Welcome readers! My name is Zelda, and this is my Masterlist. As a forewarning, there will be a mixture of 18+ (MDNI) stories and stories for all ages. I’ll have the 18+ content labeled as such. Other than that, everything will be posted down below! If you’ve got requests, suggestions, any kind of constructive criticism, don’t hesitate to let me know!! I’m excited to write for you guys :))
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So I was thinking for the next part of Surface Pressure to maybe have it be styled in an SMAU format? It’ll have a lot of texting in it but I wanna know what you guys think
Should the next part of Surface Pressure be styled as an SMAU?
Yeah
No
Hybrid? Part of it’s SMAU, part of it’s written
I don’t care
I’m only here for the results
If you have any ideas or suggestions, comment!!!
Voting ended onAug 5
The next part will have the build up to the official Jack and Robby confrontation - I’d love to hear what you guys think!
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Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 3,235
Series Masterlist || Masterlist
You’d taken the day off, which was strange in and of itself since you rarely took days off for anything.
For years, your bakery had come first. There was always something that needed your attention—an order to fill, inventory to check, paperwork to finish, or a new recipe to test. Taking a day for yourself had always felt selfish somehow.
But then you’d met Jack.
Somewhere between late-night conversations, stolen mornings together, and his stubborn insistence that you deserved rest just as much as everyone else, you’d started learning how to slow down.
Or at least attempt to.
Jack was always reminding you to take care of yourself. To eat something other than leftover pastry scraps and coffee. To get enough sleep. To take a breath every now and then instead of carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.
And if you couldn’t manage that yourself, he was more than willing to do it for you.
Jack loved taking care of you.
You’d learned that very early in your relationship.
Whether it was wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when you fell asleep on the couch, bringing you coffee before your alarm went off, or quietly taking over dinner when he could tell you’d had a long day, caring for you came as naturally to him as breathing.
Sometimes you caught him looking at you with that soft expression he got when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and it never failed to make your chest ache.
The ironic part, however, was that Jack never seemed interested in following his own advice.
He worked ungodly hours at the hospital. The Pitt always seemed to need him, and Jack had never been the type of man who could walk away from someone who needed help.
Then there was SWAT.
Every now and then, he’d still pick up shifts as their on-site medic.
Did that part worry you?
Absolutely.
Were you going to tell him to stop because every call-out took years off your life?
You’d certainly considered it.
More than once.
But no.
Because despite everything, Jack genuinely enjoyed it.
Not the danger. Not the violence.
The helping people part.
The making-a-difference part.
Over time, he’d made an effort to go out less often with the team. These days, he only stepped in when they were short-handed or desperately needed someone with his experience.
Still, every time his phone rang at odd hours, your stomach twisted.
Whenever he left, you’d kiss him goodbye and tell him to be careful.
And every time, he’d cup your face in his hands, press a kiss to your forehead, and promise he’d come home.
“Military training,” he’d say whenever you worried aloud.
“Being an ER doctor.”
“Being cool under pressure.”
As if that explained everything.
As if those things somehow made him invincible.
Jack always claimed he functioned best when things were chaotic. That while everyone else was panicking, his brain slowed down enough to focus.
You weren’t sure if that was a gift or something life had forced him to learn.
Probably both.
But regardless of where he went, regardless of whether he was heading into a packed trauma bay or responding alongside SWAT, there was one thing that never changed.
He always came home to you.
And if there was one thing Jack Abbot was good at, it was keeping his promises.
The thought made you smile as you curled deeper into the corner of the couch, enjoying the rare quiet of your day off.
For once, there were no customers waiting for pastries. No invoices sitting on your desk. No early morning alarms demanding you be at the bakery before sunrise.
Just a peaceful morning and the promise of Jack eventually walking through the front door.
Honestly, that was enough to make it your favorite kind of day.
Because even though you had no bakery orders to take care of today, you at least had one thing finished:
Jack’s birthday cake.
You’d been planning it for weeks.
Not anything extravagant or over-the-top. Just something thoughtful. Something made with love. Something worthy of the man who had walked into your life and somehow managed to turn it completely upside down in the best possible way.
The man who made you laugh when you were stressed.
The man who never forgot to kiss you goodbye before a shift.
The man who somehow convinced you that you deserved to be cared for just as much as everyone else.
The man who loved you unconditionally.
A soft smile tugged at your lips as you glanced toward the kitchen.
The cake sat safely beneath a clear cover on the counter, hidden away until later.
You’d had to be sneaky about it.
Jack wasn’t exactly the easiest person to surprise. Between years in the military, working in emergency medicine, and simply being observant by nature, he seemed to notice everything.
So you’d enlisted help.
After a particularly embarrassing amount of subtle questioning and a few failed attempts at casually bringing up birthdays, you’d finally cornered Robby and Dana during a delivery to the Pitt.
Neither of them had been particularly subtle once they'd realized what you were doing.
Dana had immediately smiled.
Robby had grinned like he'd just been handed classified information.
“Planning something for our favorite grumpy old doctor?” he'd asked.
