silence from getting to be too much.
She had a stack of dinner plates balanced in her hands and looked at you with that no nonsense gaze of hers. "Are you going to tell Jack you aren't engaged anymore?" she had asked
You had only shaken your head, looking down at the bubble wrap in your hands.
How could you? He’d been radio silent for weeks now. Almost a month had passed since you sent him that photo of you in the wedding dress.
You had figured that he was deliberately putting space between the two of you. It only made sense. Why would he ever see you as anything more? He hadn't back then, when you were nineteen and stupid, so why now?
You exited the park, taking the familiar path back toward your apartment, still turning the thoughts over in your mind.
He had probably noticed you getting too attached to him. Jack, with his observant eyes, had likely seen the way you leaned into his touch, the way you clutched his shirt when your father showed up, and decided to remove that trouble from your life before you got hurt.
But the damage was already done.
Except, as you crossed the threshold of the park and stepped onto the concrete sidewalk, you realized it wasn’t really damage at all. It was more like clarity. A newfound, stubborn sense of self.
Even if Jack wasn't going to be yours, you still had this new life. It was entirely yours. You had chosen yourself, just like he said you could.
You really shouldn't have been listening to music while walking along the busy street. The volume was up just high enough to drown out rush hour traffic. Because of it, you didn't hear the screech of tires peeling at the crosswalk.
You had the right of way. The pedestrian walk sign was white, glowing steadily, but someone wasn't paying attention.
You didn't really know what happened until the world tilted. There was a sickening impact of metal against bone, and then you were slammed down onto the pavement, hard.
Fuck, it hurt.
The breath was knocked completely out of your lungs, the cold asphalt pressing against your cheek as the music in your earbuds suddenly cut out. Your head felt dizzy, but you didn't think you’d hit it. But within seconds, shouting voices were closing in, and shadow after shadow fell over you as people rushed to your side.
"Don't move! Stay still, honey, don't try to get up!"
"Someone call 911!"
You tried to blink the blurriness from your eyes. Your right side felt like one throbbing bruise, but there was a wet warmth trickling down your shoulder. Dazed, you reached up with your left hand to touch it, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your collar.
When you pulled your hand back, your palm was bright, slick red.
The ambulance felt both like a split second and an entire lifetime. Paramedics were kneeling in the dirt beside you.
"I'm fine." you croaked, your voice sounding small and raspy even to your own ears. You tried to brace yourself on an elbow, pushing against the hands holding you down. "I can just..I can take myself to the ER. It's just my shoulder."
"Lie back." one of the medics said, his voice firm as he stabilized your neck. "We have to immobilize you. It's protocol."
You let out a defeated breath, the fight draining out of you as you nodded and let them carefully shift your body onto the rigid plastic of the stretcher.
The moment they lifted you, the shock finally caught up. Your vision began to gray out at the corners, the faces of the paramedics blurring into soft shapes. The pain in your shoulder and ribs began to fade into a dull numbness as your body finally decided to pass out, retreating into the dark.
As the darkness pulled you under, your mind clung to only one desperate thought.
I hope I'm going to see Jack.
…
Jack was standing at the nurses' station and John was going on about something dumb when he heard the incoming call being answered by Lena. When she hung up, she turned to the room. "Pedestrian was hit on the sidewalk by a car. Female. In and out of consciousness but vitals good. One minute out."
God, he had just clocked in and things were already ramping up.
"Here we go. I feel like it's going to be a spicy night." John said.
"Don't say that." Jack frowned. "You know every night is spicy when I'm here."
John just gave him a look of disgust as he sipped his coffee.
Jack snapped some gloves on right as the patient was being wheeled through the double doors. But he barely got the second glove on when his heart felt like it stopped.
You on the gurney, bleeding from your neck from a scrape, dripping down your shoulder. You, blinking slowly at John’s light that he was already flashing in your eyes.
Fucking hell, it was you.
It was all Jack could do not to grab you in his arms and yell for everyone else to get the fuck out of the room.
"Jack? Hello? You with me on this one?" John’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears.
Jack shook his head, physically forcing his brain to lock back into place. Gathering himself, he walked into the trauma bay alongside the gurney as the ambulance crew relayed their information. He didn't even realize he was doing it, but his hand found yours. He held onto it, tight, his thumb automatically brushing over the soft skin of your knuckles.
And while he was doing all this, John’s eyes darted from the monitor, to Jack’s white knuckled grip, and then back to Jack's face. The puzzle pieces were rapidly clicking together in his mind. "Uhh, is this the woman from the picture on your phone?" John asked quietly.
"Yes."
That was all Jack could say. Fuck whatever they thought about him and you. Fuck the hospital gossip, fuck the onlookers. He was staying with you.
You were slowly rousing, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. The paramedics had said you hadn't passed out but the one time, but you were hurting, so you weren't saying much. Your fingers twitched weakly against his palm, and when your eyes finally found his, the quiet words that slipped past your lips almost broke Jack to pieces. "I hoped it was you."
Jack’s throat closed up. He grabbed your hand, lifting it to press it flat against his chest, right over his racing heart, needing you to feel him. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'll always be here."
John was watching you, his expression softening, well and fine with the moment, but he was already stepping toward the curtain, yelling for Parker to come in.
Jack's head snapped up, his eyes turning dark. "What?"
John shrugged. "You clearly know her, you can't work on her. Sorry, boss. Rules."
And fuck that.
Fuck that. Every protective instinct inside Jack screamed at him to push them all away and tend to your wounds himself. But the rational side of his brain knew John was right. If he stayed as your physician, his judgment would be clouded by the terror of losing you.
Jack swallowed the bitter pill, his grip on your hand never wavering. "Fine, but I'm staying."
John just held his hands up in surrender. "Not going to argue with you there."
…
When you woke, it was in a quiet room in the hospital. A warm light was coming from the lamp on the desk beside you.
Jack was sitting laid back on the chair near the wall. His eyes were closed, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. Was he sleeping sitting up?
You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh at the sight.
His eyes opened, the sleep clearing from them quickly. The moment he saw you awake, the tension in his shoulders melted, and his eyes softened.
"Hi honey." he said.
Even in the bruised state you were in, that greeting caused your heart to feel like it was going berserk. Thank goodness you weren't actually hooked up to any heart monitors anymore, or else he would know exactly what it did to you when he called you that.
"Do you know what happened?" he asked, pushing himself up from the chair to come stand right by you.
"Yes, all of it unfortunately." you grimaced, trying to sit up.
Jack eased you back down against the pillows. "Keep laying down. They gave you pain meds, so that's why you've been out for a few hours."
"What time is it?" you asked, squinting toward the dark window.
"4 a.m." Jack said softly.
Your eyes widened. "Oh my god. I didn't mean to pull you from work. Please, go back on shift. I will be fine."
Jack just shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No way. I'm not leaving you. Shift or no shift, there is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be right now."
This time when you sat up, he didn't try to stop you. You reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him down slightly so that he was close to you, your eyes locking onto his. "Thank you, Jack."
And he just smiled at you, covering your hand with his own for a brief second before gently squeezing. "I'm going to see about getting you discharged. Then we're going to my house. That sound okay?"
You didn't think you would have any words if you tried to speak, so you just nodded.
…
Jack tucked you into his bed and closed the door to let you sleep. You slept for a while, which he knew you would because of the pain meds. While the house was quiet, he’d called in a favor with Robby to help get coverage for his next two shifts.
He just wanted to be with you. He never wanted to leave your side, never again.
When you finally woke up, he was standing in his kitchen, making some tea. Your hair was a little mussed from sleep, but even then, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. You'd always been.
"Can I have some?" you said, pointing toward the steaming kettle.
He pointed toward the two mugs already sitting on the counter. "Was already making you one too."
You smiled and walked toward him. Still sleep brained, you had to be, because that was the only reason you would have come right up to him and folded yourself into his chest.
Either way, Jack didn't care about the reason. He let his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and he couldn't help the contented hum that came from his chest.
"My hero." you whispered against his shirt.
He laughed a little. "Hardly."
You leaned back, tilting your head up to look at him. And god, he wanted to kiss you. He’d wanted to kiss you for a while, but everything felt so intensely domestic right now, the way you were just holding each other in his kitchen. This felt like some sort of future that the two of you could actually have.
It wasn't until later, when the two of you were sitting at his kitchen table and you brought your mug up to your lips, tilting it back, when Jack noticed it.
The lack of a ring on your finger.
The rush of adrenaline made him almost choke on his own sip of tea. He set his mug down and reached out, completely unable to stop himself. He gently rubbed his thumb over the exact area where the ring used to be.
You set your tea down, your gaze dropping to the table. "David and I are no longer getting married." you said softly.
When Jack didn't say anything, too stunned, too frozen by the words, you started rambling, the nervous heat creeping up your neck. "Well, actually, we're no longer anything. We broke up."
…
The confession felt terrifying and freeing all at once. You swallowed hard, staring down at your bare knuckles because looking at his face right now felt like staring directly into the sun. "I broke it off with him."
Jack didn't blink. He sat perfectly still across from you, his eyes focused on your face, tracking the slight tremble of your lower lip. "Why?"
