A Challenge For Us All (andy barber/barberfam x daughter!reader)
Marvel
When Worlds Collide (peter parker x reader)
Top Gun: Maverick
Music to My Ears (jake seresin x reader)
Back and Forth (jake seresin x reader)
Infatuated (jake seresin x reader)
Enamored (jake seresin x reader)
A Bad Night (bob floyd x reader)
Just Kids (bradley bradshaw x reader)
Water's Edge (jake seresin x reader) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 (final)
The Pitt
Let me. (dr. robby x daughter!reader)
Please Send Requests For:
- Top Gun: Maverick
- The Pitt
- Other characters/people featured alongside or associated with the above subjects
- Almost anything, really!
Summary: Dr. Abbott lingers in the ER and ends up intercepting the most important case of the day.
Warnings: mild medical jargon and discussions of severe allergic reactions
Requested: No
Word Count: 1,600
A/N: my "The Pitt" debut <3
*gif is not mine*
It was another one of those days where Jack didn’t leave the ER when his shift was over like he could have. Every time a new trauma came in, he hopped on it. Call it avoiding the quiet at home, call it helping out his day shift buddies, call it whatever you want.
It was a damn good thing he was there.
8:32 AM.
Robby was finishing up with an MVA and then he had to head upstairs to talk to Gloria, the prospect of which he was obviously thrilled about, which made Jack chuckle.
Jack peeled his gloves off and threw them in the nearest trash can just as a nurse’s voice pierced the low rumble of the ED.
“We need a doctor in here!” her voice, urgent but not panicked, called out. Abbott picked up the pace, sidling into Trauma 1 between the EMTs.
“What do we got?”
The EMTs give the rapid-fire report and Abbott springs into action. Anaphylactic reaction to wasp venom. Point-three of expired epinephrine at home, another point-three upon arrival at the scene. Fluids hung already along with IV diphenhydramine.
“Get me IV methylprednisolone,” Abbott calls out, along with the dose, before beginning his hurried but thorough initial exam.
When he removes the oxygen mask for just a moment to check for tongue and lip swelling and to see if she can say her name, he pauses.
He doesn’t stop dead, he’s too well trained for that. Treated too many friends in combat.
He continues his exam with a slightly higher heart rate. The stakes just rose.
Thank God I didn’t go home yet, he thinks.
With the steroids hung and the epinephrine clearly doing its job, Abbott steps out for a moment to take a breath while the nurses change the patient into a gown and get ready to transition her out of the trauma bay.
“Dana,” Abbott says, his voice a touch more gravelly than usual. “My anaphylactic in Trauma 1 is stable. Where can they take her?”
Dana glances at the tablet in her hands, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, before looking across the ED.
“North 4 just got cleared, stick ‘em in there before someone else takes it.”
Jack nods and makes to walk away, but Dana’s controlled voice stops him.
“Abbott?” He turns to look at her, his face stony.
“Am I reading this right?”
“Unfortunately.” Abbott nods once before supervising the transition of the gurney from the trauma bay to North 4, feeling a little more like a bodyguard than a doctor.
Behind the thin curtain, Abbott’s heart drops a little, finally seeing her there looking so small. He sees people covered in tubes, wires, and so much worse every single day, but nothing can prepare him for the visual in front of him. She’s ditched the non-rebreather mask, but he doesn’t rush to insist it go back on.
He approaches slowly, his clinical gaze assessing her.
She hears his footsteps approaching and opens her eyes.
“Jack?” she rasps.
Jack only nods, his face an unreadable mixture of emotions as he pulls up the stool and sits, dropping the railing on the gurney so he can look at her directly without making her look up at him. He sits in solitary silence for a few minutes, giving her a chance to continue to catch her breath.
“You know I have to tell him, right?”
She takes a sharp breath, one he doubts is from the residual effects of the reaction.
“Please, Jack,” she pleads. Abbott’s shoulders tense ever-so-slightly.
“Look, I get it. But I can go intercept him before he comes back from Gloria’s office or we can let him come down and see your name on the board. It’s your choice.” He answers, though there’s no heat in it. It’s rhetorical, and they both know it.
That’s why Jack doesn’t wait for a reply before gently squeezing her shoulder, raising the guardrail again, and leaving, ensuring there’s no gaps in the curtain as he closes it.
--
Abbott hovers by the elevator he knows Robby will come out of when he’s finished upstairs with the suits.
Finally, it dings.
“Hey,” Robby says, thankfully not sounding like his meeting was catastrophic. “You’re still here? People are gonna start thinking you’re a glutton for punishment,” he jokes.
“I don’t think I’m going anywhere today,” Abbott replies, attempting to be lighthearted, but Robby knows him too well.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Come with me,” he says softly.
Jack leads Robby to the viewing room. As seasoned attendings, neither are taken aback by the body inside. Jack closes the door with a soft click. They’re quiet for a few moments, partly out of respect, partly out of a shared uneasiness.
“What’s this about?” Robby asks cautiously.
“This is Mr. Cole,” Abbott nods to the figure under the white sheet. “Came in about six hours ago. MVA, ran his car into a tree. Cops think he fell asleep. No seatbelt, of course.” Jack’s eyes don’t leave the sheet.
Robby scratches the back of his neck, his nervous tic coming out as he thinks about all the residents probably looking for him out in the ED.
“And you’re telling me this because…?” he trails off. Jack shrugs casually.
“Seems disrespectful to use his space for this and not include him,” he says in that quietly playful lilt of his, a small smirk evident on his lips.
“Jack, I really need to-”
“I know,” Jack says firmly. “But…I need you to listen before you freak out, okay?”
If ever there were a sentence to put someone on edge, that was it.
Robby crosses his arms, looking at Abbott in disbelief.
“I’ve got a post-anaphylaxis female in North 4. Stable, just being observed for a biphasic reaction. She tried to treat herself at home but called 911 because her Epi-Pen was expired.”
Robby, feeling a little jaded and frustrated by his meeting upstairs, lets his first thought out before he can stop and apply some perspective.
“What kind of idiot lets their-”
And that’s when Jack says her name.
Robby freezes, but not for long. “What?” he practically spits.
“Robby-” Jack starts, but the door has already swung open.
Shouldn’t have told him the room, Jack thinks.
In North 4, the curtain tears open. Robby’s breath catches in his throat, having hoped this was all some practical joke. He should have known better than to even think it.
“Hi, dad,” the girl in the bed squeaks. The sound of her voice washes over Robby like a warm shower after a walk home in January.
Robby approaches, reading her vitals on the monitor, looking at the bags hung on the IV pole and double checking the doses on the pump, because that’s all his brain can take at the moment. Numbers. Symptoms. Management.
Finally, Robby sighs, shakes his head, and puts both hands on the bed railing, leaning on it like it could possibly take the weight of everything that fell on him over the past thirty minutes.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Got stung by a wasp. A few times, I think.” Robby’s mind flashes back to when she was three, when that first yellow jacket pierced the skin of her hand and caused it to swell to the same size as his.
“Jack says your Epi-Pen was expired.” She only nods, the fear clear in her eyes.
“Why? How could you let that happen?” Robby says, the fear starting to manifest as anger, because why would it ever do anything else? Fear doesn’t survive in an ED, but anger sure can.
“I couldn’t afford a new set and a trip to the allergist.”
“You have insurance.”
“I had to switch to the HSA. I haven’t had it set up long enough to pay for it. I didn’t know they were that close to expiring when I dropped my plan,” she says, tears beginning to clog her throat the way the swelling had just an hour prior.
Robby swallows. He knows why she had to drop it. Insurance rates are rising everywhere, and for someone as typically healthy as her, a plan wouldn’t make much sense.
“Why didn’t you ask for help?”
Even as he says it, Robby sees the irony in it. Robby, who can’t remember the last time he ever asked a single soul for help that didn’t involve keeping a patient alive, standing in front of his own daughter, wondering why she didn’t think to reach out.
She doesn’t answer. She blinks, long and tight. Tears spill down her face to the sheet of the gurney. Laying like that, on her side, with both palms touching as though in prayer and tucked under her face, she looks too much like the little girl he tucked into bed once upon a time.
Robby pushes off the guardrail, one hand finding her upper back to stroke his thumb across the worn fabric of the hospital gown. He leans in to press his lips gently to her temple as her sniffles pick up.
“Hey,” he says soothingly. “It’s alright. You’re okay now. We’re gonna keep observing you for a few more hours, make sure the reaction doesn’t come back. Then you’re leaving here with some meds to keep things under control and a new prescription.”
“This is gonna be expensive as all hell, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry about that right now. You can’t. Just…let me help you. Okay?”
“You don’t have to-”
“I’m here. Someday I won’t be. So just…let me this time.”
The pair look at one another with their matching eyes and stubbornness. An understanding passes between them.
For whatever it’s worth, pushing each other away right now will only hurt, in the end.
For once, they decide maybe letting someone in isn’t such a bad thing.
Summary: The summer after high school graduation, Jake Seresin gets hired as a skipper at a lake resort near his hometown in Texas and gets a lot more than just a paycheck.
Warnings: Language
Requested: No
Word Count: 1,400
A/N: Last part! Thank you for reading :)
Click here for part 5 Click here for my masterlist
I am immediately gripped by terror. My chest becomes pressurized, my throat clenches. I rip the bedding off me, stumbling into a pair of sandals by my bed and grabbing a hoodie that I throw on hastily as I hurry through the living room.
I’ve never snuck out of the house, but I do it without a second thought, if you can qualify it as “sneaking” since I pay no attention to how much noise I’m making as I thunder out of my room and tear open the front door, throwing it shut behind me.
My sandals slap against the pavement. The sound makes me nauseous, or maybe it’s the fact that the rhythm of it matches the drumbeat in my head: not again.
There’s a burning under my sternum, but I ignore it. Something tells me it’s not entirely from exertion.
I barely slow down the whole way to the marina. When I get there, I realize I’ve put myself farther from the flashing lights of the marine patrol vessels, but there’s less foliage blocking me here.
I can see at least two marine patrol boats, but I can’t see anything else. I can’t hear what they’re shouting.
The nausea nearly turns into full on vomiting when they turn on a searchlight.
The impossibly bright beam is surely permeating the intense blackness of the water for the patrolmen on the boat, but it doesn’t give me the same luxury from all the way over here.
I take out my phone and try to call Jake. It goes straight to voicemail. I don’t leave one.
I try the marina office door, thinking I can grab the keys to one of the boats and take it as close as patrol will let me, but the door is locked.
I race over to the paddle boats and boards, but they have a metal tie down, which is also secured with a lock.
The feeling of helplessness hits me like a 50-foot ocean wave. I crumble, my hands gripping the dock railing for support as the adrenaline gives way to sorrow.
The sound of my name being called manages to break through my own heartbreak. The voice has that intonation that usually means they’ve said my name more than once.
Strong arms wrap around my body, whispering my name soothingly, trying to break through the spiral.
It’s the scent that finally clicks. Cologne, gasoline, sunscreen, and lake water.
I break free from his grip and turn to face him.
“Jake?!”
“What are you doing down here?” he demands, fear laced in his voice.
“What am I doing?! What are you!” I stop myself. “Oh my God,” I sob, wrapping him up in a hug.
“What’s wro-,” he starts before he notices the flashing lights across the lake. “Oh, shit,” he breathes.
“You thought that was me?” he says, cupping my face. I can only give a teary nod in reply.
“I’m right here. I’m safe.”
I let him hold me and breathe in the scent of him, which takes me back to other nights where I’ve been right here, against him. In the bed of his truck, looking up at the stars, or in his basement, a movie playing that neither of us paid any attention to.
Then I use both hands to shove him as hard as I can.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that ever again! How are you even here right now?”
Jake throws his hands up in surrender.
“Cole showed up already totally wasted. We didn’t even leave the dock before he started acting like a dumbass so I drove him home. I stayed with him until his brother got there to keep an eye on him. I only came back because I realized I never pulled the motor out of the water,” Jake points to a pontoon that, sure enough, still has its outboard motor in the water.
I gulp, my breathing still heavy.
“Look,” Jake says, breathing my name like a prayer. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. I didn’t think….I thought the whole way home about what could have happened if I hadn’t realized he was shitfaced. The others weren’t…they weren’t much better.” His eyes flick over to the patrol boats that are still working on rescue efforts for whoever that is, a thought that still lands in my stomach like a heavy stone. No one deserves that.
I reach my hands into my hoodie pocket to protect them against the chill of the night breeze off the lake. My fingers brush the paper I stuffed in there this morning but forgot all about in the chaos of the workday.
“God, if you had died…it might’ve all been for nothing,” I whisper.
The breath seems to leave Jake’s lungs.
“What would have? This summer?” There’s a beat where Jake seems to search my face for any hint of what I mean. “I have spent this whole summer trying to show you that…that even if we don’t stay together that you can’t be scared of getting close to people just because something bad might happen. You’re too smart, and too funny, and-“
“Jake. Stop,” I reach into my pocket. “I meant this.”
Jake takes the letter and seems to read it multiple times.
“You…you transferred to A&M?”
I nod. “They don’t…they’re really strict about admissions deadlines, and I had declined my acceptance…but dad called in a favor,” I shrug, uncomfortable at my dad having thrown the family weight around for my sake, but he was more than willing if it meant a more prestigious degree and keeping me closer to home.
“You changed schools…for me?”
I moisten my lips. “Mom would kill me if I did this for a boy. But…maybe you’re right. Maybe staying closer to the resort isn’t the worst thing in the world. I made my decision to go to Texas State only a couple months after the flood and…I wasn’t thinking straight. And now, knowing that you’ll be there…well, I just really don’t want this to end just because we have to start school.”