You’d rolled your eyes.
“He’s not old.”
“Sure,” Robby had said, completely unconvinced.
“Aren’t you five years older than him?” you’d teased.
Thankfully, they’d eventually given you the information you needed.
From there, you’d spent nearly the entire morning in the bakery.
The familiar sounds of mixing bowls, timers, and whirring mixers had filled the quiet hours before sunrise. Flour had somehow ended up on your shirt, your cheek, and the tip of your nose despite your best efforts.
Not that Jack would have been surprised.
He often joked that you left a trail of flour behind you like breadcrumbs.
By the time you’d finished decorating, your feet hurt, your kitchen looked like a small baking-related disaster zone, and you’d never been happier with how a cake turned out.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was Jack.
Simple. Thoughtful. Comforting.
Exactly the kind of thing he’d appreciate.
Because Jack wasn’t someone who cared about grand gestures.
He’d made that very clear.
At his age, he’d told you more than once, he preferred things lowkey.
A quiet evening.
Good food.
The people he loved.
That was enough.
Honestly, you thought that was one of the reasons you loved him so much.
After everything he’d been through, after all the years he’d spent taking care of everyone around him, Jack never asked for much.
Which only made you want to spoil him more.
Today, though, you were determined to keep things exactly how he’d like them.
Just the two of you.
A homemade dinner after he’s rested some.
A birthday cake.
Maybe a movie curled up together on the couch if he wasn’t completely exhausted from his shift.
Nothing fancy.
Just love.
And if you knew Jack at all, that would mean more to him than anything money could buy.
The thought warmed your chest.
A glance at the clock told you he still had a few hours left before he’d be home.
Plenty of time to finish setting everything up.
Though if you were being honest, the hardest part would probably be keeping the surprise a secret until then.
Jack had a frustrating habit of figuring things out before they happened.
Still, the image of his face when he saw the cake was enough motivation to keep trying.
Because if there was anyone worth celebrating, it was him.
When you heard the door unlock, you immediately sat up straighter on the couch.
Your stomach fluttered with nervous excitement as you glanced toward the front door.
You’d spent the last several hours waiting for him to get home, checking the clock far more often than necessary and making sure everything was ready. The cake was hidden, dinner ingredients waiting in the kitchen, and the decorations—minimal, just how he’d like them—were set up.
Now all that was left was Jack.
The door opened.
Jack stepped inside with a tired huff, closing it quietly behind him.
His backpack landed beside the door with a soft thud before he straightened, rolling one shoulder as though trying to work out the stiffness from a long shift.
Then he spotted you.
Immediately, his brows furrowed.
A small frown tugged at his lips as he checked the time on the wall clock before looking back at you.
“Sugar,” he rumbled, voice rough from hours of talking in a busy ER. “What’re you doin’ up?”
The concern in his voice made your heart squeeze.
You crossed the room before he could say anything else and wrapped your arms around him.
Jack barely had time to react before you buried your face against his neck.
“Happy birthday,” you murmured.
The effect was immediate.
Every ounce of tension seemed to drain from him.
The worried crease between his brows disappeared as his arms came around you, strong and familiar, pulling you firmly against his chest.
His nose brushed the top of your head as he held you.
Jack took a slow breath, then another, settling into the embrace as though he’d finally reached the safest place in the world.
You felt his shoulders loosen beneath your hands.
Felt him melt.
“Oh, baby,” he huffed, pressing a kiss into your hair. “You didn’t have to stay up for this.”
You only hugged him tighter.
“’Course I did.”
A quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest.
The sound made you smile.
Jack tipped his head down, resting his cheek against your hair for a moment. Neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in letting go.
After a long shift, this was always his favorite part of coming home.
You.
Not the apartment. Not his bed.
You.
Being able to hold you, hear your voice, feel your heartbeat against him and know that you were safe.
That he was home.
You tilted your head back slightly.
“You want anything for breakfast?”
Jack hummed thoughtfully.
His eyes drifted shut.
Honestly, he wasn’t even listening to the question anymore.
He was too busy enjoying the feeling of you in his arms.
The warmth of your body pressed against his.
The familiar scent of vanilla and sugar that always seemed to cling to you no matter how much time you'd spent away from the bakery.
The steady rise and fall of your breathing.
His Sugar.
God, he loved you.
More than he'd ever thought possible.
Especially on mornings like this.
Quiet mornings.
Simple mornings.
Mornings where he got to come home and find you waiting for him.
“I’m okay,” he mumbled eventually, his voice softer now.
One of his hands slid up your back.
He pressed another kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to look down at you.
The exhaustion in his eyes was still there, but it was softened by something warm.
Something undeniably fond.
“I love you.”
The words came easily.
Naturally.
As though saying them was as necessary as breathing.
His thumb brushed gently along your side.
“Best part of my birthday’s already happened.”
A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I got to come home to you.”
You smiled and reached up, cradling Jack’s jaw in your hand.
The stubble along his cheek tickled your palm, familiar and comforting.
Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“Go lay down,” you sighed against his mouth before pulling back slightly. “I’ve got a surprise for you when you wake up.”