You met his gaze then. And all you could do was smile. "Because of you, Jack." you said softly. "It's always been you. The second you crashed back into my life, everything else just completely unraveled. I couldn't stand up there and marry a good man when my entire heart was somewhere else."
Taking a shaky breath, you kept going. "When you left, I tried to bury it, I really did, but seeing you again, having you in my life again, it just made me realize that I don't want a life that doesn’t have you in it. I want.."
Before you could even finish, Jack leaned in.
His large hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb catching the edge of your cheek to tilt your head up.
The kiss was a breaking of a dam that neither of you could have stopped if you tried.
Jack’s fingers tangled into your hair to hold you steady as he drank you in, making up for every single day he had forced himself to stay away. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.
When you broke apart, he kept his forehead pressed against yours. "God, you have no idea," Jack breathed. He let out a small laugh, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before looking back at you. "I felt like such an asshole watching you with him. Sitting in that ER, listening to him talk about your wedding. I wanted to rip the walls down. I wanted to tell him to get his hands off what was mine."
He paused, a bitter smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "I know I was a menace these past few weeks. I know I was pushing every single boundary you tried to set, but god, why wouldn't I be?" He leaned down, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time but no less desperate. "I love you so much. I've never stopped. Not for a single day."
…
True to his word, Jack took the whole weekend off to take care of you. He completely ignored your protests that you were totally fine and could go back to your own place to heal.
"Jack, I'm fine!" you said as he was walking out the door on Monday night to head back to the hospital for his shift.
He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. "I know. But stay here. Please?"
Looking up at him, you couldn't say no. You leaned in, and he caught your lips, kissing you again and leaving you breathless and wanting more.
To be honest, you had grown a little restless over the past two days. Even after everything that had been confessed, Jack still slept on the couch while he stubbornly insisted you take his bed. You were well enough after that first kiss to let thoughts start swirling in your head, keeping you wide awake in the dark.
You wondered if he was wide awake too those nights. You just kept getting woken up by visions of him, thoughts of him between your thighs, your hands tangled tightly in his curls. You wondered if he was eventually going to take that step with you, or if you’d have to be the one to make that leap first.
You didn't have to keep wondering for long.
When he finally got home in the morning you were already up. You were sitting in his living room, curled up in his comfy chair with a book in your lap.
You softly said hi, but the greeting completely died in your throat as he dropped his bag by the door without a word. His eyes were dark and fixed on you as he walked straight toward your chair.
Instead of pulling you up, he sank directly to the floor.
You parted your legs and allowed him to slot himself right in between them, he fit perfectly. "What are you reading?" he asked, his voice low.
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Nothing yet. I just started it."
"Ah." Jack murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth before locking back onto your eyes. "Can I interrupt?"
You closed the book and set it aside blindly. He slid his hands slowly up your thighs. The warmth of his palms seared through your clothes, and you couldn't help the way you sank down a little in the seat, tilting your hips to make it even easier for his hands to roam.
He reached up, his movements unhurried as his fingers hooked at the waistband of your shorts. He paused, holding your gaze. "This okay?" he asked.
You nodded so fervently it got him to laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin.
He pulled your shorts down and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then, he leaned down, and his mouth was on you. He started low, his lips pressing warm kisses up your thighs. He took his time, kissing a slow trail up your left side before shifting over to the right, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin and leaving a wake of shivers behind.
He moved inward, placing small hot kisses right over your underwear. His breath was hot through the thin fabric, sending a wave of anticipation straight down your spine.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his chest heaving. "You're so beautiful." he breathed, his voice rough and undone. "Is this real?"
A breathless laugh escaped you. Instead of answering, you reached up, burying your hands deep into his hair and pulling him down to your mouth. When you finally pulled back for air, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it aside.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you’d be a bit more nervous for a moment like this, but you wanted him so bad the anxiety didn't even have time to grow.
Jack reached up, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb brushing slowly over your nipple as you leaned back into the chair again, letting out a soft sigh. His fingers trailed a path down your stomach, moving lower until they found the edge of your underwear, tracing a line right over the seam of you, before pulling them off.
He just sat there on the floor between your legs, drinking you in, his eyes mapping every single inch of your body. You felt an ache pool in your lower stomach, your hips involuntarily wanting to squirm under his undivided attention.
Having Jack Abbot look at you completely naked in the middle of his living room was somehow even more erotic than whatever was about to come next.
…
Jack’s hands reached up to frame the insides of your thighs, spreading you open for him. He leaned in close, his hot breath brushing over your sensitive skin before he pressed his tongue flat against your center.
His mouth worked over you with greedy focus. He took his time, sweeping his tongue up the length of you, sucking softly, his stubble scraping lightly against your thighs.
He gripped your hips to keep you still whenever you tried to squirm, humming low against your skin when you arched into him. You whimpered his name into the quiet living room as you came against his face.
When he finally pulled back, he stood up and pulled you up out of the chair. Without a word, you followed him down the hallway into his bedroom.
The moment the door swung shut behind you, Jack turned, but you didn't give him a chance to lead. You pushed him backward onto the edge of his mattress, your hands pressing against his chest until he sat back. You stepped between his legs and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him.
Jack groaned as you settled against his hips. He grabbed your waist, pulling you down into a desperate kiss. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth open and hot against yours.
The taste of you was on his lips as you rocked your hips against him, feeling his cock pressing through his scrubs. You stood up then, and he shifted so that you could pull them down and off. Then he scooted back and you resumed your straddled position on him.
When he guided himself to your entrance, you paused for a second, looking down at him. You wanted to commit this to memory.
You sank down onto him in one slow push.
Jack threw his head back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
It was overwhelming and hot. Eleven years of ache and longing. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his as you began to move.
"You feel so good." Jack said, rolling his hips up to meet your thrusts, taking you deeper. His hands slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to pull you down into another kiss.
…
You fell asleep with your head on his chest only to be woken a few hours later by his mouth pressing kisses down the slope of your neck.
By afternoon, you ended up in his shower, the steam filling the small bathroom as the hot water cascaded over both of you. Jack pressed you gently against the tile, his hands slick with soap as he washed you before pulling you back against him once more.
Every touch felt like finding solid ground after years of drifting.
…
One Year Later
Jack kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in the passenger seat and he genuinely could not have told you where he was driving to. It didn't matter.
The window was down on your side and your hair was whipping across your face and you didn't even bother fixing it, just let it happen, eyes closed, singing along to whatever was playing on the radio. The sun caught the side of your face through the windshield and Jack thought, not for the first time, that he had no idea how he'd survived all these years without seeing this exact sight.
God, he loved you. It still hit him sometimes, stealing the breath right out of him completely.
You must have felt him looking, because you turned and the smile you gave him was so easy and happy that his hands nearly slipped on the wheel.
You leaned across the console then, one hand braced on his thigh and pressed your lips to his cheek. Your other hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair there the way you always did. You just couldn’t help it.
The small, cool press of metal against his skin from your finger thrilled him. He'd slid it onto your finger three weeks ago in his kitchen, badly rehearsed. You'd said yes before he'd even gotten the whole sentence out.
He hadn't been surprised, not really. After all, you'd always known. You'd told him so yourself, once, a long time ago, before he'd been ready to hear it.
He was the one playing catch up.
Your fingers were still tangled at the back of his neck, that ring cool against his skin, and outside the window the fields blurred in the last of the light and Jack thought that he could drive like this forever and never once feel like he was in a hurry to get anywhere else.
are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 2
At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.
genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, smut nsfw mdni
word count: 12k+ (holy shit i'm sorry lmao)
(a/n: ahhh thank yall so much for waiting. i've been working so hard on this one. and honestly i feel like it's my weakest, but i'm proud of this little story. i really hope you enjoy it. also totally forgot last time i was going to explain the title lol. it's a line from the song Death & Romance by Magdalena Bay. A banger and I thought about Jack whilst listening to it, so naturally I wrote an almost 15k fic. so it goes. anywhoooo thank yall again. i hope you like it. plz let me know. )
part 1
Jack decided the universe was run by an absolute sadist.
When he’d left years ago, you had been just a girl he couldn’t save. No matter how much he had wanted to. Beautiful, sure, but dangerous. You had looked at him like he held the keys to the kingdom, completely oblivious to the fact that he was barely holding his own life together.
I’m going to marry you.
He hadn't corrected you back then. Not explicitly. He’d just gently steered you away from the edge of that particular cliff.
Driving home that night, he had tucked your confession away in the darkest drawer of his mind as an impossible fiction.
But the person standing across from him now was entirely different.
And, frustratingly, exactly the same.
Adolescence had turned into something elegant, but the defensive way you crossed your arms over your chest and the stubborn tilt of your chin was identical to when you were nineteen.
The familiarity hit him in the chest. Nostalgia making a wave over him. He’d cry right now if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated.
His eyes tracked your hand as you reached for your glass and that's when the light caught it.
Everything inside him ground to a halt.
Slowly, he pointed the drink and the hand that held it toward your hand. "What's that?"
The color drained from your face so fast it made his stomach drop. You pulled your hand back, tucking it close to your body. "Oh. I'm getting married."