“Fish…it wasn’t going to end anyway.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” he admits, though he seems to be steeling himself. “But I do know that you make me happier than any other girl I’ve met, and if that meant driving two hours to see you every single weekend, I would have done it. But…but now I won’t have to. And that makes me love you even more.”
My breath hitches.
“Y-you love me?” I stammer.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d spontaneously spoken Russian based on the look on his face.
“Does that make me sound like a huge idiot?”
I close the gap in a step and a half, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him like he’s just come home from war.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes. Or a no. Actually I’m so confused,” he chuckles softly when we finally pull apart.
“Now you sound like a big idiot.” I peck his lips again before leaning my forehead against his. “I love you, Jake.”
“I love you, too.”
—
Fourteen Years Later
The Hard Deck is loud. God, Jake hangs out here all the time? I guess his ears are already ruined from years of being around jets.
The room is filled to the brim with service khakis, but finally I lay eyes on the person who looks most attractive in them…Javy Machado.
Just don’t tell my husband.
“Fish!” Jake’s voice calls over the din, and I approach. He’s surrounded by not only Javy, but several other men and women in uniform.
“The infamous Fish finally joins us,” Jake says, encircling my waist and kissing my temple. He introduces me to the group by my real name and tells me theirs.
“It’s nice to meet you all. Thanks for putting up with Jake. I’ve been doing it for fourteen years and it’s exhausting,” I tease, smiling up at him.
The one Jake introduced as Rooster lets out a low whistle. “Fourteen years? How’d you two meet?”
Jake and I lock eyes.
“Well, you see…”
The End
For whatever it is worth, this story is dedicated to the 25 girls and 2 counselors from Camp Mystic who lost their lives in the Guadalupe River floods of 2025. You deserved better from this world.
Summary: The summer after high school graduation, Jake Seresin gets hired as a skipper at a lake resort near his hometown in Texas and gets a lot more than just a paycheck.
Warnings: Language, underage drinking and reckless behavior
Requested: No
Word Count: 1,400
A/N:
click here for part 4 click here for my masterlist
The sun was low in the sky. The past few hours out on one of the rental pontoons after Jake’s shift ended had been the best time I’d had all summer.
Jake told me more about his desire to join the Navy. How, yeah, it started as a childhood obsession with planes, but it had morphed as he had matured, into a desire to serve the country, to help those who couldn’t help themselves. He told me about the intense process he’d have to go through after college with the Naval Academy and the competitiveness of becoming a pilot.
I told Jake about grandpa, and how he’d always hoped that Ethan or I would want to run the resort one day, and how he never thought less of me or loved me less just because I said I didn’t want to. I told him about my friends from camp, even the ones who didn’t come back, the ones I hadn’t spoken about in over a year.
“You know, I think it’s really brave,” Jake said.
“What’s brave?”
“You. How you survived something most people will only ever read about in the news but…you’re just out here living.”
I pause. “It doesn’t always feel like it.”
“Why? Because you have scars from it? Or because those scars are on the inside, not the outside?” Jake looks at me, but I can’t answer that. I’m not sure how. When he speaks again, Jake’s voice is softer, more comforting. “Look. You can ask yourself a thousand times why you got to come home and they didn’t. But it won’t bring them back.”
“I know,” I rasp.
We’re sitting on the front edge of the pontoon, our feet dangling in the water. We’re anchored in Quiet Cove. The sun is still out, but the shadows from the trees and houses have darkened the cove prematurely. Only the ambient glow from the sunlight outside the valley is visible.
“I liked camp because it was the one place where people felt permanent. Where you knew no one was leaving without saying goodbye.”
The weight of that surrounds us. The memories of the girls who were swept away, who would never get to say goodbye to anyone ever again. The reminders of the kids I’d befriended at the resort over the years, only to wake up the next morning and find out they’d checked out and hit the road without so much as a “see ya later” because we were just kids who didn’t understand the concept of time.
Jake tentatively rests his hand on mine, then gently scoops it into a warm embrace.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I wipe away a stray tear. Somehow, those six words have a more profound impact on me than anyone else’s attempts to make me feel better.
“Thanks. I mean, you know, for caring.”
The silence after that is calm. The world itself is loud enough - lapping lake waves, jet skis speeding by, the buzz of cicadas in the trees.
There’s a slow warmth as Jake wraps an arm around my waist.
“Come here,” he says, pulling me up against him.
The kiss that follows is more intense than the one we shared several nights ago along the lake shore. That one had been hesitant, almost naive. This one is more sure, confident.
We don’t break apart like that night. Both of our lips slow to a stop as we put space between us, breathing heavily to make up for the oxygen we just deprived ourselves of for several minutes.
“Wow,” Jake says. My chest heaves up and down, more slowly now but still noticeably.
“Yeah.”
We both sit there, letting our breathing slow.
“Is this a bad idea?” I finally ask. Jake’s brow furrows immediately.
“Why would it be a bad idea?”
“Because we have approximately two, maybe two and a half months until we go away to school two hours from each other. And…I’m not…I’m not really built for summer flings.”
Jake looks a little like he’s been slapped.
“Who said this was a summer fling? Look, I promise, if this ends when the summer does, it will be…purely coincidental.”
I let out a huff of laughter. “Coincidental?” Jake smiles sheepishly.
“All I’m saying is…I like you. A lot. And I wanna keep kissing you. And talking to you. And if we run out of things to talk about and get sick of kissing each other then it is what it is. But if we don’t? Two hours between my school and yours isn’t going to change anything for me.”
I swallow down a sudden wave of emotion. In one single breath, Jake has shown me more devotion than my last two boyfriends combined.
“Okay. I like you too. A lot.” Relief seems to wash over Jake’s features as he leans in, causing our lips to meet once more.
And they continue to meet. Over and over and over and over.
--
The next few weeks are some of the most enjoyable ones I’ve had at the resort in a long time. I actually start to enjoy my job at the marina because, true to my word to Jake, I don’t quit. Jake and I swap stories about people he took on charters and people who panicked and absolutely bailed off their paddle boards. I even teach him to paddle board, which turns him from smug, star quarterback into a wild-armed, weak-legged man in no time flat. Not sure if I have more fun watching him fall off or kissing him after he dumps me off my own paddle board in retaliation.
I meet some of his friends from high school who seem okay, and he meets my mom. Just my mom - I’m stubborn, not stupid.
One night, we both clock out at the marina after a long evening of life jacket inventory.
“Hey, do you wanna go to the movies tonight?” I ask.
“Can’t, I got plans with the boys.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Some of the guys are coming here, we’re gonna go out on the boat.”
Before I can open my mouth to say, “Oh, that'll be fun!” Jake opens the cooler on the dock and pulls out a thirty-pack of beer cans.
“Uh. Where’d you get that?”
“Carson. I paid him for it and threw in a little extra for his trouble,” Jake says with a triumphant, gleeful smile on his face.
“You guys are gonna drink out on the boat? And take it out in the dark?”
“Yeah, so?” Jake loads the case of beer onto the pontoon.
“Are you driving?” I ask. Jake raises an eyebrow at me with a look that says he thinks I’m overreacting.
“Yeah,” he draws the word out cautiously.
“And you’re gonna drink?”
“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”
I stare at him for several moments, willing him to realize how stupid he sounds right now.
“Are you for real?”
“Dude, why are you freaking out?”
“Because you’re planning to drink and drive a boat at night!” I exclaim, looking down at the water, an oily black sheet under the dock.
“We’ll be fine. I’m only gonna have one beer. Two, tops. I’ll stay sober. I promise.”
I hesitate. I don’t want to be the weirdo who freaks out over nothing. But I also know how quickly things can change on the lake. You think you’re fine until you hit one part of another boat’s wake just right and end up capsizing. When it’s this dark out, and especially with alcohol involved, an incident like that would turn the lake into a watery grave, something I’m all too familiar with at this point.
“Fine. Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me when you get pulled over and ticketed by a Game Warden.” I turn to walk away, but Jake interjects with that charming, smooth voice I’m such a sucker for.
“Hey, hold up,” he jogs over, kissing my cheek. “I’ll see you later. Promise.”
Ever since our talk about going away to school in the fall, Jake has been insistent on not saying good-bye, because good-bye means forever. Instead he insists on “see you later”, like a manifestation of safety or something. I just hope it’s enough.
All through a late dinner and a shower, I think about Jake. I want to text him, but service on the lake can be spotty and he needs to focus if he’s driving the boat. I try to read to distract myself but it’s no use, so I finally turn off the lights and lay down, even though I haven’t gotten a text from Jake confirming they’ve docked safely yet.
I awake around midnight, at first not even aware that I had fallen asleep. I check my phone but have no texts or calls from Jake, which makes my stomach twist.
Then I see the red and blue lights flashing through my window.
Summary: The summer after high school graduation, Jake Seresin gets hired as a skipper at a lake resort near his hometown in Texas and gets a lot more than just a paycheck.
Warnings: Language, minor physical altercation,
Requested: No
Word Count: 2,700
Click here for part 3 Click here for my masterlist
One of the worst parts of having an age-gap sibling (and trust me, I could write a novel) is that, in spite of what my parents call their “best efforts”, they can all too easily become a third parent. That’s exactly what happened with Ethan and I. He was eight when I was born. By the time I have any memories of him, he was thirteen. I was only ten at his high school graduation.
My parents thought that, since they hired babysitters instead of making Ethan watch me while they went on dates, they didn’t force him to be a parent figure. But the way Ethan tells it, they spent my mom’s whole pregnancy with me (not accidental, thank you very much) telling him how he was going to have a little brother or sister to protect. Then, the same thing every summer when I’d run around the resort. If I got hurt, or into trouble, he claims they said it was somehow his fault. He was supposed to keep me safe.
Ever since, it’s like Ethan’s only goal has been to do just that. I was an accident prone child, and apparently he got tired of watching mom and dad stress out over me, so he’s made it his life’s mission to keep me protected from things like bullies and scraped up knees.
“Ethan,” Jake and I say at the same time. Ethan’s shoes crunch angrily on the stones. Once he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs Jake by the chest.
“Ethan!” I cry out.
“The hell do you think you’re doing, man?” Jake grunts as Ethan jerks him closer.
“What I’m doing? What the hell do you think you’re doing out here with her?” Ethan growls.
Jake pushes back from Ethan, who releases his grip. “You can’t treat employees like this!”
“Are you on the clock?”
Jake looks taken aback by that. “No.”
“Then you’re not an employee, you’re some scumbag hanging out by the water and kissing my sister!”
“Ethan!” I yell. “What the fu-”
“His sister?”
The charge in the air changes, from anger to disbelief.
“Oh, you didn’t tell him!” Ethan shouts.
“You’re the head of staff’s sister?”
“Bet she didn’t tell you she’s the CEO’s daughter, either!”
I march over to my brother and shove him. “Ethan! Shut up!”
The look on Jake’s face makes my stomach drop. Great. In trying to protect me, Ethan has probably scared off the one friend I’ve made in this place since I was ten.
“Jake, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”
“That’s why you dared me to tell Ethan on you. Because you don’t actually work here, you’re not actually a regular, your family owns the place.” There’s hurt laced in his voice, and he’s slowly taking steps away from the edge of the water.
“Jake, wait, please!” I call out, but he’s gone, walking determinedly up the hill, away from the lake, back towards the parking lots. I stand, chest heaving, watching him walk until there’s no more lamplight to make out his retreating figure.
“Come on, Fish. Let’s go home,” Ethan mutters. I spin on him with fire in my eyes.
“What is wrong with you!?”
“Me? I’m down here trying to save your neck from some playboy skipper and you’re asking what’s wrong with me!?”
“Do you actually know anything about him, other than what’s in his employee file?”
“Well, no!” Ethan splutters.
“Then you have no idea what you just did! You’re such an ass!”
“Okay, I’m sorry, sis, forgive me for caring about you!”
“You don’t care about me! You just didn’t want a guest to find us down here with him wearing a staff shirt! You only care about this stupid resort!”
“Stupid resort? Our grandfather-”
“Yeah, yeah, cold war, survived a pandemic, blah blah blah!” I shout. “Fine, whatever! Just because you’re okay with being stuck here alone for the rest of your life, doesn’t mean the rest of us are!”
That shuts him up. I have, on more than one occasion, blamed his lack of relationships on his obsession with caring for this resort, or trying to protect me like he gets paid for it, or both. It didn’t start hitting hard until mom and dad also pointed out that he’s a bit of a workaholic, which at 26 cannot be good for your nervous system.
“Fine,” he spits. “You know what? You wanna get your heart broken by some seasonal employee who’s gonna leave in August anyway and never speak to you again? You go right ahead. But don’t come crying to me when he does.”
With that, Ethan turns and stalks off, leaving me alone at the edge of the lake.
--
The next day is Sunday, a day which normally means mom and dad and Ethan actually try and take a day off as much as possible. They trust the running of the resort to the managers and staff and attempt normalcy.
“Morning, baby. I made pancakes,” mom calls from the kitchen island when I finally emerge from my room.
“I’m not hungry,” I grumble, but my stomach growls in protest.
Ethan stands up from the couch. “Don’t starve yourself just because you’re pissed at me,” he says, lightly shoulder checking me as he stalks past on his way to his room. I stand there for a moment, my jaw clenched in frustration.
“Okay. Care to tell me what that was all about?” mom asks, beckoning me closer and plating a couple of her famous crispy-edged pancakes.
I slump onto a barstool and lean against the wooden back.
“He found me down by the water last night with one of the skippers. We were just hanging out, but he acted like it was a federal crime.”
“Did he say why?” mom asks gently, trying to coax more of the story out of me before she starts doling out advice.