Well, fuck.
Jack made sure to keep his features normal. Even though some part of himself (stupid and utterly selfish as it is) feels like something has just been taken away from him.
He just let out a breath, an only slightly tortured smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh yeah? Thought that slot was reserved for me."
You tore your gaze away, looking at anything but his face as heat crept up your neck.
He didn't look away. He couldn't. He just stared, tracing the line of your face, waiting out the silence until you finally forced yourself to look back. "Yeah, well." you muttered, your voice tight. "That's the kind of shit you say when you're nineteen and stupid."
"Stupid?" Jack countered, leaning an inch closer. "You wound me."
"Oh, don't act like you actually believed me back then."
He tilted his head, locking his eyes onto yours. "Well..you are here at this bar with me right now. After years of never seeing each other. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the universe is incapable of keeping us apart."
Instead of answering, you flagged down the bartender, your knuckles rapping against the sticky wood of the counter as you ordered another drink, completely shutting him out.
Jack watched you take a sip.
He needed to stop. He needed to be the adult in the room, to play the role of the supportive, well meaning ghost from your past.
"So," he said smoothly, "who's the lucky guy?"
The name David slipped past your lips, followed by a laundry list of details. His job, how you met, the stable life you’d built. Jack nodded in all the right places, but truth be told, he wasn't processing a single syllable.
Fuck that guy.
Fuck David and his immaculate timing. Fuck David for being the one who got to see you grow into this version of yourself, and fuck David for having the absolute privilege of taking care of you.
But as he watched the animated way your expression softened when you spoke, a bitter ache settled deep in Jack’s stomach.
By the time the bartender did last call, the room had thinned out to a handful of stragglers.
You stood up, sliding your purse over your shoulder and Jack was up a second later, tossing a stack of crumpled bills onto the counter without looking at them. "It's late. I’m walking you home."
You blinked up at him, shifting your weight. "Jack, I'm fine. I live right around the block. It’s a four minute walk."
He didn't say anything back. He just snagged his jacket, throwing it over one shoulder with a lazy shake of his head. "Don't fight me on this, sweetheart."
The walk was quiet at first, the pavement damp from an earlier rain, but Jack had never been excellent at staying quiet around you. He kept his pace slow, matching yours perfectly, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Your shoulders brushed with every third step.
Gradually, the conversation slipped back into its old rhythm, as if the lost years never existed. He looked down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a fleeting moment, he felt completely unmoored.
God, you were sharp. You were quick, funny, delivering lines with this effortless charm that made him want to pull you into the nearest shadowed doorway and never let you go.
Before he could entirely lose his mind, you stopped in front of a brick building with a heavy iron awning. "This is me." you said, turning to face him on the steps.
Jack braced his weight on one foot, looking up at you. The easy bravado finally dropped from his shoulders, replaced by something more exposed. "Can I have your number?" He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. Jesus, now who was the one acting like a nervous teenager? "I, uh..I texted your old one a few times. Over the years. But I think you had it changed."
Your expression softened, a flicker of something complicated crossing your eyes. "Yeah, I changed it once I got to college. So my dad couldn't reach me."
The mention of your father made Jack’s jaw tighten, a protective anger flaring in his chest. He just nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket.
...
Against your better judgment, you took it. Your fingers brushed his with a brief shock of heat, as you typed in your new digits and handed it back.
"There." you whispered. "Goodbye, Jack."
You turned, key already in hand, reaching for the glass door of your building. You took one step into the warm lobby, but you turned back, looking through the open doorway at him.
He hadn't moved an inch.
He was still standing exactly where you left him.
"I missed seeing you, Jack." you said, the confession slipping out before you could think better of it.
And before he could answer, before you could see exactly what those words did to him, you turned and walked inside, letting the door click shut between you.
…
"There was nothing wrong with any of them." you said, stepping onto the sidewalk as the boutique door clicked shut. You stared blankly at a crack in the pavement. "They were beautiful dresses, Meg. They just didn’t feel right."
Meg sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both started down the block. "You’re just overwhelmed. Wedding dress shopping is less about the fabric and more about the reality of the fact that you're actually doing this. It's a lot to process." She checked her watch, her face twisting into a grimace. "Crap. Speaking of reality, I have to run. If I don't meet the florist in fifteen minutes, she's going to take several liberties that I definitely will not approve of.”
"Go, go." you urged, waving her off with a weak smile. "I'll be fine."
"Are you going straight home? Do you want me to call you later?"
"No, don't worry about it." you said, gesturing toward the diner across the street. "I think I'm just going to go sit in a corner, get a slice of pie, and read my book for a bit. Decompress."
"Good. Unplug your brain." Meg said, giving your arm a quick squeeze before jogging toward the subway.
The diner was louder than usual, packed with the early dinner rush escaping the incoming rain. The bell above the door chimed as you walked inside, and a quick scan confirmed your worst nightmare. Every single private booth was taken. The long counter was packed shoulder to shoulder.
The only available spot in the entire place was a tiny two person table near the back window, and it was currently occupied by a very large man with a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. His head was turned toward the window, watching the starting drops of rain streak against the glass.
Curls.
Familiar curls, is all you saw first. And you should be embarrassed how much your body reacts to them. Even after all these years, he’s got your heart beating into your throat. The only thing that has changed is that he grew out of the red and exchanged it for grey.
To your disastrous conclusion, it only made him more handsome. More something. Magnetic? Maybe, but you’d always been drawn to Jack.
You should turn around. You should walk back out into the rain, go to your apartment, and eat whatever stale crackers were left in your pantry. Seeing him once at a bar was a fluke. Seeing him twice felt dangerous.
But your feet didn't move toward the door. Instead, driven by that same pull, you navigated the tight maze of tables until you were standing right at the edge of his space.
"Hey." you said softly.
Jack’s head turned immediately. The distant, checked out expression on his face instantly vanished, his eyes expanding as they locked onto yours. He took you in all at once. Your windblown hair, the slight line of stress between your eyebrows, the book clutched tightly against your chest.
A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained entirely intense. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually with his chin toward the empty seat across from him.
You swallowed the ridiculous spike of nerves in your throat, sliding into the chair.
Jack caught the eye of a passing waitress and raised two fingers. He looked back at you, eyes tracking the way you clutched your book like a shield. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low.
You had spent the last twenty minutes dreaming about a thick slice of cherry pie, but suddenly, the thought of him buying it for you made your stomach do things you didn’t like. It felt too intimate. It felt wrong, like you were allowing him to fill a need he no longer had the right to.
"Oh, I'm just reading." you lied smoothly, offering a dismissive wave. "No food."
He didn't say a word, but he leveled a look at you. His eyebrows pulling down just a fraction in that knowing way he used to when he caught you in a bluff. An ache of longing bloomed in your chest. You had missed the way he had looked at you.
You missed when someone knew you so completely that you didn’t even have to say a word.
"Really?" Jack murmured, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So was cherry pie just a phase, or is that still happening?"
A smile broke across your face before you could stop it, your shoulders dropping their defensive posture. Jack caught the change instantly. "We'll take a slice of the cherry. Two forks. And a black coffee."
When it arrived, you didn't fight him on it. Instead, a comfortable silence settled over the table. The only sound was the clinking of forks against the ceramic plate as you shared the slice, both of you staring out at the rain turning the streetlights blurry.
It was nice.
It was terrifyingly easy.
"So," Jack said, breaking the quiet as he pushed the last bite of crust toward your side of the plate. "What did you do today?"
The lingering warmth from the pie evaporated, replaced by white satin and tulle. You let out a defeated sigh, leaning your chin into your hand. "Wedding dress shopping." you admitted, your voice miserable. "With Meg. It went horribly."
You expected a retort. Or for him to make a joke about you looking like a cloud or to tease you about being difficult. But when you didn't hear a reply, you looked up.
Jack wasn't smiling. He was watching you, his eyes focused on the sadness radiating from you. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." he said softly.
Your eyes screwed shut instantly, a shock running straight down your spine at the cadence of his voice. You forced them open, aggressively pointing your pie covered fork directly at his chest. "Don't call me that."
That smirk slowly worked its way back onto his face as he watched your cheeks flood with color. "Why?" he challenged, leaning an inch closer. "You like it too much?"
You tore your gaze away from him, turning your head toward the window and grumbling something under your breath just to avoid the smug, insufferable certainty in his eyes.
Then your phone buzzed against the table. “Oh, I have to take this. I'm sorry."
…
Inside, Jack was working double overtime just to keep his features flat. His jaw clenched so hard his molars ached.
God, he needed to see his therapist.
This was stupid. It was childish. It was entirely unhinged for him to feel this surge of possessiveness over a woman who wasn't even his. He had no claim over you. None at all. He was the one who had walked away eleven years ago.
But logic didn't do a damn thing to stop the way his chest constricted when you brought the phone to your ear.
Then came the blow, delivered in the sweetest tone. "Okay. Love you too."
Jack bristled. The words hit him with white hot jealousy.
You hung up, sliding the phone back into your pocket with an apologetic sigh. "Gotta go. David needs some help with something at the apartment."
You stood up, immediately reaching for your purse and unzipping it to hunt for cash. "Let me just grab some money for the pie."
Jack reached across the small distance, his hand came down over yours, his fingers completely covering your knuckles and pinning your hand to the fabric of your purse, stopping you instantly.
He would think about it later. Hours from now, lying awake in his bed, he would analyze the exact feel of your skin, the way his palm seemed to memorize the curve of your knuckles, and the buzzing that went straight up his forearm.
But right now, he just needed to keep you from drawing another boundary between you.
"Don't even think about it." Jack said, leaving no room for debate. He didn't let go of your hand right away, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your wrist. "You don't pay for anything when you're with me."
You blinked down at his hand, then up at his face. You couldn't help the little smile that broke across your lips. "Oh, I see. Got that doctor money now and suddenly you're a big deal, huh?"
Jack laughed, his fingers reluctantly sliding off yours as he leaned back into his chair. "Are you kidding? I've always been a big deal."
You snorted, and to Jack, it was easily the best thing he had ever heard in his life. It was a sound he wanted to bottle up and keep. "Bye, Jack." you said softly, your smile lingering.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, standing by his seat. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached out. Your hand closed briefly over his shoulder, a firm squeeze that pressed through the fabric of his shirt.
Then you turned and walked away.
He sat completely frozen, slowly bringing his left hand up to press over the exact spot on his shoulder where your fingers had just been, trying to trap the lingering warmth against his skin.
…
It had been a week since you sat across from Jack in that diner, and your brain had spent the last several days thinking of absolutely nothing else.
Even now, with the late evening sun filtering through the trees of the park near your apartment, you were miles away. You were walking hand in hand with David. The gravel of the path was crunching beneath your sneakers, and his voice was steady beside you.
You weren't listening to a single syllable.
Instead, your mind was drifting back to a particular night a lifetime ago. You remembered the feeling when Jack had pulled his truck up to your house, the shouting of your dad’s latest explosive fit still echoing through the thin walls behind you.
Jack had taken one look at your face, grabbed your wrist, and thrown you into his passenger seat.
He’d driven straight to the nearest Olive Garden and the two of you had proceeded to eat an ungodly amount of breadsticks.
Looking back, you had probably been falling in love with Jack Abbot since the very first moment he’d ever shown up at your house, but watching him sit across from you under those tacky restaurant lights, making terrible faces just to make you forget the dark world you lived in, that was the exact moment your heart had stubbornly decided it wanted him.
But you had David now. Safe, stable, predictable David. Whose hand was currently wrapped around yours. He stopped walking, tilting his head down to look at you. "Hey. Did you hear me?"
You blinked, the memory dissipating as you forced yourself back into the present. "Hmm? No, sorry. I got completely lost in thought. What did you say?"
David didn't get annoyed. He just let out a patient laugh and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I was asking about our first dance song. I was thinking about it on the drive over. What do you think about Kiss Me?"
You couldn’t stop it then. Another memory slotting its way into your mind. You sitting shotgun flying down winding back roads with the windows cracked wide open. The radio blasting that exact song, the wind whipping your hair across your face while you and Jack screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, completely off key.
"Maybe." you forced out, the word catching uncomfortably in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression from cracking.
"Ah, that's okay." David said smoothly, entirely oblivious. "Don't stress. I'll make a running list of options tonight and we can go through them later..oh, shit!"
David’s foot caught on a deep lip of concrete where the park path intersected with a dirt trail. His ankle rolled inward with a crack. He pitched forward, his grip ripping away from your hand as he went down hard on his side in the grass.
"David!" You dropped to your knees beside him instantly. "Are you okay?"
He was pale, his jaw clenched tight as he clutched at his left leg, a groan escaping his teeth. "My ankle." he gasped out, his forehead breaking into a sweat. "I think I just broke the damn thing."
…
You hadn't thought anything of the location when the driver pulled up to the emergency room. It was simply the closest trauma center. Your only focus had been helping David limp through triage until they finally rolled him back into an exam room.
David was lying on the gurney, his face tight with pain as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the doctor on staff to see him. You stood by the edge of the bed, your hand holding his.
"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here." The fabric of the curtain was pulled back and your eyes flew upward. Standing in the entryway, a chart clutched in his hand and a stethoscope slung casually over his shoulders, was Jack.
Of course.
Jack’s eyes were locked onto the chart as he stepped into the room, his pen clicking once, and then he stopped. He raised his head and his gaze swept over the gurney, over David, and landed right on you.
"Sorry." David panted from the gurney, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal rail. He forced a strained smile. "Didn't mean to crowd your ER today, Doc. I think I completely destroyed my ankle on a rogue piece of park pavement."
"Let's take a look." Jack said. His voice was lower than usual. You could feel it rattle all the way down to your toes. He deliberately kept his eyes on David as he rolled a stool over, snapping on a pair of gloves.
As he knelt by the foot of the bed, his shoulder brushed right against your arm. It was a fleeting contact, but it sent a jolt straight up your spine. "So,” Jack said, his large fingers gently probing the swollen, purple bruising on David’s ankle. "How exactly did it happen? Lose your footing?"
"Yeah." David groaned, flinching slightly as Jack manipulated the joint. "I was totally distracted. We were just walking, talking about our wedding, and I didn't see the drop off."
Jack’s hands stayed perfectly still on David’s leg, but slowly, his head tilted up. His eyes locked dead onto yours, carrying a challenging spark that trapped your breath in your throat.
"Right." Jack said softly, his mouth curving into an almost smirk that was entirely meant for you. "Distractions will get you. Sometimes you think you're on solid ground, and then the universe completely shifts right out from under you. Isn't that right?"
You gripped the strap of your purse so hard your fingers turned numb. "I...yeah. I guess so."
David let out a painful laugh, completely oblivious to the suffocating layers of subtext heavy in the room. "Man, you can say that again. One minute you're picking out a first dance song, the next you're in a gown."
"A first dance song?" Jack repeated. He stood up, ripping off the gloves, his gaze still pinned to your face. He stepped closer, forcing you to slightly tilt your chin up to maintain eye contact. "What was the contender?"
"Oh, I was thinking Kiss Me." David called out from the pillow, letting his head fall back with a tired sigh. "You know that old nineties track? I think it's romantic. y/n was a little unsure, though."
A wicked gleam flashed in Jack’s eyes. A look of insufferable amusement mapping itself across his handsome face. He knew exactly what that song meant to you. "Unsure? That’s surprising. Not a big fan of long drives and loud music?"
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper, glaring at him in a stare. "It’s a bit cliché." you managed to squeeze out, your voice tight.
Jack’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back to David, his professional demeanor slotting back into place like it was nothing. "Well, David, the good news is I don't think it's a fracture, but the bad news is we definitely need X-rays to check for a hairline break or ligament tears. I'm going to order them and have the tech come grab you."
"Awesome. Thank you, seriously." David said. He looked up at Jack like the man had just personally parted the sea. "Man, honey aren't we lucky? This guy is fantastic. I gotta say, Doc, your bedside manner is incredible. Super attentive."
Jack laughed and stepped back toward the door and gave a polite nod. "Don't mention it." Just before he left, he cut his eyes back to you, leveling you with one last look. "I always make sure to take extra special care of things that are important."
…
You kept running into Jack.
Not on purpose, but for a few weeks after that night at the diner, the universe just seemed entirely incapable of keeping you separate.
You were roaming through your favorite bookstore, losing yourself in the new releases, when you turned a corner into the biography aisle.
He was leaning against the wood paneling, casually flipping through a massive hardcover on the French Revolution. Typical, honestly. It made you want to roll your eyes, but before you could look away, he raised his head.
Did you proceed to sit at the tiny coffee shop inside the bookstore and talk for two straight hours? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
Then there was the afternoon you got caught in a downpour. You stood on the sidewalk, cursing under your breath as you shoved at your umbrella, which yeah was completely broken.
A familiar truck pulled up to the curb, the passenger window sliding down smoothly. Jack leaned across the console, eyeing the way the rain was already plastering your hair to your forehead.
“Get in.” he called out over the thunder.
When you started to refuse, shaking your head and gesturing toward the short walk home, Jack didn’t argue. He just killed the engine, threw his door open, and stepped straight out into the rain.
He just reached out, his hand wrapping gently around your elbow, and guided you toward his passenger side. He practically hovered over you, using his own body to protect you from the worst of the sheets of water while he got absolutely, completely soaked.
Did you sit up until three that night thinking about the way his hair looked all messy and plastered to his forehead? Did you think about the way his shirt had been completely soaked through, clinging to his shoulders? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.
All of this was pure coincidence. A series of flukes. Not on purpose at all.
Until it wasn't.
…
David was away at a work conference in Boston. You were pulling books off your overflowing bookshelves, doing some late night reorganizing, when the banging on the front door started.
It was pounding that rattled the wood in its frame and sent panic right through you.
"I know you're in there, baby girl! Getting married without telling your old man!!"
The words through the door were slurred, thick with alcohol and malice. You froze on the spot, a book slipping from your numb fingers. How had he found you?