“It doesn’t matter, mom! He’s not in charge of my life!”
“Okay,” she says in a soothing voice. “You’re right. He may be an adult, but technically so are you and he’s your brother, not your father.” She hands me a fork, knife, and a bottle of syrup. “But he cares about you, Fish. He just wants what’s best for you.”
“But he thinks he knows what’s best for me and he doesn’t.”
“That may be true, or at the very least he doesn't know how to balance what’s best for you with the fact that you have to learn from your own mistakes.”
I look up.
“You’re saying I’m making a mistake? You don’t even know who it is!”
“I’m saying, I grew up around this resort too, back when I worked here in high school and college. Before I met your father, I dated a few different boys who were here just for the summer. They all said it would be different, they wouldn’t, as you kids say nowadays “ghost me” when the summer was over, but they always did. And I’m saying I remember how heartbroken you always got when you made a friend and then lost them when their vacation ended.”
I look at her. She’s not wrong, and that’s what sucks. I used to make friends here all the time. Their parents were usually grateful to have someone to play with their kids so they didn’t have to. But then their vacation would end, they’d leave, and I’d cry for days.
“Look, honey,” mom starts. “I will tell your brother to back off and leave you alone, if you promise to really think about what this could mean when you leave for school in the fall. You’ve already lost so much.”
I look at her. She has the same sad eyes she’s looked at me with ever since the first time she suggested I start going to therapy to cope with the aftermath of the flood. They’re full of pity and helplessness, but they remind me of her eyes the day we were reunited after my bunk and I were rescued from the roof. Those eyes were a sickening mixture of terror and relief after hours of wondering if I was among the 30 girls unaccounted for.
“Fine. Tell Ethan to cool it, and I’ll…think about it.”
Mom nods satisfactorily and scoots the syrup closer as a means of encouraging me to eat. The sad look in her eyes remains, and I wonder if she’s worrying about how she’ll make sure I take care of myself when I’m all alone at school.
—
After breakfast, I make my way down to the marina. The sun is shining, but for a lot of people, it’s check out day. When I arrive, Steve the assistant manager tells me that Jake is out on a charter that’s set to be back in 30 or so minutes. I sit on top of one of the coolers by the gas pumps to wait. He’ll have to pull the boat up here because it’s part of every charter to refill the boat with gas since the guests have to pay for however much gas they used.
When they do, there’s a perplexed look on Jake’s face as he tries to figure out who is perched on the dock cooler that quickly darkens when he recognizes me. I sit silently as he ties the boat up, helps the guests off, fills it with gas, and sends them inside to finish up their payment and paperwork with Steve.
“Can we talk?”
“About?” The muscles on his arms tense as he unties the boat from the dock cleats.
“Last night.”
“You mean the part where I kissed you or the part where I found out you’ve been lying to me?” I open my mouth to speak, but he continues before I get the chance. “And don’t pull any of that ‘I just didn’t tell you the whole truth’ bullshit because we’re both smarter than that.”
Thankfully, our conversation has to pause anyway as he idles the boat over to its slip, securing it again. I slowly make my way along the dock and catwalks over to where he takes it.
“Jake. Please. I really am sorry. I mean, would you honestly have gone with me to that party last night if you’d known?”
Jake’s jaw ripples and he doesn’t meet my gaze as he completes the post-trip checklist, double checking every aspect of the boat.
“No,” he finally admits.
“Exactly. It’s the classic ‘when people know, they treat me differently’ cliche. But it’s true. They either want nothing to do with me because they’re scared I’ll tattle on them or they think they can use me.”
“And so you just decide for people that they don’t get the chance to show you that they might be different?”
“You just said you wouldn’t have gone to that party! So then we wouldn’t have gone on a walk, you wouldn’t have-“
I purse my lips as I remember last night’s kiss. Jake puts his hands on his hips, looking down before back at me.
“I said I wouldn’t have gone last night. Not that I would have…tried to take advantage of you or run away or something.”
“How is that any different?”
“I don’t know!” Jake throws his hands up. “I probably would have thought twice before I took my boss’s kid to a party, yeah. Guess I do have some sense of self-preservation.”
The water laps against the joists on the dock. The family Jake took out on the water leaves the marina office, talking excitedly as they head back to their room.
“My brother didn’t tell our parents what he saw. I told my mom we were just hanging out. She told me she’d make Ethan back off.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, but I’m…I guess I was hoping it might…I was hoping for a second chance.”
We look into each other’s eyes from across the pontoon between us. His gaze wars between frustration, hurt, and hope. I understand the feeling.
“Jake! Got another one for ya!” Steve calls from the window of the marina office.
Jake huffs and makes his way around the slip, muttering “I’m working” as he passes me. The way it mirrors how my brother did the exact same thing this morning sends a shudder down my back.
—
“It’s not a fashion statement,” Laura says teasingly as I roll the sleeves of my brand-new aqua resort staff shirt.
“I know, I just feel…restricted. Cap sleeves were invented for me,” I say, gesturing at myself.
“Alright, alright, I won’t mess with you too much. Can’t turn my nose up at good help.”
It’s been three days since the morning at the marina where I asked for a second chance. Jake hasn’t been scheduled to work and he wouldn’t answer my texts. So I did the most desperate thing I’ve probably ever done. I got a job.
Dad was thrilled. Mom looked cautiously optimistic, but only because she knows I was caught with a skipper and I doubt this matches her idea of “thinking it over.” But a promise is a promise.
Ethan looked ready to shoot daggers and called me into his office and gave me the most vitriol-infused employee orientation the world’s ever seen. He even tried to fight dad on letting me work at the marina, until mom shot him a knowing glare.
The door jingles.
“Morning, Jake. You know Fish, right?” Laura laughs and corrects herself with my actual name.
“Yeah. We’ve met,” Jake says tightly, though I hope I’m not imagining that it seems a tiny bit looser than the last time we spoke.
“She’s gonna be helping us out. Paperwork, paddle boats and paddle boards, stuff like that. In fact, I’m leaving the desk to her so I can run up to the main building and get some lunch. It’s her second day, so go easy on her. I’ll see you both in a bit.”
As the door clicks shut behind Laura and the bell stills, Jake turns to me slowly.
“You got a job here?”
“Have fun avoiding me now.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you.”
“What do you call it then? Because I’m pretty sure some would call it ‘left on read’,” I say, using finger quotes to emphasize my point.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? You happy?”
“No.”
“Well, suit yourself.” Jake busies himself organizing lake maps and State of Texas Boating Regulation pamphlets on the counter that were already perfectly straight.
There’s a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Is this really it? I’m not gonna quit this job just because you give me the cold shoulder, so you might as well warm up and talk.”
“Okay.”
The next silence is somehow even more awkward.
“Really?” I exclaim. “You liked me enough to kiss me. And I know you’re mad at me, but…that’s all I get?” I step closer to him, trying to read his facial expression.
“You liked me enough to kiss me and then get a job here to try and get me back. Explain that first.”
I gulp. I don’t want to, but it’s the least I can do.
“Because you’re the first person who found out about the flood and didn’t treat me like a freak or their personal crime show. Because you don’t back down, not one bit, when I give you shit. Because you are the only person I’ve found on this property in years who’s worth being friends with. Because you cared enough to figure out why I chose Texas State over A&M. And then you kissed me.”
My words linger in the air, settling over us like a cloud that rolls in slowly.
“I kissed you because you’re the first girl who didn’t try to get to me, to get…whatever from me. The first person who pushed back instead of giggling like an idiot and flirting more obviously than on a bad rom-com. You’re the first person I had to work for.”
We stare at each other, the atmosphere heavy with everything we just confessed.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I really am. I didn’t even have a chance to drop that bomb between realizing maybe you weren’t a major asshole and…and kissing you.”
Jake runs his hands through his hair.
“Alright, fine. One more chance,” he points a finger at me. “One. I’m taking you out on the boat tonight. No more bombs.”
He would later refer to the smile I gave as the “sweetest, most smug look he’d ever seen.”
Summary: The summer after high school graduation, Jake Seresin gets hired as a skipper at a lake resort near his hometown in Texas and gets a lot more than just a paycheck.
Warnings: Language, underage drinking, drinking and driving if you squint, descriptions of an IRL mass tragedy
Requested: No
Word Count: 1,800
A/N: Don't make fun of my first attempt at a moodboard because I didn't want to use a gif of adult!jake for teen!jake fic
Click here to read Part 1 Click here for my masterlist
That night at dusk, I meet Jake in the employee parking lot like my car had been parked there this whole time. He’s leaning against the door of a late-model pickup truck, but pushes off when I drive up and honk at him.
After rescuing the paddle boat, we’d exchanged numbers and made plans. I’d only second-guessed that decision ten times between now and then. Okay, fine. Fifteen.
The drive to the other side of the lake is quiet, save for my music coming through the speakers, but the din of the party permeates even that as soon as we pull in the gravel drive of my friend Allie’s house. The party itself is around back, the massive stone fire pit her parents had built at the center of it all, but the cheers and conversations and music reach around the sides of the house just fine.
“Holy Shit! She lives!” Allie’s boyfriend, Connor, shouts when he spots me across the grass, and a few of my closer friends cheer and whistle.
“Haven’t been around in a while?” Jake asks.
“Not usually here this time of year,” I reply, walking away before he can ask me to elaborate.
Jake is surprisingly not as much of an asshole when it's more than just he and I. He and Connor nerd out over boats and he playfully teases Allie about her obsession with koalas. I would never admit it, but I'm kind of glad I invited him.
A few hours (and a few beers) later, I’m walking back outside from a trip to the bathroom when a conversation to the side catches my attention. It’s Jake and Allie - and they’re talking about me. Connor is there, too. They can’t see me from where they’re standing, especially with the way the shadows further obscure my unintentional hiding place.
“So why is she not normally here this time of year?” Jake's voice asks.
“She’s a summer camp nerd. Has been since we were 13. She worked at a summer camp out in the boonies for like, ten weeks every summer” Allie says.
“When does she leave this summer?”
I can’t see them, but I can feel the tension that blooms between them. I can sense the awkwardness in the quiet that follows his poor, stupid, innocent question. Connor lowers his voice, but I can still hear him.
“Bro, did you hear about that summer camp last year? The one with the flood?” Jake must nod because I don’t hear any reply, but Connor continues.
“Like a bunch of kids and a few counselors died. That was her camp, man. It’s closed now, probably for good. She and her cabin got their kids to higher ground fast enough and they all lived but they were trapped for a long time.”
I physically shake my head to shake off the thoughts and sounds that flood my senses at Connor’s words, the way my therapist told me to. I put on a fake-perky smile and approach my friends like nothing happened.
“Hey! You ready to go?” I ask Jake. He checks his watch and nods once. “Yeah, I gotta come in by ten tomorrow. We’ll see you guys around?” Allie and Connor bid us both goodbye and we walk back to my car.
The ride back is equally as quiet, but this time there’s an underlying tension. He knows now. But he doesn’t know that I know he knows, and I can almost see him ping-ponging back and forth in his own mind about whether or not to bring it up.
We pull back into the employee parking lot and I slow to a stop next to his truck. We sit, just like that, for two beats.
“You wanna take a walk?” Jake asks, like that’s a perfectly normal thing to ask at 11:37 PM.
“A walk. With you. At what is basically midnight?”
“You don’t have to make it sound so serial killer-ish.”
“Your words, not mine.”
“Do you?” The glint of challenge in his eye is what does it for me. I can almost predict that his next words if I had said no again were going to make me mad and give me a reason to prove to him that I wasn’t afraid of him. Because I’m not.
The sound of the car doors slamming echoes against the sides of the tall buildings. The employee lot is thinner now than when we left but still full of cars from the night shift employees.
We walk down towards the water’s edge, recapping a few things that happened at the party before the silence settles again, fragile but comfortable. We start picking up rocks and skipping them.
Unfortunately, I can only handle silence for so long.
“I know you know,” I finally utter softly, tossing a stone.
“About?” I look at him with a face that says “don’t play dumb”.
“Yeah,” he says, tossing a stone. “I saw that on the news last year. That was you?” I give a solemn nod before looking out at the water, the blue guidance beacons and yellow lanterns on docks glowing on the surface. I begin my recitation, because my therapist said it’s better to get it all out rather than spiral, wondering if someone’s going to ask the things that are hard to talk about.
“Yes, I was there when that happened. Yes, we started trying to get to safety as soon as we knew. No, no one from my cabin died or was hurt other than us being stuck on the roof of a cabin for hours before we were rescued. No, I didn’t see anyone float away or die or anything like that.”
Jake is stoic and silent for a minute. We both keep skipping rocks.
“I wasn’t going to ask any of that,” he says, but his voice is soft instead of smug.
“But you were thinking it.” The look on his face confirms what I already knew.
“Tell me about what it was like before that.” I pull my arm back from the rock I was about to skip.
“What?”
“Tell me about what it was like before that. Allie said you’d been every summer since you were thirteen.”
That’s a question no one has bothered to ask me. In fairness, most people who know that I was there when it happened already knew everything I loved about camp, so they didn’t have to ask. But still - most people want the macabre details, the ones I can’t think about without becoming dizzy or nauseous, not the happy memories.
I tell Jake about the campfires and the traditions. I tell him about my camp friends and the games we’d play when we needed to fill 5 minutes with a group of kids. I tell him about the pool and how one of our directors got stuck in the curly slide one summer. For the first time since the flood, I find myself thinking about camp and laughing at the same time.
When the laughter peters out, Jake surprises me with another poignant question.
“Why’d you go to camp, if you live so close to here and come here all the time?” Oh, you have no idea how close I live, I think, hoping my eyes don’t subconsciously dart to my house, which is just in my peripheral vision 200 yards across the water.