You frantically dialed David’s number, your hands shaking so much you almost dropped the phone. When he finally answered, you poured out the words in a breathless rush, begging him to come home, begging him to fix it.
But David was three hundred miles away, and he simply didn't realize the severity of the situation. He didn’t know the history, not all of it, so he didn’t know the monster on the other side of that door.
"Call the police." David said through the line, his voice calm and practical. "I can't leave right now."
He meant well. He really did. He just didn't know.
You hung up, the slurred shouting outside your door growing louder, followed by another heavy kick against the door.
Without thinking, you dialed Jack and he answered on the very first ring.
"My dad's here." you whispered. You didn't even say hello. Your voice fractured on the last word, and you were sure Jack could hear the muffled yelling through the background.
It took Jack no time to speak. "Stay right there. I'm coming."
David had retreated when you most needed him, hiding behind work responsibilities and distance. But Jack Abbot?
He would walk right into the fire.
…
Jack broke every speed limit getting there. He took the stairs two at a time, his feet pounding against the concrete, and when he rounded the corner into the hallway, he saw him.
Your father was swaying on his feet, one fist raised against your door, his knuckles already split and bleeding from the force of his own pounding. The smell of cheap whiskey hit Jack before he even got close.
"Hey!" Jack's voice cracked down the hallway. "Get away from that door."
Your father turned, bleary eyes struggling to focus. He blinked hard, swaying backward on unsteady feet as he took in the man closing the distance between them. "Who the hell are you?" he slurred, his words mashing together at the edges.
Jack stopped a few feet away, close enough to block him from the door, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists at his sides. There had been a time this man had known his face well. A time Jack had sat at his kitchen table, had shaken his hand, had been introduced as his friend from AA.
None of it registered. Not a flicker of recognition. Just glassy, unfocused eyes trying to place a stranger.
"Doesn't matter who I am." Jack said evenly, though his pulse was pounding in his ears. "You need to leave. Now."
Your father squinted at him a moment longer, some drunken calculation happening behind his eyes, weighing whether this stranger was worth the fight. Whatever he decided, it wasn't in Jack's favor to test. He muttered something incoherent under his breath, waved a dismissive hand through the air, and turned, stumbling back down the hallway toward the stairwell and the door banged shut behind him.
Jack stood there another few seconds, listening until the sound of uneven footsteps faded completely. Only then did he let his shoulders drop, some of the adrenaline bleeding out of him. He turned and knocked twice, soft. "It's me."
The door opened and Jack’s heart twisted. You were pale, your hand trembling on the frame, eyes glassy with barely held tears.
Jack stepped inside without a word.
You shut the door behind him, the deadbolt sliding home and the second you turned around, whatever was holding you together gave out completely. You crossed the small distance and folded into him, your face pressing into his chest, your fists curling into the fabric of his shirt. A sob broke loose, shaking through your whole body.
Jack's arms came around you immediately, one hand splayed wide across your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you together at the seams. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay."
You just shook against him, gripping tighter. "He's gone." Jack said quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "He's not coming back. I promise you that."
"I was so scared." you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest.
"I know." His hand moved in steady circles against your back. "I know, baby. But you're safe. You hear me? You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."
…
You didn't know how you'd ended up like this. Flat on your back on the couch, feet in Jack's lap, his hand wrapped loose around your ankle, thumb tracing slow circles against the bone there. His other hand rested just below your knee, warm, doing absolutely nothing except being there.
Somewhere in the deep, buried recesses of your mind, nineteen year old you was losing it.
Screaming, actually.
He hadn't said much. Just steered you gently toward the couch, dropped down at the end of it, and flipped on your favorite show without asking if that's what you wanted. You let the noise of it wash over you, let your heart rate go back down out of your throat, and for a while, neither of you said anything at all.
"I don't know how he found me." Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "We're 3 hours from where he lives."
Jack turned his head to look at you, his hand stilling against your ankle.
"I honestly thought he was dead." You sat up then, pulling your feet out of his lap, curling your knees against your chest instead, wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
"A neighbor called a few years ago. Said he'd been evicted from the house. The city shut it down because he let it get too run down." You sighed, staring at the carpet. "And so I just thought to myself, that's it. I have to let him go now. For real. And it was over for me then. Even if he's still alive somewhere."
Jack was quiet for a moment, just watching you, something soft and aching behind his eyes. "You did what you had to do to survive him." he said finally. "That's not something to feel guilty about. You were trying to keep your head above water with somebody who should've been protecting you instead of drowning you." He shifted closer, his knee brushed yours. "Letting go of him wasn't you giving up. It was you finally choosing yourself. That takes more strength than most people ever have to find."
You didn't say anything, just picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.
"You're doing so well." he continued, quieter now. "Look at you. You built a whole life he doesn't get to touch. And tonight, when it got hard, you didn't fall apart. You're still standing." His mouth curved, just barely. "You're gonna be okay. I mean that."
You didn't fully believe it. Not yet. But something about the way he said it, like it was fact and not comfort, made it easier to breathe.
Before you could stop yourself, you sat up and threw your arms around him.
Jack didn't hesitate. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in tight against his chest. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in, deep, the way you used to when you were younger.
You'd thought you hid it well back then. Some guilty part of you had always known he'd caught on anyway.
When you pulled back, you just stared at him.
For one long moment, the apartment, the show still playing, your father somewhere out there in the dark, none of it existed. There was just his face close to yours.
You cleared your throat and looked away first, scooting back to the opposite end of the couch, eyes fixed on the TV.
…
You didn't remember falling asleep.
You did vaguely register the sound of the television clicking off. You felt strong arms slide beneath you, lifting you and cradling you against a solid chest as he carried you down the hall. He laid you down in your bed and pulled the blanket up over your shoulders. You reached out before he could straighten, catching his hand. "Please don't go." Your voice was thick with sleep, barely above a whisper. "Don't leave me."
Jack went still, but then his fingers curled around yours, and he crouched down beside the bed so you didn't have to strain to see him. "I'm here. I'll always be here."
…
Jack was up before you.
He'd wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed, pull you against his chest, and hold you until the sun came up. But he wasn't that guy. Not with you asleep and vulnerable and still shaking from the night before. So he'd taken the couch instead, folding his tall frame onto cushions clearly built for someone half his size, and told himself it was fine.
Your coffee machine looked like it belonged on the bridge of a spaceship. Jack stood in front of it at six in the morning, squinting at a control panel with more buttons than his car dashboard, trying to figure out which one didn't require a PhD to operate.
That's when he heard the key turn in the lock. David stepped through the door, travel bag still slung over one shoulder, and rounded the corner into the kitchen before he saw Jack standing there. He let out a yelp, jerking backward, one hand flying to his chest. "Fuck!"
He squinted, still catching his breath, confusion slowly replacing the alarm on his face. "Dr. Abbot? What are you doing here?"
Jack had a few answers loaded and ready.
Oh I don’t know, taking care of your fiancee.
Doing your job for you.
Petty, satisfying, and exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't say out loud to the man about to marry you.
"David?" Your voice came from the hallway. You crossed the room fast, wrapping your arms around him, and Jack watched David's shoulders sag with relief as he held you. "Thank god you're here." you said into his shoulder.
Jack kept his face carefully blank, ignoring the way that sentence sliced through him.
"I know, I'm sorry. I left as soon as I could." David pulled back, and you both turned to look at Jack, still standing there with an untouched mug in his hand.
"Oh! Right, David. This is Jack." you said. "I didn't get a chance to tell you when we were at the hospital, but we've known each other a long time. He was friends with my dad briefly. He got him to leave last night."
And held her while she cried and shook until she fell asleep, Jack thought.
David's whole face opened up. "Oh, wow. Small world!" He crossed the kitchen, hand extended. "Thank you, man. Seriously."
Jack took the handshake, grip firm, and let it go. "Don't mention it."
You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone in the living room. Jack figured that was his cue. He set the mug down and grabbed his jacket off the arm of the couch.
But before he headed for the door, he stopped, and let some of the easy charm drop out of his voice. "Hey. David." He waited until he had the guy's full attention. "Last night, her father was pounding on that door drunk enough to put his fist through it."
David's expression faltered.
"I get that you didn't know the whole situation." Jack tried his best to keep his tone civil. To not let the way his blood was boiling come through. "But you need to understand what you're marrying into. That man is dangerous, and he's not going to stop just because he struck out once. If he shows up again, you don't wait it out on the phone. You call me first, because I know exactly what he looks like and what he's capable of. Then you call the police. And then you get home as fast as humanly possible. She should never be alone behind that door with him on the other side of it again."
David swallowed, nodding slowly, all the earlier warmth gone out of his face, replaced by something more sober. "Of course." he said. "Yeah. You're right. I..I didn't realize how bad it was."
"Now you do." Jack said simply.
He gave the guy one last look and let himself out the door.
…
You'd decided to try veils this time, some last ditch effort to actually picture yourself walking down the aisle. You stood in front of the three way mirror, tulle pinned into your hair, and felt absolutely nothing shift into place.
You weren't sure what possessed you to do it, but you pulled out your phone. The lighting in here was stupidly flattering, if nothing else. You angled the camera, snapped a picture, and before you could think too hard about who you were about to send it to, your thumb had already done it.