“It’s a tourist town. People come to the lake while the weather’s nice, they leave when it’s not. Here, the friends you make and the people you meet…they come and go. It’s a never-ending cycle of meeting a new friend, becoming close, saying goodbye, and never seeing them again. It almost makes them feel…” I skip another stone. “Not real. At camp, there’s a few people who don’t return, a few new ones take their place, but the same core people are there every summer, no matter what happened during the school year.”
Jake nods, skipping another stone without picking up a new one.
“And what about me? Am I real?” The stones under his feet clatter as he takes one step closer. I put my arm down, holding onto the stone I was about to throw.
“I don’t know, are you? Because right now you seem like a specter designed to make me question my life choices.”
“That’s why you want to be a meteorologist, isn’t it?” The sudden droop of my shoulders is answer enough for Jake. He takes another half a step towards me.
“Not wanting other people to suffer the way you and your friends did? That’s pretty damn real, if you ask me. And that’s why you wanna go to Texas State, too, isn’t it? A&M’s more diverse, most people you meet there will be from out of state. Texas State’s just a bunch of Austin and San Antonio kids who need somewhere to go.”
“You think you’re sooo smart,” I reply, tossing another stone, but the heat in my tone has faded to a thick rasp as the truth in his words washes over me.
“It’s also…my family. They can be a bit…overbearing. I’m kinda the black sheep, in a way. I don’t want shit to do with the family business and they think I’m a psychopath or something.”
“Ah, I get it. Oil tycoons or something?” At first his guess seems so off base, but then I realize he’s thinking about what kind of family could afford to be such regulars at this resort like he thinks I am.
“Something like that,” I nod. Jake takes another step forward. He’s a few inches taller than me, and we’re close enough now that the air feels charged. He smells very faintly of Busch Light and something else, cologne perhaps.
“Damn, Fish. I gotta say, I underestimated you. I don’t do that often, so, you know, you should maybe put this in writing at some point,”
I let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Okay, sure, I’ll get right on that,” I stage whisper as my eyes betray me, darting from his eyes to his lips for a moment less than a second long, but just long enough to make my stomach do a flip flop.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers. I can only nod in reply, but thankfully that’s good enough for Jake.
His hands reach up, thumbs tucking behind my ears, fingers lacing into my hair. The kiss is warm and soft, without being gross or too much and when he pulls away, I lean in, reconnecting us with a fervor I haven’t had in a long time.
The sound of footsteps on rocks startles us both, but not enough for Jake to extricate his hands from my hair, a move that proves to be huge mistake when the beam of a flashlight blinds us and a terrifyingly familiar voice says my name.
The figure approaches more swiftly as Jake finally lets go and takes a step back. When the flashlight beam is finally dropped to our torsos instead of our faces and the flashes in my retinas fade, I lock eyes with our intruder.
Summary: The summer after high school graduation, Jake Seresin gets hired as a skipper at a lake resort near his hometown in Texas and gets a lot more than just a paycheck.
Warnings: Language, allusions to alcohol consumption
Requested: No
Word Count: 3,000
A/N: Don't make fun of my first attempt at a moodboard because I didn't want to use a gif of adult!jake for teen!jake fic
Click here to read Part 1 Click here for my masterlist
I’m not sure which is worse to wake up to - an alarm, or a knock on the door.
“Honey?” Mom calls through the wood. I lay still, like she’s a T-Rex who can sense if I’m awake or not. She raps on the door again.
“Sweetie, your dad said you need to get dressed and meet Laura at the marina. Acknowledge please.”
I rub my eyes and it clicks that my mom’s insistent voice and pert knocks are not the only sound I can hear.
“It’s raining,” I call back.
“Exactly. Twenty minutes or less, please.” The sound of her footsteps grows quieter as she finally leaves, the back door creaking open and then closed.
It’s been two weeks since my “employee complaint” issue. Dad has found some odd job for me every single day - retrieving wristbands (which have NFC chips and act as room keys) from the return boxes, bussing tables at the lobby cafe, vacuuming the massive meeting rooms and ballrooms on the third floor of the main building, straightening merchandise in the gift shops (there are three, so that took up half a week). I know what he’s doing. He wants me to find somewhere to work so he’ll stop doing this, meaning I would earn a paycheck and stick with one department.
Heaven only knows why he’s sending me to the marina when it’s raining. I crawl from my warm cocoon of blankets and make myself just presentable enough, grabbing my rain jacket and trudging around the bend and across the property to the marina. When I arrive, Laura’s inside the office while three of the skippers - ugh, including that one jerk - hang out, goofing off on the catwalks between the paddleboat slips as the rain pours down off the metal roof around them. The bell chimes as I open the door.
“Hey, Fish! I asked your dad if I could borrow you today. Hope that’s okay.”
“Sure,” I shrug. “What do you need?”
“I need you and those boys out there to go double check registrations with the boats in the guest slips. Someone tried to store their boat after check-in yesterday and there was already a vessel in the slip. We were drowning in returns and I didn’t get a chance to do it.” She hands me a stapled packet of papers on a clipboard. “There’s the information on any boats that are registered to an active hotel stay.” She hands me a pen. “Any boat out there that doesn’t match those records, write down a description and the identification number from the hull and we’ll see if it’s one someone left here or if people are stealing spaces.”
“Can I just do it myself?” She shakes her head.
“That’ll take you all day and besides, I need to put them to work before they accidentally kill each other.” Laura pushes out of the door with a smirk. “Hey, skippers, come here,” she calls with a wave. Once they’ve joined us, she explains the same process to them, handing each of them a clipboard and pen before she shoos us off.
When we make our way over to the guest slips, the other two guys each take the first catwalk, leaving me and jerk-face to the other. We walk down the aisle of boats, referencing our sheets in silence for several minutes. I should have known I didn’t have the luck to keep it that way.
“So. Thought you were just a resort regular. They actually put you guys to work?” I hesitate, deciding how to answer.
“When you’re as regular as me, yeah.” The boy chuckles.
“What’s your story?” There’s something about the way he asks. Something in the cockiness of his attitude, with an underlying hint of something - like even he knows, deep down, that there’s something false about his arrogance.
“What’s yours?”
“Ladies first.”
“Who says I’m a lady?” That garners a bark of laughter.
“Okay, fine. I’m a skipper, obviously. Just graduated from Maple Hill. Going to A&M in the fall. You?”
I reply without looking up from my clipboard, except to glance at the boat I’m checking. “I’m a regular. Just graduated from Lakeside. Going to Texas State in the fall.”
“Texas State? But you live close enough to here that you went to Lakeside. Why are you going three hours away? Couldn’t make the cut at A&M?” I can hear the arrogant smirk on his face just from his tone.
“Didn’t want to.”
“Sure,” he says with feigned casualness. “Had nothing to do with a 50% difference in acceptance rates. Let me guess, you’re going for business administration so you can own a boutique someday?” The way he says it, like it’s such a cliche thing bugs me. Not because it’s true, but because he’s clearly a misogynist.
“Nice try. Let me guess, you’re going to A&M for aerospace engineering because you got a hard-on the first time your parents dragged you near Ellington?”
Jerkface takes a half a step back and I wonder if I’ve hit the nail on the head. I turn to face him.
“I’m right, aren’t I? Maple Hill JROTC the past four years, I’m guessing. Next up, Texas A&M. Then the Air Force. Am I getting warm?”
“Warm. Not hot. Though I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve been told that.”
“Okay, you know what-”
“Hey, guys!” One of the other guys calls out. The rest of us carefully make our way towards him, the third boy asking “What’s up, man?”
“This boat looks like it’s been here a while,” he says, nodding at the pontoon in front of him.
He’s not wrong. Dust has settled over the faux leather seats. Jerk-face pulls up on one of the gates and it creaks open, rust evident on the hinge. He makes his way to the outboard motor, searching for a moment before he locates what must be the dipstick. He pulls it out and examines it, letting out a low whistle at whatever he sees.
“This thing’s been here a hot minute. Oil’s got moisture buildup, dipstick’s starting to corrode.”
I write down the boat’s brand and find the number stickers on the side, the ones required by Texas law for identification after you register it with the state.
“I’ll go ask Laura,” I say, turning on my heel.
“I’m coming with you. Y’all see if you can find any registration paperwork on it,” jerk-face calls out to the other two. I roll my eyes.
“It’s not CSI: Lake. And I don’t need help.”
“I didn’t say I was helping. I wanna know how that boat has sat there that long and no one noticed.”
“It’s the same make, model, and color as 75% of the pontoons that come here. Not hard to assume it’s going out when no one’s looking and being replaced by an identical counterpart with the next guest. Plus, it’s still early in the season.” I push open the door to the marina office.
“Jake. Fish. What’s wrong?”
“Fish?” Jake’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me.
“Long story. Laura - can you look up this boat? It’s rusty and this dipstick,” I jerk a thumb towards Jerkface Jake, “thinks something’s wrong with the dipstick.”
Laura frowns and types in the numbers in the registration system. “Huh.”
“What?” I ask.
“It’s not in the system. Never been registered at the resort. Someone must’ve stuck it there in the off-season thinking we wouldn’t notice. Probably intended to come back for it. I’ll call it in to the game wardens. Good catch, guys.”
“Thanks,” Jerkface Jake and I say in unison before turning to scowl at one another.
Before we can say more, the other two guys return after checking the rest of the slips and finding a few other boats that don’t belong.
“Great work, kids,” Laura says, looking out at the rain. “Carson, Austin, I’m going to send you guys home since you both got here early today and this rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon. Jake, Fish, why don’t you two go on down to the restaurant and grab a drink? By which I mean a virgin piña colada or something, nothing that’ll get me arrested.” Laura winks. “Be back in an hour.”
We trudge out of the office and down the dock. My rain jacket protects me, but Jerkface Jake simply pulls a ballcap out of his back pocket and slings it onto his head.
“So…Fish.” I roll my eyes.
“Old nickname. Long story, like I said.” I focus on the path in front of me, not looking at him.
“I’ve got an hour.”
“Good for you. Use it to tell me what I’m missing about your life story.” There’s a beat of silence, presumably while he contemplates whether or not to do just that.
“Navy. Not the Air Force.” I stop.
“The Navy. Like, boats and shit? Makes sense for a skipper, I guess.” I continue walking, letting him jog a little to catch up.
“Yeah, except I want to be a fighter pilot. Take off from and land on a carrier in the sea, not a land base.”
“Cool. If you’re into that ‘I have no sense of self preservation’ crap.” He laughs lightly at that.
“Okay, and what about you? Texas State, despite a much better, more prestigious university being two hours closer to home. Why?”
“I’ll give you a hint. You just said it.” He’s quiet while he thinks for a moment.
“Two hours further from home. You want to get away?”
“It’s kind of been my life’s goal.”
“But you’re here now.”
The look that shadows my face is unmissable.
“Okay, we’ve entered a touchy subject…”
“Sorry, you must be level 300 to unlock that particular section of tragic backstory,” I reply in a fake robotic voice.
“What level am I?”
“Zero.”
“Jeez. Must be a lot of backstory to unlock between here and level 300.”
“You have no idea.”
For a few moments, the only sound is that of our feet and the splattering rain on the concrete and the lake. I turn to take the path to the Great White Bar & Grill, the indoor/outdoor casual dining restaurant on the property.
“Hey, Makayla. Can we chill for a bit?” I ask the bartender.
“Sure. Sit at the bar. Not like we’re busy in weather like this anyway.”
I plop onto a vinyl topped stool and clasp my hands in front of me.
“So…how regular are you that you know everyone?”
“I don’t know everyone. I don’t know you.”
The little jerk sticks a hand out.
“I’m Jake. Jake Seresin.” I reluctantly shake his hand and tell him my first name only. Just in case. He plops himself on the stool next to me.
“Okay. So you’re a regular who spends enough time here to know almost everyone and get put to work.” His gaze assesses me with a look that says he knows I’m bluffing, but he doesn’t know how, so he’s not going to call me on it. Yet.
“And you’re going to Texas State in the fall, for…?”
“Geography and Environmental Studies. I want to be a meteorologist.”
“What, like a weather girl?”
I give a humorless chuckle. “Oh my God, you are a misogynist. You know there’s like, hundreds of meteorology careers that don’t involve standing in front of a camera.”
“Why do you want to do that?” My shoulders tense.
“Okay, sorry I’m late. What can I get you guys?” Saved by the Makayla.
“I’ll have a virgin strawberry margarita. If you wanted to make it not-so-virgin, that would be cool too but, oh wait, I forgot. There’s a rat among us.” I whip my head towards Jake.
“What!” he exclaims. “You literally dared me to rat you out to Ethan!”
“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” I growl through gritted teeth.
Makayla looks between us with curiosity. “Okay…virgin strawberry marg for Fish and for you?”
Jake orders a Coke and Makayla scurries down the bar to take the order of a gray-haired couple that have braved the rain for a drink.
“Okay, so, you’re going 2 hours further from home to major in something that, again, has a much more renowned program at A&M. I’m going back to the ‘didn’t get in’ theory.”
“You keep telling yourself that. My SAT score begs to differ.”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose at the innuendo.
“1300,” he says, with an air of someone who just dropped a bomb that he expects to blow my mind. Or my panties. Or both. Makayla sets our drinks in front of us and I take a long sip of mine.
“1450.”
Jake stares at me in surprise.
“I take it back.” He pauses for several moments to sip his own drink. “So. Still doesn’t answer the question. Why Texas State over A&M?”
“I told you. It’s two more hours away.”
“Okay but why? If you’re so desperate to leave home, why not aim further? Why not Oklahoma or Florida, somewhere with a kickass meteorology program?”
“Have you seen out of state tuition costs lately?”
“You went to Lakeside. No one goes to Lakeside whose parents don’t own a million dollar house on the lake. Hence the name of the school.”
“It’s called being house-poor. Look it up.”
“Liar.”
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to stay out of other people’s business?”
“This is Texas, sweetheart, try again.” I turn to him, my jaw tense with annoyance at the pet name. I realize that, at some point during this conversation, he’s turned his ball cap backwards, and that visual causes my stomach to flutter in a way that…you know what? Nevermind.
“Whatever,” I say, sipping my drink again.
As we sit and sip in relative quiet, the rain slows to a stop, the sun peeking out from behind a thick, gray cloud on the horizon.
“We better go back before Laura starts docking your pay. Makayla! My tab?” From over by the pickup window, Makayla shoots me a thumbs up and a knowing smile. Jake pulls a couple bills out of his wallet, tossing them on the bar and I let him even though I’m positive Makayla never even rang our order in. Let her keep it as a tip.
The walk back to the marina is quiet, too, but I feel like I catch Jake side eyeing me at random moments.
The bell jingles. Laura looks up. “The weather proves me wrong again. Still doubt we’ll get any more rentals for the day, it’s supposed to roll back through.”
“Can I help you with anything else?” I ask, more out of a desire to help Laura than anything else. (Okay, and to keep my dad off my back)
“Actually, yes. I feel more comfortable sending two of you. A couple had a paddle boat out when the rain rolled in this morning. They called earlier and said they caught a ride with someone whose boat had an awning, abandoned the paddle boat out by Quiet Cove. Jake, you take number sixteen out that way and Fish can help you tie it up and drag it in.”
I look at Jake, rolling my eyes so he knows I’m doing this to help Laura and for absolutely no other reason.
“Sure,” I shrug.
“Great!” Laura says, handing a set of keys over to Jake, who smiles triumphantly at both of us.
“Let’s go, junior skipper.”
“Oh this was a bad idea,” I mutter under my breath, following him to pontoon number sixteen, where I plop on the bench behind the driver’s seat.
Out on the water, I realize this Jake guy isn’t a half bad boat driver. He knows how to slow down when a speedboat’s wake reaches us, and he pays attention and uses the controls like a seasoned veteran.
“How’d you get so good at driving a boat?”
“My parents have one. Used to bring it to the other side of the lake to the public ramp almost every weekend in the summer.”
“Used to?”
“It’s not working right now. I’m trying to fix the motor. Dad doesn’t want it anymore and said if I can get it fixed, it’s mine.”
I nod in understanding and try to enjoy the ride. A rainbow peeks over the bluffs up ahead.
“Where’s Quiet Cove?” Jake finally asks.
“After mile marker 33. We call it Quiet Cove because it’s a cove where none of the houses are lived in full-time or rented out, so unless all six homeowners happen to be there at the same time, it’s super quiet, and most of them only come on the weekends.” Now it’s Jake’s turn to nod in understanding as he scans for the mile marker buoys.
He finally spots the one labeled “33” and starts turning into the cove, knocking the motor down to idle speed.
Thirty minutes later, the paddle boat is attached to the side of the pontoon via a tubing rope and Jake is slowly driving the pontoon back to the marina.
“So, what do you do for fun around here?” Jake asks.
“Don’t I look like I’m having fun?” Jake turns and takes in my crossed arms and scowl.
“I see your point.”
I sigh heavily. “Some people I know are having a bonfire on the other side of the lake tonight. I could invite you but, again, you’re a rat.”
“Yeah, but out there we’re not coworkers, right? Nothing to rat you out for.”
I don’t correct the “coworker” comment.
“How about this? I’ll take you to the party if you promise not to rat me out to Ethan, or the CEO, or anyone about anything ever again.”
“Deal.”
“Anything.” I emphasize.
“Goes both ways?” he asks. I hesitate, but then think - what the hell.
“Fine. Truce?” I hold out a hand.
“Truce.” He takes one hand off the steering wheel long enough to shake my hand before carefully maneuvering the pontoon up to the drop off-dock.
Summary: The summer after high school graduation, Jake Seresin gets hired as a skipper at a lake resort near his hometown in Texas and gets a lot more than just a paycheck.
Warnings: Language
Requested: No
Word Count: 2,100
A/N: Part 2 coming soon! Don't make fun of my first attempt at a moodboard because I didn't want to use a gif of adult!jake for teen!jake fic
__
I should have worn different shoes.
The sticks and loose stones of the concrete threaten to permeate the foam of the cheap flip flops I’d thrown on that morning when the text from my dad had come through. A summons to his office didn’t usually result in being turned into his errand boy. First time for everything I suppose.
“You look bored,” he’d said as the door clicked shut.
“I’m not.”
“Don’t know how you can’t be. You’ve been out of school for a month and haven’t gotten a job,” my father replies, deadpan. I roll my eyes.
“Dad, it’s my last summer before college. Am I not allowed to just…enjoy it?”
I should have known those words would end in a lecture about privilege and work ethic and blah, blah, blah.
So that’s how I ended up running (or in my case, shuffling carefully down the incline) a stack of paperwork down to the marina. When I finally reach the water’s edge, I walk onto the dock confidently, though it bobs gently from the slight waves of the lake’s activity - boats, jet skis, paddle boats and boards, all glittering in the hot Texas sun.
I open and shut the marina office door quickly, so as not to let the cool air from the window unit escape too much.
“Hey Laura,” I greet as I set the stack on the counter. “Dad said you needed these.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Got you as his gopher today?” Laura, the skinny, twenty-year-veteran of the resort, looks up. I sigh.
“Unfortunately.”
“Could always come work down here. I wouldn’t even make you drive the boats. You could just work here in the office, maybe get a few paddle boaters and boarders out onto the lake,” she says in a cheerful invitation.
“Maybe,” I shrug, my hands finding the back pockets of my shorts. “Or maybe I’ll just be my dad’s lackey. Call it an internship so it at least looks good on a resume, right?”
Laura chuckles. “Sure, kid, whatever you say. Tell your mom I said hi!”
“I will!” I call out, waving as I walk back out onto the dock. A screech from the main pool diverts my attention just long enough to collide with something - or rather, someone, solid. A yelp escapes me as my body hits the railing.
“Oh shit!” A male voice exclaims as a pair of arms reaches out to stabilize me.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the voice says hastily. “You okay?”
In annoyance at myself and my father, my only reply as I stumble away from his grip is, “Watch where you’re going!”
“Um. I was. You weren’t,” the voice says matter-of-factly. And did I detect a hint of judgment? I look up and lock eyes with a boy (duh). Blonde, tan, muscular, maybe my age?
“Who are you?”
“Someone who gets blamed for other people’s inability to look where they’re walking, apparently,” he replies sassily. I can’t help the scoff I give.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” I retort sarcastically. “We can’t all be the size of a tree.” For a moment, my stomach drops as I realize I may have just talked to a guest that way - a surefire way to get my ass in deep water if Laura were watching and told my mom or dad…or worse, my brother.
“A tree?” His laughter of disbelief causes a ripple across his telltale aqua blue t-shirt, the one with the resort logo on the front pocket, the one they only distribute to staff. “That’s…original.”
The realization washes over me, and I cross my arms. “Should you really be talking to a resort guest that way?” A flicker of fear crosses his face that gives me great satisfaction, but the moment is ruined by Laura shouting my name from the marina office door.
“Stop flirting and let me have my employee back!” she shouts good-naturedly, but it still causes me to scowl and step to the side, unblocking his path. He doesn’t move.
“So…not a guest.” My jaw twitches, betraying my poker face.
“Whatever,” I reply eloquently, starting to stomp away towards solid ground.
“Don’t make me report you to Ethan!” he shouts at me, a smug grin on his face. I snort to hold back my cackle.
“I dare you!” I call, stalking back towards the main building - as far away from that total douche as I can.
__
That evening, I’m sitting at the kitchen island when the sound of the back door opening echoes through the quiet kitchen. I don’t look up from my laptop until a set of keys clatters loudly next to me. I turn my head slowly, my face carefully neutral.
“Can I help you?”
“You can start by explaining what you were doing at the marina this morning,” my brother demanded.
I sigh. “Dad asked me to take some paperwork down to Laura. He thinks I’m wasting away here in the house apparently and felt the need to ‘put me to work’”, I answer, using finger quotes to ensure it’s clear whose idea it was.
Ethan rolls his eyes. “Okay, was it also in dad’s directions to sass the staff?”
“I didn’t sass Laura!”
The stern, unamused look on my brother’s face practically burns when it lands on me, and serves as a stark reminder of our eight-year age gap.
“Okay, fine, I got a little rude with this obnoxious guy who ran into me. How do you even know?”
“Because I got an employee complaint, but the kid couldn’t tell me the last name of the other staff member, or what department they work for, so I paid Sean a visit and checked the cameras, and who do I find engaging in the exact conflict he reported but my own sister.”
I turn back to my laptop. “You bothered the head of security over a trivial employee complaint?”
Ethan uses one hand to slam my laptop shut. “You’re not funny, you know that?”
“Makes two of us.”
The sound of the door opening again causes Ethan to straighten, taking most of the heat out of his “interrogation” posture, especially when he notices it’s mom coming through the door.
“Hey, kids,” she greets, slowly and cautiously. “What’s going on in here?”
“Your daughter sassed one of our new employees, and they filled out a complaint form. And not just any new employee - one of the new skippers!” Ethan practically screeches.
“Oh, honey,” mom chastises in annoyance. “You know how hard it is to hire good skippers. It’s not every employee who walks in here with a boating license.”
“I didn’t know he was a skipper!”
“Oh, so you thought he was a guest? That makes it so much better!” Ethan steams. “Are you trying to run this resort into the ground?”
“Okay, alright, let’s not-” Mom starts.
“It’s not my inheritance, why should I care?” I grumble, not truly intending to be heard, but the sharpness of my name from my mother tells me that I was, in fact, heard.
“You know that your father and I are working with the legal team to figure out what would be the most equitable way to format our will for both of you. Your brother wants to run the resort someday. That’s why he’s head of staff. You have expressed on numerous occasions that you have no desire to do the same, but we aren’t going to let you get the bottom of the barrel when it comes to whatever your father and I can leave you. Okay?” She says the last word as though I’m a child who's just been told I can have ice cream if I eat all of my peas.
“Yeah. Fine. Whatever.” I say, shrugging as my brother speaks up again.
“Okay, so back to your impudence-”
“Nice SAT word.”
“Thank you. Now-”
“Who scored higher on the SAT again?”
“Knock it off. I’m serious, Fish.” I give myself whiplash as I glare at him over my old nickname. When I was little, my parents would introduce us to people and I would say, “I’m the fish!” because people called me “a little fish” all the time because of how much I loved to swim.
“Anyway,” he continues, undeterred. “I called the guy and said you’re a ‘resort regular’ and that I’d have a chat with you. So this is my chat: be nice to the guests and the staff. And pay attention on the docks, you don’t need to break a rib landing on a support beam.”
I give him a mock-salute. “Aye aye, captain.” He rolls his eyes.
“I’m serious, Fish.”
“You said that already.”
“Oh my god. Mom!”
“Sweetheart,” mom starts. “Look, I know this summer is hard for you, but please. Just, be more aware of your tone with people.”
The air in the kitchen thins at the mention of The Untouchable Subject. Yet out of everyone in my family, my mom is the person I’d like to snap on the least, so I just purse my lips and avert my gaze, crossing my arms defensively.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” my mom breathes. After several quiet moments, I realize I’ll have to break the silence, both of them probably fear my wrath if they were to do it.
“That guy’s really a skipper? He looked twelve,” I lie.
“He’s eighteen, just like you,” Ethan sighs, rubbing his face like he already feels the weight of “future CEO” on his shoulders. “Dad’s talking about lowering the age minimum for skippers to sixteen, actually. Insurance company doesn’t like it, but we’re short staffed still and it’s already June. State of Texas only requires you to be thirteen to have a boating license.”
“I remember when we lowered the age from 21 to 18. Your grandfather, rest his soul, nearly had a come apart a few weeks later when one of the new teenaged skippers kept half of a thirty-rack someone left on one of the pontoons.” Mom raises her eyebrows in warning at me, as though I might get some hare-brained idea from that.
“How did he even find out?” I ask.
“The boy and his girlfriend got pulled over and tried to rat the resort out as though it was our fault. That made your grandfather remember that age does not equal wisdom.”
Ethan and I look from her to each other in one of our rare, shared sibling looks just as the back door rattles a final time, revealing our father.
“Evening, kids,” he waves. “Honey,” he says, pecking mom on the cheek, a gesture she leans into with her eyes closed in gleeful anticipation. Gross.
“Did you find something productive to do today?” Dad asks, looking pointedly at me, one hand bracing himself on the counter, the other around mom’s waist.
“Hmm? Yeah, I-”
“She sassed one of the new skippers. It was my first employee complaint on the new digital form I created just for this kind of issue,” Ethan interrupts.
“Did you just call me an issue?”
“If the flip-flop fits.”
“You little-”
“Enough!” Dad booms, putting a hand up like a stop sign. “Your grandfather started this resort. It has survived the Cold War, the War on Terror, a recession, and a pandemic. It’s not going to fall apart over one rude interaction. So Ethan, calm down, and sweetheart, be nice. Are we good? Good.”
There it was. How dad ended every argument, with a rhetorical question that he answers himself. As though we can all sense the stress radiating off of him, we back off. Mom steers the discussion to less tiring subjects, like the new maps they’re designing just for the week of Fourth of July that will mark locations of special events. While mom and dad debate quantities, I slip my laptop into my arms and trudge down the hall to my room.