Too much?
The one person on the entire planet you probably shouldn't be sending bridal photos to.
"This isn't the one either." you called out to Meg, already reaching for the zipper.
You thought you heard her sigh from the other side of the curtain.
Twenty minutes later you were back in your jeans, walking to the coffee shop around the corner to debrief, like you always did. You ordered, sat down across from her, and Meg leveled you with a look before you'd even taken a sip. "You've tried on twenty dresses this month." she said. "In the grand scheme of things that's not that many. But you'd think by now you'd have some idea of what you actually want."
You shrugged, staring into your cup.
"What's going on?"
You looked up at her, and the excuse died in your throat. You couldn't lie to her. Not about this.
So you told her. All of it.
Meg's mouth had fallen fully open. "Okay, wait." she said, holding up a hand. "Jack. The Jack? From when you were a teenager? The one you used to talk about like he hung the moon?"
"That's the one."
"And he's been what, just reappearing in your life this whole time you've been dress shopping?"
"It's not like that." you said, too fast.
Meg just stared at you, unblinking, waiting.
"It's not." you said again, weaker this time.
"So you're not going to leave David?"
"What? No." The word came out of you immediately and it was unconvincing even to your own ears. You heard it yourself, the way it hung there in the air between you.
Meg didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She just reached across the table and squeezed your hand. "I'm not going to tell you what to do." she said finally. "But I've known you a long time, and I've never once seen you struggle like this. You need to actually sit with why nothing about this is feeling right.”
She gathered her bag, dropped a kiss on the top of your head, and left you sitting there. It was only once you were alone that you remembered your phone.
You'd almost forgotten you'd sent that picture at all.
Jack: You can't just send a man a photo like that with zero warning
Jack: I had to set my phone down and collect myself.
Jack: You look stunning, sweetheart. Take a picture in every single dress you try on if it looks anywhere close to that good.
You sat there staring at the screen, feeling something warm and inconvenient bloom in your chest, right where it absolutely had no business blooming at all.
…
Jack was still staring at the picture, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen, when John's voice came from directly behind him. "Ooh, who is that?"
Jack locked the phone so fast he nearly dropped it, shoving it deep into his scrub pocket. "Someone I can't have. That's who."
John just stood there, genuinely stunned into silence. Jack Abbot didn't talk about his personal life. Ever. The man was a vault. "I have so many follow up questions."
"And I'm not answering any of them." Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he passed and left him standing there, already halfway down the hall before John could get another word out.
He took the stairwell up instead of the elevator, needing the burn, needing something physical to focus on besides the picture still branded behind his eyes. The door to the roof access swung open onto cold air and the first thin streaks of orange bleeding up over the skyline, the city still mostly asleep below him.
He braced his forearms against the railing and just breathed.
You cannot have her.
He'd known that fact for years. Had built an entire life around avoiding the truth of it, had buried it under residency and fellowships and every double shift he could volunteer for, until the burying had just become who he was.
He was so fucked.
Because the truth was that he'd never stopped. Not for one day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, you'd always been the one. The girl who told him she was going to marry him when she was young and terrified and had no business making promises like that, and he'd been arrogant enough, or maybe just honest enough with himself, to believe her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. You had a life. A good one, from what he could see. David was steady. David showed up, mostly, and when he didn't, well, that one was on David to figure out, not Jack.
Jack was the disruption. He was the thing crashing back into your orbit and tearing it apart at the seams, one diner pie and one rescued night at a time. He didn't have the right to do that to you. Not when you'd fought so hard to build something that didn't look anything like the wreckage you came from.
He thought about the way you'd grabbed his hand last night and asked him not to leave, and he hadn't wanted to.
God, he hadn't wanted to at all.
You were supposed to be mine.
Maybe you were. Maybe in some other version of this, some world where he hadn't left, where your father hadn't been the kind of man he was, where the timing had lined up right, maybe there was a version where it was his ring on your hand and his name you said into a phone with that same soft affection.
But this wasn't that world. In this one, you were engaged.
In this one, he had a job to walk you back to your life and hand you off in one piece, not to unravel it because he couldn't get over you.
He loved you too much to be the reason you didn't get your happy ending. Even if it wasn't with him.
Stop seeing her.
The thought was simple. Easy to think and impossible, apparently, to actually do. Not when you'd called him first last night, not when your name lighting up his phone did something to his pulse he couldn't explain away as friendship.
He had to be the one to put the distance back. You wouldn't. Not with the way this thing between you kept pulling you both back together like gravity, like the two of you were simply incapable of staying apart no matter how hard either of you tried.
So it had to be him.
He just wasn't sure if he actually had it in him to do it.
…
David had been quiet all through dinner, pushing his food around his plate more than actually eating it.
It wasn't until the dishes were cleared and you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing something neither of you were watching, that he finally spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
You looked over at him. "Of course."
He was quiet for a second, turning something over in his head, and when he finally looked at you, there was none of his usual easy calm in his face. Just something tired. "When's the last time you were actually excited about the wedding?"
You sat up. "What?" you managed.
"I'm not trying to start a fight." he said gently. "I just..I've been watching you for months now. Every time we talk about the venue, or the flowers, or the song, you get this look on your face." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "And I told myself it was stress. Wedding planning is stressful, everyone says that. But it's been going on so long now that I don't think that's it anymore."
You opened your mouth to argue, some defense already forming. But nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong, and some exhausted part of you didn't want to keep lying about it anymore.
"David."
He shifted to face you fully. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you actually want this? Do you want to marry me? Or have you just been going along with it because I'm safe, and easy, and I never gave you a reason to say no?"
The tears came before you could stop them, blurring the outline of him sitting there so patiently, waiting for an answer you didn't know how to give without breaking something neither of you could put back together.
"I don't know." The words scraped out of you. "David, I don't know. I love you. I do. You've been so good to me. You've never once made me feel unsafe, or scared, or like I had to brace myself for anything, and after everything with my dad, that meant more than I think I ever told you." You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand. "But I don't know if that's the same thing as being in love with you. And I think some part of me has known that for a long time and just didn't want to look at it too closely, because looking at it meant I had to admit I was about to marry you for the wrong reasons."
David's face didn't crumple the way you thought it might. He just nodded slowly, like some quiet piece of him had already made peace with hearing this before you'd even said it.
"I think I've known too." he admitted. "I kept telling myself it was just cold feet. That everybody gets like this before a wedding." He let out a breath that shook slightly on the way out. "But cold feet doesn't usually last eight months, does it?"
You shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.
"Is there someone else?" he asked.
You thought about Jack's hands wrapped around your ankle on this exact couch. "I don't know what he is." you said honestly. "But there's someone from a long time ago who came back into my life a few months ago, and ever since he did, I haven't been able to feel the same about anything. Including this."
David nodded again, slower this time, and reached out to take your hand. "I'm not going to pretend that doesn't hurt." he said. "But I'd rather know now than stand up in front of everyone we love and marry someone who's not sure I'm the one she wants standing there." He squeezed your hand once. "You deserve to be with somebody you don't have to talk yourself into loving. And so do I."
You cried harder then, not because it was cruel, but because it wasn't. Because David, steady and safe and undeserving of any of the mess of the last few months, had just done the bravest, kindest thing anyone had done for you in a long time.
"Go figure out what you actually want." he said softly. "I hope it's good, whatever it is."
…
The evening sun was dipping below the tree line, painting the park in golds. You walked along the path, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket.
It was beautiful out and for the first time in what felt like forever, life had been good.
It was a strange kind of good, but it was yours. You had a new apartment now, entirely of your own making, filled with half unpacked cardboard boxes. Meg had been over earlier that afternoon, helping you put everything in its place, handing you coffee, and keeping the silence from getting to be too much.
She had a stack of dinner plates balanced in her hands and looked at you with that no nonsense gaze of hers. "Are you going to tell Jack you aren't engaged anymore?" she had asked
You had only shaken your head, looking down at the bubble wrap in your hands.
How could you? He’d been radio silent for weeks now. Almost a month had passed since you sent him that photo of you in the wedding dress.
You had figured that he was deliberately putting space between the two of you. It only made sense. Why would he ever see you as anything more? He hadn't back then, when you were nineteen and stupid, so why now?
You exited the park, taking the familiar path back toward your apartment, still turning the thoughts over in your mind.
He had probably noticed you getting too attached to him. Jack, with his observant eyes, had likely seen the way you leaned into his touch, the way you clutched his shirt when your father showed up, and decided to remove that trouble from your life before you got hurt.
But the damage was already done.
Except, as you crossed the threshold of the park and stepped onto the concrete sidewalk, you realized it wasn’t really damage at all. It was more like clarity. A newfound, stubborn sense of self.
Even if Jack wasn't going to be yours, you still had this new life. It was entirely yours. You had chosen yourself, just like he said you could.
You really shouldn't have been listening to music while walking along the busy street. The volume was up just high enough to drown out rush hour traffic. Because of it, you didn't hear the screech of tires peeling at the crosswalk.
You had the right of way. The pedestrian walk sign was white, glowing steadily, but someone wasn't paying attention.
You didn't really know what happened until the world tilted. There was a sickening impact of metal against bone, and then you were slammed down onto the pavement, hard.
Fuck, it hurt.
The breath was knocked completely out of your lungs, the cold asphalt pressing against your cheek as the music in your earbuds suddenly cut out. Your head felt dizzy, but you didn't think you’d hit it. But within seconds, shouting voices were closing in, and shadow after shadow fell over you as people rushed to your side.
"Don't move! Stay still, honey, don't try to get up!"
"Someone call 911!"
You tried to blink the blurriness from your eyes. Your right side felt like one throbbing bruise, but there was a wet warmth trickling down your shoulder. Dazed, you reached up with your left hand to touch it, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your collar.
When you pulled your hand back, your palm was bright, slick red.
The ambulance felt both like a split second and an entire lifetime. Paramedics were kneeling in the dirt beside you.
"I'm fine." you croaked, your voice sounding small and raspy even to your own ears. You tried to brace yourself on an elbow, pushing against the hands holding you down. "I can just..I can take myself to the ER. It's just my shoulder."
"Lie back." one of the medics said, his voice firm as he stabilized your neck. "We have to immobilize you. It's protocol."
You let out a defeated breath, the fight draining out of you as you nodded and let them carefully shift your body onto the rigid plastic of the stretcher.
The moment they lifted you, the shock finally caught up. Your vision began to gray out at the corners, the faces of the paramedics blurring into soft shapes. The pain in your shoulder and ribs began to fade into a dull numbness as your body finally decided to pass out, retreating into the dark.
As the darkness pulled you under, your mind clung to only one desperate thought.
I hope I'm going to see Jack.
…
Jack was standing at the nurses' station and John was going on about something dumb when he heard the incoming call being answered by Lena. When she hung up, she turned to the room. "Pedestrian was hit on the sidewalk by a car. Female. In and out of consciousness but vitals good. One minute out."
God, he had just clocked in and things were already ramping up.
"Here we go. I feel like it's going to be a spicy night." John said.
"Don't say that." Jack frowned. "You know every night is spicy when I'm here."
John just gave him a look of disgust as he sipped his coffee.
Jack snapped some gloves on right as the patient was being wheeled through the double doors. But he barely got the second glove on when his heart felt like it stopped.
You on the gurney, bleeding from your neck from a scrape, dripping down your shoulder. You, blinking slowly at John’s light that he was already flashing in your eyes.
Fucking hell, it was you.
It was all Jack could do not to grab you in his arms and yell for everyone else to get the fuck out of the room.
"Jack? Hello? You with me on this one?" John’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears.
Jack shook his head, physically forcing his brain to lock back into place. Gathering himself, he walked into the trauma bay alongside the gurney as the ambulance crew relayed their information. He didn't even realize he was doing it, but his hand found yours. He held onto it, tight, his thumb automatically brushing over the soft skin of your knuckles.
And while he was doing all this, John’s eyes darted from the monitor, to Jack’s white knuckled grip, and then back to Jack's face. The puzzle pieces were rapidly clicking together in his mind. "Uhh, is this the woman from the picture on your phone?" John asked quietly.
"Yes."
That was all Jack could say. Fuck whatever they thought about him and you. Fuck the hospital gossip, fuck the onlookers. He was staying with you.
You were slowly rousing, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. The paramedics had said you hadn't passed out but the one time, but you were hurting, so you weren't saying much. Your fingers twitched weakly against his palm, and when your eyes finally found his, the quiet words that slipped past your lips almost broke Jack to pieces. "I hoped it was you."
Jack’s throat closed up. He grabbed your hand, lifting it to press it flat against his chest, right over his racing heart, needing you to feel him. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'll always be here."
John was watching you, his expression softening, well and fine with the moment, but he was already stepping toward the curtain, yelling for Parker to come in.
Jack's head snapped up, his eyes turning dark. "What?"
John shrugged. "You clearly know her, you can't work on her. Sorry, boss. Rules."
And fuck that.
Fuck that. Every protective instinct inside Jack screamed at him to push them all away and tend to your wounds himself. But the rational side of his brain knew John was right. If he stayed as your physician, his judgment would be clouded by the terror of losing you.
Jack swallowed the bitter pill, his grip on your hand never wavering. "Fine, but I'm staying."
John just held his hands up in surrender. "Not going to argue with you there."
…
When you woke, it was in a quiet room in the hospital. A warm light was coming from the lamp on the desk beside you.
Jack was sitting laid back on the chair near the wall. His eyes were closed, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. Was he sleeping sitting up?
You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh at the sight.
His eyes opened, the sleep clearing from them quickly. The moment he saw you awake, the tension in his shoulders melted, and his eyes softened.
"Hi honey." he said.
Even in the bruised state you were in, that greeting caused your heart to feel like it was going berserk. Thank goodness you weren't actually hooked up to any heart monitors anymore, or else he would know exactly what it did to you when he called you that.
"Do you know what happened?" he asked, pushing himself up from the chair to come stand right by you.
"Yes, all of it unfortunately." you grimaced, trying to sit up.
Jack eased you back down against the pillows. "Keep laying down. They gave you pain meds, so that's why you've been out for a few hours."
"What time is it?" you asked, squinting toward the dark window.
"4 a.m." Jack said softly.
Your eyes widened. "Oh my god. I didn't mean to pull you from work. Please, go back on shift. I will be fine."
Jack just shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No way. I'm not leaving you. Shift or no shift, there is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be right now."
This time when you sat up, he didn't try to stop you. You reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him down slightly so that he was close to you, your eyes locking onto his. "Thank you, Jack."
And he just smiled at you, covering your hand with his own for a brief second before gently squeezing. "I'm going to see about getting you discharged. Then we're going to my house. That sound okay?"
You didn't think you would have any words if you tried to speak, so you just nodded.
…
Jack tucked you into his bed and closed the door to let you sleep. You slept for a while, which he knew you would because of the pain meds. While the house was quiet, he’d called in a favor with Robby to help get coverage for his next two shifts.
He just wanted to be with you. He never wanted to leave your side, never again.
When you finally woke up, he was standing in his kitchen, making some tea. Your hair was a little mussed from sleep, but even then, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. You'd always been.
"Can I have some?" you said, pointing toward the steaming kettle.
He pointed toward the two mugs already sitting on the counter. "Was already making you one too."
You smiled and walked toward him. Still sleep brained, you had to be, because that was the only reason you would have come right up to him and folded yourself into his chest.
Either way, Jack didn't care about the reason. He let his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and he couldn't help the contented hum that came from his chest.
"My hero." you whispered against his shirt.
He laughed a little. "Hardly."
You leaned back, tilting your head up to look at him. And god, he wanted to kiss you. He’d wanted to kiss you for a while, but everything felt so intensely domestic right now, the way you were just holding each other in his kitchen. This felt like some sort of future that the two of you could actually have.
It wasn't until later, when the two of you were sitting at his kitchen table and you brought your mug up to your lips, tilting it back, when Jack noticed it.
The lack of a ring on your finger.
The rush of adrenaline made him almost choke on his own sip of tea. He set his mug down and reached out, completely unable to stop himself. He gently rubbed his thumb over the exact area where the ring used to be.
You set your tea down, your gaze dropping to the table. "David and I are no longer getting married." you said softly.
When Jack didn't say anything, too stunned, too frozen by the words, you started rambling, the nervous heat creeping up your neck. "Well, actually, we're no longer anything. We broke up."
…
The confession felt terrifying and freeing all at once. You swallowed hard, staring down at your bare knuckles because looking at his face right now felt like staring directly into the sun. "I broke it off with him."
Jack didn't blink. He sat perfectly still across from you, his eyes focused on your face, tracking the slight tremble of your lower lip. "Why?"
You met his gaze then. And all you could do was smile. "Because of you, Jack." you said softly. "It's always been you. The second you crashed back into my life, everything else just completely unraveled. I couldn't stand up there and marry a good man when my entire heart was somewhere else."
Taking a shaky breath, you kept going. "When you left, I tried to bury it, I really did, but seeing you again, having you in my life again, it just made me realize that I don't want a life that doesn’t have you in it. I want.."
Before you could even finish, Jack leaned in.
His large hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb catching the edge of your cheek to tilt your head up.
The kiss was a breaking of a dam that neither of you could have stopped if you tried.
Jack’s fingers tangled into your hair to hold you steady as he drank you in, making up for every single day he had forced himself to stay away. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.
When you broke apart, he kept his forehead pressed against yours. "God, you have no idea," Jack breathed. He let out a small laugh, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before looking back at you. "I felt like such an asshole watching you with him. Sitting in that ER, listening to him talk about your wedding. I wanted to rip the walls down. I wanted to tell him to get his hands off what was mine."
He paused, a bitter smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "I know I was a menace these past few weeks. I know I was pushing every single boundary you tried to set, but god, why wouldn't I be?" He leaned down, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time but no less desperate. "I love you so much. I've never stopped. Not for a single day."
…
True to his word, Jack took the whole weekend off to take care of you. He completely ignored your protests that you were totally fine and could go back to your own place to heal.