Under the dim glow of my fairy lights, I set the computer on my desk and flop on the bed. I can hear the murmur of my parents’ voices from the kitchen, the distant squeals and echoes from the families soaking up the last hours at the pool as darkness falls, speed boats that absolutely should not be allowed on the lake, and golf carts whizzing by on the road.
Our house sits on a peninsula of land that juts out into the lake. From our back deck, you can see the lake, all three pools, the backside of the main building, the standalone restaurant, the smaller building that houses all of the higher-end rooms and suites and the “fine dining” restaurant, and the marina in the distance, which is half pontoons you can rent and half boat slips you can use if you bring your own boat.
It’s a kid’s paradise here in the summer.
Which was exactly why I spent every summer as far away as possible.
Summary: Love can survive a lot of things, no matter how early it begins.
Warnings: brief mention of suicide, Carole remarries
Requested: No
Word Count: ~8,400
A/N:
*gif is not mine*
__
I met the most important person in my life when I was just nine years old. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. We never do, right? These monumental moments in time just happen like any other Tuesday, and we can’t comprehend the significance of them until much later.
I don’t remember my third grade teacher introducing him, but surely she would have. He was a new kid, mid-year. A nearly unheard of instance in our little suburb just outside the city.No, I don’t remember anything about his uneventful arrival into my life until the day he found me at recess and first spoke to me.
3rd Grade
I sat on the swings, toes barely grazing the mulch due to my short stature. I had friends - well, a friend, but she wasn’t there that day. So instead of running around, doing whatever she wanted to do, I’d brought out the instruction manual for my sister’s copy of The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. You know, the thick little booklet that used to come with games once upon a time? I hardly noticed him approaching.
“Is that from Zelda?” he asked. I looked at him cautiously. Nine is when you begin to realize that just because a question is asked innocently, it doesn’t mean teasing won’t follow your answer.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“You play video games?” He seemed incredulous. Not that he didn’t believe me, more like he couldn’t.
“Yeah, lots of them. Why?”
“Everyone else I’ve asked doesn’t even have a game system at all.” I feel his pain.
“I know,” I reply sadly. “What do you have?”
I also don’t remember my mom and Bradley’s mom getting together to make play date arrangements, but it happened. One day that summer, his mom took us and Bradley’s baby sister, Genevieve, to the zoo. Bradley and I walked along the edge of the sidewalk on the way from the parking lot like gymnasts on a balance beam; just two kids who couldn’t be still, even when literally walking. Right inside the zoo was one of those wooden cutouts for pictures. This one made both people look like otters. Carole absolutely made us take a picture in it.
Later that same summer when my parents said I could choose a friend to take to the theme park with me, I chose Bradley. He’d never been to an amusement park like that before and he was in heaven. My mom and dad took turns riding the roller coasters with him. I was too scared. My mom still tells the story of how he was terrified, begging to get off before the first drop. Yet when the ride ended, he asked if they could go again.
My parents rented us a double innertube so we could stay together in the water park. Bradley’s hair had gotten really long that summer, and the lifeguard at one slide said, “Ready, ladies?”. Bradley indignantly shouted, “I’m a boy!”
“Sorry, I didn’t look down far enough!” the lifeguard shouted as he shoved our tube down the slide.
4th Grade
When school began in the fall, I was thrilled to discover Bradley was in Mrs. Wells’ class with me. For the first time since Kindergarten, I’d been separated from my best school friend, Riley. Riley didn’t live in our town. She actually lived just over the border in the neighboring state, but her mom was a teacher at our school, so she went there. We’d had multiple sleepovers at her house that summer. Always hers, rarely (if ever) mine. While my family lived in a modest ranch-style home in a typical subdivision, Riley lived in a five-bedroom, four-bathroom monster of a house in one of those subdivisions where the perfectly manicured lawns could have housed a horse farm. Her basement was finished and she had four times as many dolls as I did, even though I had two big sisters worth of hand-me-downs, while she was the oldest with just one little brother.
Riley’s parents and mine had met with the principal because of how much Riley and I had started fighting. We’d get together on a Friday evening for a weekend together, excited to see each other. By Sunday morning though, we were at each other’s throats. It only took a few hours apart before we were begging to plan the next weekend together.
In fourth grade, the kids from both classes were mixed up and then split into two teams: the cardinals and the blue jays. Each class had reading and science with our regular teachers. The cardinals had math with Mrs. Newsham while the blue jays had social studies with Mrs. Wells, then we switched. I was a cardinal, and so were Bradley and Riley. That was how mine and Riley’s parents wanted it. We still got to spend part of the day together, but not all of it.
That made reading and science easy classes, because it was just Bradley. If I needed a partner, I knew he would choose me and I would choose him. Math was easy too, because Bradley was so good at math and Riley and I weren’t as good. I didn’t like partnering with Bradley, because I slowed him down. He said he didn’t care, but he was just as happy to work with Ben.
Social studies was harder. When Mrs. Wells announced that we’d be designing board games about the Lewis and Clark Expedition, I immediately looked at Bradley. After all, games were our thing. We played video games together all the time, and a board game wasn’t that much different. But when Mrs. Wells said to choose a partner, Riley grabbed my arm immediately. Her grip was so tight, it hurt. I barely got to shoot a backwards glance at Bradley before she dragged me to a corner and got out her cool new markers. She wouldn’t let me use my markers because they didn’t color the same as hers, but I also wasn’t allowed to color with hers in case I ruined them, until Mrs. Wells came by and made her share.
We still had play dates, mostly at his house. We liked that he had more than one video game system in his room. At my house, I had to share. Even though we could walk to both of our houses from school, they were in opposite directions, and it was easier for my mom to come pick me up than it was for Carole to pick Bradley up, because of Genevieve.
“Bradley? Can you guys come down here for a minute?” Carole called up the stairs to Bradley’s room in the finished attic one day. We raced to the staircase and down into the kitchen.
“Yeah, mom?”
“Can you guys play with your sister for a bit? I need to put some laundry out on the line. Oh, and-“ She looked at me. “Your mom called and said no one can make it to pick you up until later. I’ll make you guys some grilled cheese for dinner when I come back in.”
In the living room, Genevieve was sitting up at the plastic bin of her toys. She gave us a gummy grin when we sat down to play with her. Digging through the bin, I came across a thick book with a brown cover and a gilded silver design around the border.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a photo album,” Bradley replied.
“Why is it in here?” I asked, flipping through the pages. Newborn photos of Genevieve. The pictures of Bradley holding her for the first time. Pictures of aunts, uncles, cousins visiting baby Genevieve. The baby photos soon fade into newer photos. I am taken aback when I come to a page with two photos side by side. On the left, Bradley and I, teetering on the sidewalk outside the zoo. Arms out for balance, each leaning in the opposite direction. On the right, the photo of us in the otter cutout.
“To teach her who people are. Like our family and stuff,”
“You have to teach babies who people are?” I ask, still staring at the photos of myself.
“Yeah. You didn’t know that?” I ignore the question and ask another one of my own.
“But I’m in here?” I lean the album towards him so he can see. Bradley just shrugs.
“Kids, I’m home!” Bradley’s dad shouts from the kitchen.
“Hi, dad!” Bradley calls back.
“I hear you’re staying for dinner?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I nod politely.
“Well, the chef better get to it then!” he jokes, reaching for a pan.
Over our dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and chips, I look from Bradley to his dad. They look so alike: the same dark hair, dark eyes. The same chin, even. I’ve barely finished my sandwich when my mom knocks at the back door. Carole greets her and she apologizes for having me stay later than planned. I gather my backpack and make my way out to the car.
In the car, I try to make conversation with my mom.
“Mom, who do you think I look more like - you, or dad?”
“I don’t know. I think you’re a pretty good mix of us both, actually.”
“Bradley and his dad look so much alike. It’s pretty crazy.” There’s a sudden change in the energy around us, like I’ve said something wrong. My mom’s face changes too.
“Oh, sweetie…” she begins awkwardly.
“What?”
“Bradley’s dad…is actually his stepdad.”
“Huh?” I ask, completely confused. No one has ever told me that, and they’re practically twins.
“Yeah. Bradley’s real dad died when he was little. Carole met who you know as Bradley’s dad not long after.” There’s a moment of quiet as I process this information.
“But he calls him dad?” I reply, still feeling as though this has to be one big joke…right?
“What do you expect him to call him?” mom snickers.
“I don’t know. Jocelyn and Courtney don’t call Uncle David ‘dad’?” I say, referring to my cousins who call their stepdad by his first name. Since he’s the only person I can remember my aunt being with, I call him uncle.
“Yes, but your cousins were a lot older when your Aunt Chrissy married David. Bradley probably doesn’t have that many memories of his dad because he was so young.”
My almost-ten year old mind tries to grasp this concept, losing a parent so young you don’t even remember them hardly.
“How did he die?”
“I don’t know, honey. Something that happened while he was in the Navy is all I know.”
“That’s really sad,” I pause. “Why didn’t Bradley tell me?” I wonder aloud.
“He probably doesn’t want you to feel sorry for him.”
That night after I’ve taken a shower, I sit at my mom’s vanity while I wait for her to come brush out my hair. Looking around, I see the picture frames on the walls. There are numerous years-old versions of my big sisters looking back at me. None of myself. I think again of the pictures of me in Genevieve’s album. I think about how Carole took the photos of us, had them developed, paid for them, and put them in that album. Those pictures had only been taken a few months ago, and she had a baby to take care of. There’s a feeling in my chest that I can’t name, and it somehow feels both happy and sad.
—
I am the only girl invited to Bradley’s 10th birthday party, and it’s both cool and weird. Cool because it makes me feel tough and special for being invited, even though I’m a girl. It’s also weird because most of the other boys in class were invited too. I’ve known them all - except Bradley - since kindergarten, but I don’t really know them at all. I haven’t been to anyone’s house or spent time with them outside of school since Harry invited the entire kindergarten to his Scooby-Doo sixth birthday in his backyard.
I arrive late and Carole has me color in a coloring sheet from the pizza place of what pizza I want before dashing upstairs to the video game tournament the boys have going. They’re all better than me, but it’s still fun just watching them. Bradley and I don’t usually play these kinds of games with fighting and shooting.
Once, when I was jealous that Bradley’s town on one of our games was so much better than mine, he explained how I could get mine that way. It sounded like a lot of work.
“I can do it for you if you want,” he said.
“How?”
“Bring your memory card to school tomorrow. I’ll work on it and give it back when I’m done.” I do like he said, and Bradley gives it back in just two days, with everything unlocked and tons of money in my virtual account. I try to thank him endlessly, but he keeps brushing me off. He acts like he’s embarrassed, but there’s a hint of a smirk that tells me he likes it.
That was the year that Bradley and I both tried really hard at our science fair projects and it paid off. When our teachers released us into the gym filled with tables and tri-folds after the judges had been through, Bradley and I were both shocked to find blue ribbons attached to each of our projects. I had been worried that my hypothesis was too boring, and he had been worried that his board didn’t look nice enough. I guess we were both wrong. I looked over just in time to see Riley rip a purple participation ribbon off of her board.
That meant we had to take our projects up to the state park center for the regional competition, which was all fine and dandy…until our parents told us we’d have to go for a special “judging day”. We had to get dressed up in fancy clothes and stand in front of our projects while judges and donors and stuff walked around and asked us about our projects. We were both nervous as could be, but got a little less nervous when we saw that our projects were just a few boards down from each other.
I laughed and got a really dirty look from Bradley when his mom dropped him off at the park center that day wearing a collared dress shirt, a beige plaid tie, khaki pants, and clunky brown dress shoes. He looked ridiculous. Not because he looked bad or anything, but because he never dressed like that, ever. Not even for school concerts.
“What?” he snapped. I was too deep in laughter to respond immediately.
“You…” I begin. I take a deep breath before continuing. “You look nice,” I say, still recording from laughter. He looks taken aback. I’m sure after all that laughter he wasn’t expecting that. His eyes trail up and down me in my black skirt, white fake-velvet shirt with the flowy sleeves, and the necklace my mom only lets me wear when I have to be fancy. My hair is pulled back on top and even curled a little on the ends.
“You-you look nice too,” he replies awkwardly.
Well-dressed adults start wandering amongst the rows. They ask us questions like, “What inspired this project?” or “What was the biggest challenge in conducting this experiment?”. I try to think of good answers but feel like I’m failing. Everytime I look at Bradley though, he’s smiling and the adults seem very charmed by him. They smile back and even chuckle at whatever it is he says. We learn that it wasn’t required to come today (thanks, mom), and no other kids show up at the projects between Bradley and I. Whenever the aisle is clear of any grown ups, we scooch closer to talk. Once, he spots adults coming our way so we quickly scoot apart. As soon as I get in front of my project, a lady who looks like a really fancy grandma stops in front of me with a knowing glint in her eye.
“Is that your friend?” she asks, bent down so she’s closer to my level.
“Um…yes,” I reply, surprised she isn’t asking about something science-related.
“He’s very handsome,” she says, winking at me. I stammer, unsure of how to answer her. I’m a kid, for goodness’ sake. I’ve never once thought of Bradley as handsome or cute or anything like that, and I wasn’t about to start now.
“Well, anyway,” the woman says, straightening up and finally asking me something science related.
Thankfully, neither of our projects win at the regional fair.
__
That summer between 4th and 5th grade was amazing, if only because I got to spend so much time with Bradley. We’d both been invited to an “enrichment camp” for students with exemplary grades. It was at a high school, and it made us feel grown up. On the first day, the bus had been later than my parents expected. Too late for my dad to wait around for me to get on before he had to be at work. Instead, he started dropping me off at Bradley’s house. He and I would walk down to his bus stop and go to camp from there. His mom stayed home, but both of my parents worked, so I spent afternoons there too.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked him one day out of the blue. Bradley lay next to me on an old quilt. The sun shone and a light breeze blew through the honeysuckle by the garage and the white, sun-bleached linens on the line.