"Jack, I'm fine!" you said as he was walking out the door on Monday night to head back to the hospital for his shift.
He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. "I know. But stay here. Please?"
Looking up at him, you couldn't say no. You leaned in, and he caught your lips, kissing you again and leaving you breathless and wanting more.
To be honest, you had grown a little restless over the past two days. Even after everything that had been confessed, Jack still slept on the couch while he stubbornly insisted you take his bed. You were well enough after that first kiss to let thoughts start swirling in your head, keeping you wide awake in the dark.
You wondered if he was wide awake too those nights. You just kept getting woken up by visions of him, thoughts of him between your thighs, your hands tangled tightly in his curls. You wondered if he was eventually going to take that step with you, or if you’d have to be the one to make that leap first.
You didn't have to keep wondering for long.
When he finally got home in the morning you were already up. You were sitting in his living room, curled up in his comfy chair with a book in your lap.
You softly said hi, but the greeting completely died in your throat as he dropped his bag by the door without a word. His eyes were dark and fixed on you as he walked straight toward your chair.
Instead of pulling you up, he sank directly to the floor.
You parted your legs and allowed him to slot himself right in between them, he fit perfectly. "What are you reading?" he asked, his voice low.
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Nothing yet. I just started it."
"Ah." Jack murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth before locking back onto your eyes. "Can I interrupt?"
You closed the book and set it aside blindly. He slid his hands slowly up your thighs. The warmth of his palms seared through your clothes, and you couldn't help the way you sank down a little in the seat, tilting your hips to make it even easier for his hands to roam.
He reached up, his movements unhurried as his fingers hooked at the waistband of your shorts. He paused, holding your gaze. "This okay?" he asked.
You nodded so fervently it got him to laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin.
He pulled your shorts down and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.
Then, he leaned down, and his mouth was on you. He started low, his lips pressing warm kisses up your thighs. He took his time, kissing a slow trail up your left side before shifting over to the right, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin and leaving a wake of shivers behind.
He moved inward, placing small hot kisses right over your underwear. His breath was hot through the thin fabric, sending a wave of anticipation straight down your spine.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his chest heaving. "You're so beautiful." he breathed, his voice rough and undone. "Is this real?"
A breathless laugh escaped you. Instead of answering, you reached up, burying your hands deep into his hair and pulling him down to your mouth. When you finally pulled back for air, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it aside.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you’d be a bit more nervous for a moment like this, but you wanted him so bad the anxiety didn't even have time to grow.
Jack reached up, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb brushing slowly over your nipple as you leaned back into the chair again, letting out a soft sigh. His fingers trailed a path down your stomach, moving lower until they found the edge of your underwear, tracing a line right over the seam of you, before pulling them off.
He just sat there on the floor between your legs, drinking you in, his eyes mapping every single inch of your body. You felt an ache pool in your lower stomach, your hips involuntarily wanting to squirm under his undivided attention.
Having Jack Abbot look at you completely naked in the middle of his living room was somehow even more erotic than whatever was about to come next.
…
Jack’s hands reached up to frame the insides of your thighs, spreading you open for him. He leaned in close, his hot breath brushing over your sensitive skin before he pressed his tongue flat against your center.
His mouth worked over you with greedy focus. He took his time, sweeping his tongue up the length of you, sucking softly, his stubble scraping lightly against your thighs.
He gripped your hips to keep you still whenever you tried to squirm, humming low against your skin when you arched into him. You whimpered his name into the quiet living room as you came against his face.
When he finally pulled back, he stood up and pulled you up out of the chair. Without a word, you followed him down the hallway into his bedroom.
The moment the door swung shut behind you, Jack turned, but you didn't give him a chance to lead. You pushed him backward onto the edge of his mattress, your hands pressing against his chest until he sat back. You stepped between his legs and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him.
Jack groaned as you settled against his hips. He grabbed your waist, pulling you down into a desperate kiss. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth open and hot against yours.
The taste of you was on his lips as you rocked your hips against him, feeling his cock pressing through his scrubs. You stood up then, and he shifted so that you could pull them down and off. Then he scooted back and you resumed your straddled position on him.
When he guided himself to your entrance, you paused for a second, looking down at him. You wanted to commit this to memory.
You sank down onto him in one slow push.
Jack threw his head back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
It was overwhelming and hot. Eleven years of ache and longing. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his as you began to move.
"You feel so good." Jack said, rolling his hips up to meet your thrusts, taking you deeper. His hands slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to pull you down into another kiss.
…
You fell asleep with your head on his chest only to be woken a few hours later by his mouth pressing kisses down the slope of your neck.
By afternoon, you ended up in his shower, the steam filling the small bathroom as the hot water cascaded over both of you. Jack pressed you gently against the tile, his hands slick with soap as he washed you before pulling you back against him once more.
Every touch felt like finding solid ground after years of drifting.
…
One Year Later
Jack kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in the passenger seat and he genuinely could not have told you where he was driving to. It didn't matter.
The window was down on your side and your hair was whipping across your face and you didn't even bother fixing it, just let it happen, eyes closed, singing along to whatever was playing on the radio. The sun caught the side of your face through the windshield and Jack thought, not for the first time, that he had no idea how he'd survived all these years without seeing this exact sight.
God, he loved you. It still hit him sometimes, stealing the breath right out of him completely.
You must have felt him looking, because you turned and the smile you gave him was so easy and happy that his hands nearly slipped on the wheel.
You leaned across the console then, one hand braced on his thigh and pressed your lips to his cheek. Your other hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair there the way you always did. You just couldn’t help it.
The small, cool press of metal against his skin from your finger thrilled him. He'd slid it onto your finger three weeks ago in his kitchen, badly rehearsed. You'd said yes before he'd even gotten the whole sentence out.
He hadn't been surprised, not really. After all, you'd always known. You'd told him so yourself, once, a long time ago, before he'd been ready to hear it.
He was the one playing catch up.
Your fingers were still tangled at the back of his neck, that ring cool against his skin, and outside the window the fields blurred in the last of the light and Jack thought that he could drive like this forever and never once feel like he was in a hurry to get anywhere else.
Don’t let the World Cup half time show distract you from the fact that a fascist dictator is currently in attendance at the game, picking up and touching the trophy, manipulating the rules of the tournament and most importantly trying to wipe out several marginalised communities through civil violence and armed ICE agents in the streets.
Me acabo de acordar cuando Anya Taylor Joy ganó el globo de oro, pero los yanquis todavía no nos decían nazis en ese entonces, así titularon que una "mujer de color" había ganado el premio (?????) Ahora te juran que Lautaro Martínez y el Cuti Romero son de raza aria
It’s been a while since I posted anything here, but...
The sheer audacity of first-world, colonizer nations trying to lecture Argentina and Paraguay on morality and history is wild.
It’s genuinely exhausting to watch global north countries, many of which literally still hold colonies or profit from modern neo-colonialism, spearhead hate campaigns and point fingers at us. No matter how complex our realities are, to the rest of the world, Argentina and Paraguay are still just "third-world" Latin American countries. Countries that are still bleeding from the socio-economic and political consequences of their historical and ongoing interventions.
But what makes it even worse is the blatant rewriting of our history. They love to push this colonial narrative that completely erases our reality. They ignore:
Our diverse communities.
Our Indigenous peoples (pueblos originarios) who have been resisting for centuries.
The actual people on the ground fighting against racism, fascism, and discrimination every single day.
They want to flatten our entire existence into a caricature just to make themselves feel morally superior, completely oblivious to the fact that our struggles are a direct result of the systems they built. You don't get to destroy a house, complain about the rubble, and then ignore the people who are actually trying to rebuild it.
Stop rewriting our history to fit your savior complex.
If you want to actually understand the reality of our countries instead of consuming the skewed narrative the media feeds you, watch these TikToks. They dismantle the misinformation perfectly and highlight the voices they are trying so hard to silence:
Como afro-argentina me da bastante por los huevos que los gringos vengan a romper las pelotas con el racismo de acá. FLACO SOS ESTADOUNIDENSE. Mi abuelo murió cuando yo era chica con casi 100 años y nunca fue esclavo de nadie ni fue segregado, lo criaron una pareja de tanos inmigrantes que no sabian hablar español, antes de que yo naciera tenia un negocio en capital mientras todavía existia la segregación en estados unidos.
ENCIMA siempre que salen videos de compañeros afro diciendo que cierren el orto porque no tienen derecho ni información para hablar de nuestro país dicen que no somos realmente negros o que son fakes para hacer quedar bien al país. A JENNIFER PARKER LE DIJERON FAKE!!!!
Hay racismo en Argentina? UN MONTÓN, como en cualquier otro país del mundo! Pero en todo caso es un tema para discutir entre nosotros, antes de apuntar dedos deberían concentrarse en su propio país. Son imperialistas hasta para discutir racismo.
Okay, but some Argentines here trying to say, "Oh, but we're actually really nice or kind, etc.," whenever someone complains or wants to insult us. Well, I’m not nice, kind, and I have no interest in being that way toward anyone who talks shit about my country while being incapable of reading a history book about it yet still wants to criticize. They can all go fuck themselves.