“I don’t know,” Bradley says. There’s a sense of finality to his words, like he holds no anxiety about the pressure to figure out what he wants to do once he graduates from high school.
“I think I want to be a teacher,” I say. We are both speaking to the sky, heads tilting towards one another occasionally.
“Why?” He asks with a tone that conveys just how crazy he thinks I am.
“Think about it - I would get to be with kids all day, so I don’t have to be a boring adult. I could buy school supplies every year. And I’d get to have summers still. I can’t imagine having to work all day, every single day except like, holidays and stuff.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So, what about you? There’s quiet for a minute while Bradley thinks.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a construction worker or something,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he turns his head towards me. “Why?”
“I guess I thought you’d want to be in the army or whatever like your dad,” I reply, thinking of the pictures I’ve seen of Bradley’s stepdad standing next to tanks in camouflage. He’s quiet for a minute.
“No,” he says determinedly. I don’t say anything. “I know you know,” he practically whispers.
“What?” I ask.
“I know you know about my real dad.” The atmosphere feels charged, and I’m too nervous to say anything. “My real dad died because of the military. And my dad gets really sad when he talks about what it was like when he was deployed. People die in the military and I’m not gonna be one of them.”
I think about the soldiers my Girl Scout troop and I are making care packages for, filled with cookies and little toothbrush things and other stuff to make them feel more at home. Against my will, I imagine Bradley in a camouflage outfit and boots, trying to sleep with a rock for a pillow. I prop myself up on my elbows.
“Do you promise?” I whisper. Bradley props himself up too.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Do you promise you won’t change your mind? You’ll never, ever join the military at all? Not the Army or the Marines or anything?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I don’t want you to die,” I whisper. We look at one another and an understanding passes between us. We don’t have to say anything for the realness of it to settle in.
“Okay,” he finally says softly. “I promise.”
—-
A few weeks later, our music teacher, Mrs. Christensen, drops a bomb.
“Boys and girls, I have exciting plans for our class today. You all are headed to the state capital next month on your field trip, and while you are there, you’re going to dance to our state song in the rotunda of the state capital.” We look around at one another, confused. I think most of us picture dancing the way we do to a Britney Spears song, but in a fancy building instead of our bedrooms or basements. Mrs. Christensen fields a question about what a rotunda is and then explains that we’ll be doing a “waltz” that is very simple to learn…but we each need an opposite gender partner to dance with. Anxiously, I spin around to look at Bradley. Wide eyed, he nods. We both know there’s no one else we would ever partner with. Not in a yucky boyfriend-girlfriend way, but because we know we won’t make fun of each other.
We spend the class learning where to put our hands and how to do the steps. The boys snicker when Mrs. Christensen says they’re supposed to lead, but quickly shut up when we try the steps with music for the first time and they realize how hard it is.
When the day of the field trip arrives, my dad comes along as a chaperone; the first field trip one of my parents have ever been able to come along on. He brings his big camera and I beg him not to take pictures of Bradley and I dancing, but he doesn’t listen, as evidenced by the printed photos that appear on the fridge after the trip: Bradley’s hand on my side (I refuse to call it my “waist” because - ew) and mine on his shoulder, both of us holding the other hand up and out to the side. I felt like we spent the whole time looking at our feet so we wouldn’t trip, but my dad caught one picture where we were actually looking at each other instead.
I’m not even mad that he took it.
5th Grade
Fifth grade marked a major change for me. For the first time, Riley didn’t even go to our school anymore. Her parents switched her to a school closer to home so she could make friends before middle school. Bradley and I were in the same class. Also in our class was a new girl named Alyssa, and Bradley’s friends from before: Harry, Auggie, and Scott. Together, the six of us spent recess pretending to be characters from our favorite TV show. Bradley played the main hero: funny, brave, and super protective. I played the main girl character: a tough-as-nails, girl-power type. He didn’t even get mad when I teased him, because it was exactly what the character would do. When I fell on accident during a pretend battle, he’d leap in front of me to keep the fictional monster or enemies from “killing” me. Once, a boy named Jon joined our game as one of the bad guys and took it a little too far, actually pushing me to the ground and standing over me so that I couldn’t get up. Bradley ran over and shoved him off. I worried he’d done it too hard and was about to get in trouble with a recess monitor, but he didn’t. He reached down to help me up and asked if I was okay. I got the funny feeling he wasn’t playing the game anymore.
Fifth grade was also the beginning of actually having homework for Bradley and I - Mr. Mills didn’t even let us do our homework in class for a little bit like our other teachers had, which usually ended up being plenty of time to get it done for fast workers like Bradley and I. We had spelling homework due every single week, the same assignment but with different spelling words. It became a standing plan that on Tuesdays, Bradley and I would walk to his house, do our homework at his kitchen table and let Carole read over it, and then run upstairs to play. Except now we had a new rule, and I had an annoying thought that my mom was to blame. The new rule was that the door to Bradley’s room had to stay open. The rule was the same at my house, and it had started one day after Bradley had come over. I was showing him my new video game, a computer game where you get to be a virtual person and live your life. It reminded me of a dollhouse, but way more fun.
“So what, you just make a human and live their life?” Bradley asks.
“Yeah, but you can make more than one. I like making families.”
“What if you don’t make a family? Can they have one later, like get married and stuff?”
“Yeah. Here, these are two people I made but they don’t have kids or anything.” I say, clicking on the save file. We play around with the two characters for a while, not talking much.
“This is getting kinda boring,” Bradley says.
“Wanna make a baby?” I ask.
“Sure,” Bradley shrugs.
My bedroom door, which was only open a crack, suddenly flies open. My mom is staring at us with a crazy look in her eyes.
“What are you guys doing?”
“Playing a game?” we both say, and I point to the game’s case on my computer desk. My mom lets out a breath and walks away, telling us to keep the door open.
5th grade was also a big year at our school because it was the year of D.A.R.E., which stands for “Drug Abuse Resistance Education”. It’s basically a dumb class we have to do instead of PE once a month where we learn not to do drugs. Duh.
But we also got to do these weird things with the 6th graders they called “D.A.R.E. Dances”. Our PE teacher said it was to “keep us busy so we don’t go buy drugs” or something. My mom and sisters said it’s a tradition leftover from the days when kids would literally be out roaming around town for so long that TV channels would air commercials asking parents if they knew where their children were. When mom wasn’t listening, my sisters made it clear that kids definitely still roamed around town getting into trouble, but only if they could drive themselves.
The dances were held at the Sav Center, a local banquet hall that my parents said hadn’t hosted anything remotely cool since the 1970’s. It certainly looked like it on the inside. The main room was like a gym and smelled like it too. Every other room smelled musty and old.
They kept the room dark, with boppy music and colorful lights dancing around the walls. Mostly, the boys and I (Alyssa hadn’t been able to get a ride) hung out in a corner, nursing cans of Sprite and talking. At the second dance we went to, a slow song came on. The kind of song couples dance to at a wedding. A few sixth grade couples make their way to the floor, arms wrapped around each others necks. The teachers chaperoning close in tighter on the dance floor.
Harry nods to Bradley and I.
“You guys should go dance,” he says. Not teasingly, just matter-of-factly. Auggie takes a sip of Sprite before speaking.
“He’s right.”
“Why?” Bradley and I ask in unison.
“It’s what guys and girls do I guess. Plus it’ll make us all look really cool, and you guys can do it without it being all gross and stuff,” Scott adds.
Bradley and I look at one another before shrugging and going a little further away. Far enough so we could still hear if our friends started teasing us, but not so close that we aren’t even on the dance floor. We assume the dance position Mrs. Christensen taught us last year and sway to the beat of the music. We don’t make eye contact for most of the song, until the very end. Something familiar and comforting settles around us. As the song ends, our arms drop but Bradley’s hand lingers on mine for just a second. It feels like static electricity, but I couldn’t tell you why.
We walk back to our friends who nod curtly in approval. Scott gives a small smirk and looks at Bradley, who shoots him a dirty look back. The next song, a favorite of our grade, begins playing and we race each other to the dance floor so we can jump around and yell like idiots.
__
The rest of the school year probably would have passed in a blur of school, birthdays, and play dates - which we now called “hanging out”, or tried to anyway - had Timothy not strut onto the scene. Tim was a new kid and he seemed more like he was from a different planet instead of a different city.
If the rest of us were just kids, Tim was definitely a “pre-teen”. Tim cared about boyfriends and girlfriends and crushes and all kinds of stuff like that, but no one else in the 5th grade did. He was always trying to get people he thought liked each other to “pair up”. Bradley and I mostly laughed about it, right up until the day we became his targets.
It started after silent reading one day. Since Bradley and I both had good reading grades, we were part of band during silent reading. We were the last two to return to class that day, because it took us longer than anyone to take apart our instruments right: trumpet for him, flute for me. We were both renting our instruments from the school and were trying to be super careful with them. He wanted piano, but that wasn’t an option at our school. Tim whispered to me as I got to my seat to get ready for science.
“Were you and Bradshaw making out or something?”
“What?!” I exclaim, which garners a stern glance from Mr. Mills, who was writing on the board. “What are you talking about?” I whisper-yell at him across the aisle between the desks.
“You two were the last ones back. What took so long?” He asks, and his tone irritates me. Like he’s trying to prove that we did something inappropriate, and it’s gross. I choose to ignore him, but I should have known that would be far from the last of it.
The next day at recess, Tim starts up again. Bradley and I had been on the swings, just talking.
“Hey Bradshaw, when are you going to take your girl on a real date?”
“Shut up, Tim,” Bradley replies.
“Careful, Bradshaw, or a real man is going to take her away from you,” Tim answers back, looking at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. The look on my face springs Bradley into action. He leaps off the swing and gets dangerously close to Tim’s face.
“I said knock it off. No one here is like that, just go back to whatever weird town you came from already!” he snaps before walking away. I hop off the swing and follow him up the play structure nearest us. It’s one central landing high in the air, with two slides from each side and another slide up a higher tower.
Unfortunately, Tim follows us too. Now he’s chanting an immature song involving Bradley and I kissing in a tree. Yuck. Bradley goes down the tallest slide to get away from him, and I try to evade him by going down the slide to the left. Tim chooses to follow me, his chanting getting louder and louder. I start running around the playground, up various structures and down slides, trying to make sharp turns and unexpected climbs to get away from him, but Tim is able to keep up, all while still chanting at me. After several rounds of the song, we’re all getting tired. Bradley has climbed back up the main structure again and is about to go down the tallest slide at the top of the tower. I have just reached the landing when something inside of me snaps and I round on Tim.
“Fine!” I scream. “Fine! I like Bradley! Whatever! Just shut up about it already!” I shout, lying just to see if that will make him leave us the heck alone. There’s a sudden hush, and Tim gives me a triumphant smile before laughing and running away, shouting about me liking Bradley like he just won a sweepstakes.
I turn to face Bradley apologetically, but his face looks like a mixture of anger and disgust.
“Bradley, wait!” I shout, but he’s turned and disappeared down the slide just as the whistles blow to tell everyone to line up. When I get to the line, Bradley is already in it, arms crossed. He’s like, 3rd in line, so I can’t talk to him without getting into trouble. I take the next available spot in line, feeling guilt, embarrassment, shame, and all kinds of unpleasant feelings wash over me.
That afternoon, the walk to Bradley’s house is excruciatingly awkward and mostly silent. I think Carole notices the awkwardness, but doesn’t say anything. Upstairs in Bradley’s room, he looks out to make sure his mom didn’t follow us before carefully pushing the door closed until it’s just barely open, to avoid getting in too much trouble.
“Did you tell the truth today?” he asks.
“No!” I say with force but quietly so Carole doesn’t realize we have the door sorta shut. “We’re just kids. I don’t like anyone like that, I just wanted Tim to shut up.” The look on Bradley’s face is hard to read. I can’t tell if he looks relieved, worried, confused, or what. I decide to go with relieved, because why would he feel any other way?
That night as I’m trying to fall asleep, I end up doing some “reflecting” as Mr. Mills would say, even though I don’t really want to. My brain just does it.
Do I like Bradley? I don’t think so, not the way my big sisters like their boyfriends or my mom likes my dad. I don’t want to kiss him - ew - or anything else like that.
But I think about it - if Bradley and I are still friends when we’re all grown up, which I hope we are, would I marry him? Yeah, I think I would. I’d get to spend every single day with my best friend, and I know Bradley I would never fight over the things my mom and dad fight over.
Bradley does a lot for me that my family doesn’t. Bradley never teases me about things that actually hurt my feelings, like how greasy my hair gets if I don’t take a shower every single night, or how my glasses make me look or the gaps in my teeth. Bradley remembers my favorite things and things I don’t like. Bradley protects me and helps me instead of telling me I have to “learn not to be such a baby”. He doesn’t even get mad at me or act like my life must be perfect because I’m the youngest kid and he’s the oldest kid. Bradley is my best friend in a way none of my other friends are.
Realizing all of this is why I’m suddenly so angry and sad that we’re moving away.
6th Grade
I missed Bradley this summer, but I miss him even more now that school has started. My new school is full of kids like Tim - kids who think they’re older than they really are. While I’m grateful the boys don’t look at me in the creepy way Tim did, instead they look at me like I belong back in daycare in my glasses, khaki Bermuda shorts, and Gap t-shirt. I’m not really sure which one is worse.
We call each other a lot. He tells me how he and our old friends still play the same game at recess, but he doesn’t let anyone be my character, out of respect for me. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry when he says that, because it sounds like I’m dead, not just over an hour away. My new school doesn’t have recess for 6th graders.
All summer, my parents worked with me to arrange sleepovers with my old friends from my neighborhood and Girl Scout troop. They never let Bradley and I hang out, though. They claimed it was “too far to drive for just a day trip” and having a sleepover “wouldn’t be appropriate”, even though our new house is bigger and has a guest room. I’d sleep in the backyard if it meant Bradley could come over.
Instead, we call to try and stay in touch. This goes on for a few months, but life gets busy for us both. I join a new soccer team and he gets involved in Boy Scouts. He calls me on my birthday and I call him on his, even though they’re only 32 days apart.
Beyond
One day, I call him and his dad answers the phone.
“Hi, can Bradley come to the phone?” I ask.
“This is Bradley,” the deep voice replies.
“Ha ha, seriously!” I say, assuming this is a big joke. It’s not. Once Bradley convinces me it is him talking, it’s suddenly hard to picture who I’m talking to, because he sounds like an adult, and I still feel like a kid.
I call him from my cell phone after I get it so he has the number, but he doesn’t use it. The next time he calls me on my birthday, he calls my house like usual. I call him on his birthday and he gives me his new cell phone number. It feels grown up, both of us having phones all to ourselves. Not that it matters, because shortly after that is when we stop talking altogether.
--
It’s almost freshman year of high school, and I’m telling him about homecoming. He doesn’t want to go to his school’s dance, but I’m excited for mine.
“Who are you going with?” he asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds like he’s pretending to be casual, like he actually cares more than he wants to appear.
“Just some friends,” I reply. “My boyfriend can’t go, his parents are like, the ultimate in strict.”
“Your boyfriend?” He says, and his tone makes me freeze.
“Uh, yeah.” I say, not wanting to elaborate.
“Should…should you really be talking to me if you have a boyfriend?”
“What?! Bradley, you’re my best friend.” The words feel hollow. How is it fair to call him my best friend when we haven’t laid eyes on one another in almost four years?
“But I’m a guy,” he replies, like that should clear it all up for me.
“I’m aware,” I say sarcastically. “Seriously, it’s fine. If he has a problem with it, then I don’t need to be with him anyway.” Bradley eventually concedes, but the game has officially changed.
That year, Bradley doesn’t call me on my birthday. The sting of it still hurts me enough that I don’t call Bradley on his birthday, either. By the next year, I guess we’re both so afraid of overcoming the hump of awkwardness that we don’t call again. I want to, since I don’t have a boyfriend anymore; a recent development that hurts.
Just the other day, one of my friends was trying to comfort me. She said, “Your first love always breaks your heart. It’s like the law of love.” But when she says “your first love”, I don’t think of my now-ex-boyfriend. I think of Bradley. We didn’t love each other in the romantic sense. Sometimes, I think our love for each other was on another plane. Maybe in another universe, he still loves me like that. Because I sure never stopped loving him. I don’t think I ever will.
—
I didn't think I would ever speak to Bradley again. I wasn’t sure how to overcome the awkwardness of how we’d left things. The way we truly left things before never speaking again was stranger than I could have ever imagined.
One steamy night the summer we were 17, I was sitting on my bed. The windows were open, but the night was still. I knew better than to close them and face my mother’s wrath. I was playing a video game; alone, as was the norm ever since I last spent time with Bradley. For once, I wasn’t even thinking of him when his name appeared on my phone screen.
Bradley Bradshaw: I love you.
My heart pounded in my chest and a chill froze my sweat. For some reason, my first thought was that he was going to kill himself. We’d learned in health class that sudden, out of the blue confessions of love could be a warning sign. I pulled up Bradley’s contact and tried to call him, but he sent me to voicemail, which only fueled my panic. I shot back a text before trying to call again.
Me: What? Are you okay?
Me: Bradley. For real. Is everything okay?
Me: Answer me.
Bradley Bradshaw: M fine
Me: What?
Bradley Bradshaw: ok
Me: Bradley. Wtf.
Me: Bradley!
I stay up well past my usual “bedtime” awaiting some kind of response, but I don’t get one. The next morning, I check back in with him.
Me: So. What happened.
Bradley Bradshaw: Shit. I’m so sorry.
You better be, I think.
Me: What happened? Were you drunk?
Bradley Bradshaw: Drunk? No way.
I breathe a sigh of relief, though I’m still confused.
Bradley Bradshaw: High as shit? Yeah.
What? My mind swirls. Bradley…high? Like on drugs? Marijuana, I assume.
Me: Seriously? You do drugs now?
Bradley Bradshaw: Yeah? Don’t you?
Me: No. Definitely not.
Bradley Bradshaw: Oh
I hesitate, thumbs poised over the touch screen before proceeding.
Me: Why did you say you love me?
There’s a several minute pause before Bradley replies.
Bradley Bradshaw: I gues
Bradley Bradshaw: Shit
Bradley Bradshaw: Idk. I was high.
It looks like he sent the first message before he meant to. I want to think of what he was trying to say, but I choose not to. It doesn’t seem like it can lead anywhere that won’t break my heart even further.
Present Day
My family made fun of me. They said it was stupid to travel all the way back to our hometown for The Last Dance At The Sav. The Sav, where we’d had our elementary school dances, had gone out of business years ago when the owner died with no one to leave it to.
The city had decided to tear it down, but some historical preservation organization tried to save it. They were unsuccessful, but they were hosting one last dance there to raise money for other restoration and preservation efforts in the city.
I bought a ticket thinking it would be fun, sweet, nostalgic. Instead, it feels pathetic, a 30-something getting all dressed up just to go hang out with absolutely no one I know at a banquet hall I haven’t been to since I was 11. Maybe my family was right. Still, it was an expensive ticket. The donation has been made either way, so I might as well go enjoy the open bar.
Once there, I stand at the bar and hope for the best. Maybe an old teacher or friend will see me. It’s unlikely, even less likely that they’d recognize me all these years…decades later.
Out of the corner of my eye, someone approaches the bar. To avoid looking desperate, I keep looking like I’m very interested in my drink and the wall behind the bar. That is, until I hear someone say my name.
The voice is on my left, coming from the figure that approached earlier. My heart drops to my stomach when I realize I am looking into the face of a 30-something-years-old Bradley Bradshaw. His hair is short, neatly trimmed. He has a mustache, which I might’ve laughed at once upon a time but I can’t help but think makes him look daringly handsome. My heart descends further - out of my toes, really - when I realize he’s wearing Navy dress blues.
I choke down the sour, hot tears in my throat.
“Bradley?” He approaches slowly, like maybe he’s scared I’m not really there; like I’m a hologram or something.
“I-I can’t believe you’re here,” he stammers in awe.
“Me either,” I breathe, my eyes taking in every inch of him, trying to reconcile this man in front of me with the kid I once knew.
“You-“ he begins before he seems to gasp for air for a second. “You look beautiful.”
“You don’t look half bad yourself,” I lightly joke. He chuckles. “Although, you broke your promise,” I say mostly under my breath, staring at my shoes.
“What’s that?” he asks gently, looking at me with concern.
“You…you broke your promise,” I say, visibly cringing. I didn’t really expect him to keep a silly childhood promise, did I? He lets out a breathy, almost-humorless laugh.
“I did, didn’t I?” he says, looking up from me and looking off into the distance with a look of melancholy.
“What made you change your mind?”
“My dad.” He looks into my eyes.
“Your dad, as in-“
“My real dad. Nick.” I nod understandingly.
“My mom used to always try and talk to me about him. But I was so…so angry that he’d left me even though he didn’t want to. It was an accident. I came across some of his things one day when I was cleaning out the rest of the attic and…I was at a place in my life where I felt like he was trying to tell me something, you know? I changed my plans and…here I am,” he says, gesturing to the insignia covering his chest.
“Why are you here tonight?”
“Seemed like a win-win. I’m home on leave, I needed something to do. My parents got tickets and can’t come anymore and…I guess I hoped I would run into a familiar face.” There’s a weight to his last sentence, a secret I don’t want to unwrap. It’s trouble, I can tell. He’s here on leave, and I’m also here far away from my own apartment and the life I lead right now.
“Why are you here?” He asks in return.
“Something like that.” I nod, pursing my lips and training my eyes downward again.
The opening notes of an Ed Sheeran song begin to each around the room. Bradley looks to the DJ table, then back at me. He reaches out a hand.
“Can I have this dance?” he asks. I look at him with tears and all the memories of what could have been floating in my eyes. It’s too late, the angel on one shoulder says to me. But what could it hurt? The devil says on the other.
Sensing my hesitation, Bradley persists.
“For old time’s sake?”
I take his hand and allow myself to be lead to the dance floor. We alter Mrs. Christensen’s positioning just a little. Bradley’s arm wraps around my upper back, holding me closely. My hand does not rest on his shoulder but instead wraps under his arm to his back as well. I can feel him absentmindedly rub his thumb back and forth on the bare skin between my shoulders.
‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love
Not knowing what it was
I will not give you up this time
Bradley’s eyes grip me, like he’s trying to send the lyrics of the song right into my soul. Tears threaten to spill again.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
“I never thought we’d get this,” I reply. Bradley breathes in deep before speaking.
“I never knew you wanted this,” he whispers.
“I didn’t know I did either,”
“I did.” His words cause me to take a sharp breath, now unsure if I can breathe at all. “After a while anyway. I just knew you were going to do great things, and I wasn’t going to do much of anything. I didn’t want to hold you back, even if we were just dumb kids.” I laugh through tears. “And then I joined the Navy and I still wanted to call but…I’ve seen what the other guys’ girlfriends and wives go through. I couldn’t do that to you.” He looks physically pained as he tells me this.
“Bradley, I—I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
We dance with one another in a natural silence for a bit, allowing the music to flow around us and keep us in rhythm with one another. It settles in that we never stopped. Never stopped thinking about each other. Never stopped loving each other.
We are still kids but we’re so in love
Fightin’ against all odds
I know we’ll be alright this time
Darling just hold my hand
Be my girl I’ll be your man
I see my future in your eyes
Bradley’s mouth leans in close to my ear.
“I love you.” My eyes meet his.
“Do you mean it this time?”
“I meant it the first time. I think I’ve loved you longer than i could have ever expressed. I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you and say it.” My heart threatens to explode looking at him. It’s a fairytale ending that no video game could ever compare to.
“I love you too.” He brings his face closer to mine and like a singer and an orchestra, our lips begin an aria we have never heard yet have known the words to all along. We kiss far longer than may be proper at this event but it’s okay because the world around us no longer matters.
I don’t know how this is going to work. I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, but I know one thing. I’ll do anything to never lose him again.
Summary: Reader's night with friends takes a turn
Warnings: Bad friends
Requested: No
Word Count: 647
A/N: Just a little drabble and someone new!
*gif is not mine*
It was a typical California summer night. The heat was still in the 80’s despite the fact that darkness had fallen hours prior. Bob was in bed, flipping through his movie and show options on the bedroom TV. He’d promised he wouldn’t wait up, but he will. He always does. He’d changed into his plaid pajama pants and white shirt an hour ago, ready to find something to occupy him until you came home.
He didn’t admit it when you left, but he was worried about you. You’d been practically bouncing off the walls with excitement all week about the plans you’d made with friends. Yet tonight, you’d been more subdued before kissing him goodbye and walking out the door.
The slight slam of the back door startles Bob, but he already knows it’s your footsteps making their way towards the bedroom. Something’s off, though. He can tell. He hears you kick off your shoes, your silhouette barely visible with only the glow of the TV lighting up the room. Bob just observes as you strip off your nice clothes and change into your typical sleepwear.
“You okay?” he asks, but there’s no reply. You simply continue your tasks in silence, save for the movie playing in the background. Finally, you crawl into bed next to him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. Bob’s heart swells before dropping from a great height when you release a sob into him. He holds you there tightly.
After a minute or so, you pull away and tell him the whole story. How both of your friends had actually cancelled on you; Jessica earlier today and Alice just as you had gotten to the bar. You’d left the bar to go to Target and get a few things for Jessica’s daughter, who was sick. When you arrived at Jessica’s, you were surprised to find Alice’s car in the driveway too. Expecting Alice to also be there dropping off a quick care package of Pedialyte and popsicles, you were left speechless when you found both women sitting on the couch, nursing glasses of wine and giggling. They attempted to make excuses, but it was clear. They’d excluded you. Not that they’d both cancelled on you maliciously; but Alice had clearly decided to come over and neither had even thought to invite you. It stung.
“Babe, that’s awful,” Bob says.
“I just don’t get it,” you say, sniffling and wiping more tears. “What is wrong with me?” Bob’s level of concern jumps up by at least 50%.
“Sweetheart, look at me.” Your teary gaze meets his. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he says firmly.
“Then why does this always happen? It’s always the same. I make a friend and we’re so close for a while…then suddenly they’re always too busy, always cancelling plans until we haven’t seen each other or talked in months. And when I ask what I did, why they’re shutting me out, what I can do to be better, they always say nothing. So something must be wrong with me, but no one will tell me what it is.” Bob shakes his head.
“They weren’t real friends, babe. Real friends wouldn’t do that to you. A-and maybe that means the only real friend you have is me. And I know that isn’t ideal for you; I know you want girlfriends you can spend time with because it’s not the same as doing things with me, and that’s okay. But I know one thing for sure. Those girls didn’t see in you what I see, because if they did, they’d be smart enough to realize they just lost the best girl they could have ever known.” You stare at Bob for what feels like a long time before wrapping him up in a tight hug, holding on until you both drift off to sleep.