Jack immediately followed you.
His lips brushed yours again, unwilling to let you get very far.
A low hum rumbled in his chest as he chased another kiss, one hand settling against your waist.
“You don’t need to do that, baby.”
His mouth found the corner of your lips, lingering there as a small smile tugged at his own.
“I just need you.”
The sincerity in his voice made your heart melt.
It wasn’t a line.
It never was with Jack.
After everything he’d been through, after all the years before you’d met him, he’d never been particularly interested in gifts or celebrations. What mattered to him was time. Presence. The people he loved.
And somehow, unbelievably, you had become one of those people.
His favorite person, if his coworkers were to be believed.
You laughed softly as he pressed another lingering kiss near the corner of your jaw.
“Jack.”
His arms tightened around your waist.
“Nope.”
“Jack.”
A sleepy grin spread across his face.
You could practically see the exhaustion catching up to him now that he was home and no longer running on adrenaline.
“You said breakfast.”
“I did. You said no.”
“You said surprise.”
“I did.”
His grin widened.
“And now you’re trying to get rid of me.”
You laughed outright at that.
“I’m trying to get you to sleep.”
Jack rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his eyes drifting shut.
For someone who spent every night taking care of everyone around him, he was remarkably stubborn whenever someone tried to take care of him.
Especially when that someone was you.
“Sleep sounds pretty good,” he admitted reluctantly.
“That’s because you’ve been awake for over twelve hours.”
“Details.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately.
“Go.”
A dramatic sigh escaped him.
The man had faced trauma activations, military deployments, and SWAT callouts with less resistance.
Still smiling, you gave his chest a gentle push.
“Bed. Now.”
Jack caught your hand before you could pull it away and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
“Yes, ma’am.”
You snorted.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m serious.”
His tired eyes softened as he looked at you.
For a moment, all teasing disappeared.
The affection there was enough to make your chest ache.
“Thank you, Sugar.”
The nickname came out quiet.
Warm.
Grateful.
Before you could respond, he leaned down and stole one last kiss.
Slow.
Gentle.
The kind that made you smile against his mouth.
Then, finally, he stepped back.
“You better be here when I wake up.”
You laughed.
“Where else would I go?”
Jack considered that for a second before nodding.
“Good.”
Satisfied with that answer, he squeezed your hand once more before heading toward the bedroom.
You watched him disappear down the hallway, your smile growing.
The cake was hidden.
The surprise was ready.
And for the first time all morning, keeping the secret felt worth it.
Because you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized what you’d planned.
Jack wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep.
Long enough that the exhaustion dragging at his bones had eased, at least a little.
Long enough that he’d drifted into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that only seemed possible when you were nearby.
What finally pulled him awake wasn’t an alarm.
It was the smell.
His eyes blinked open slowly.
For a moment, he simply lay there, breathing it in.
Cooking meat. Roasted vegetables. Herbs and spices.
Something warm. Comforting.
Homemade.
His stomach immediately growled in response.
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.
Carefully, he pushed himself upright.
The house was quiet except for the faint sounds drifting from the kitchen. The clink of utensils. Cabinet doors opening and closing. The occasional hum that sounded suspiciously like you singing to yourself.
A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
Grabbing his crutches, he stood and steadied himself before making his way down the hallway.
The closer he got, the stronger the smell became.
And then he reached the doorway.
Jack stopped.
For a moment, he simply watched.
You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, completely at home in the space.
The afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows painted everything in soft gold, catching the loose strands of hair that had escaped whatever attempt you’d made to keep it back.
You were focused on whatever was simmering on the stove, occasionally checking another dish waiting on the counter.
Comfortable.
Happy.
Home.
A feeling settled heavily in Jack’s chest.
The two of you had officially moved in together a few months ago.
Even now, he sometimes caught himself marveling at it.
At the fact that you were here.
That he got to come home to you.
The transition had felt surprisingly natural.
You’d already spent most nights at his apartment anyway. There had already been a drawer full of your clothes in his bedroom, your favorite mug in the cabinet, baking supplies slowly invading his kitchen.
Eventually he’d looked around one day and realized you were already part of every corner of his life.
Asking you to move in had simply made it official.
“You know,” your voice called without turning around, “staring is rude.”
Jack blinked.
A smile spread across his face.
“What is all this?” he asked, glancing around at the spread taking shape on the counters.
The answer came so casually that it caught him off guard.
“Your favorite.”
Jack looked at you.
You shrugged.
“Robby told me.”
His eyes wandered over the kitchen again, taking in details he’d been too distracted by you to notice at first.
The roasting pan in the oven.
The vegetables waiting to be finished.
The stack of plates you’d already set out.
Then his gaze landed on the cake sitting proudly in the center of the table.
Jack stopped.
It wasn’t extravagant.
No towering layers or elaborate decorations.
Just a simple, beautiful cake that looked unmistakably homemade.
His cake.
He recognized the care in it immediately. The smooth frosting. The little details carefully added by hand. The kind of work that took time and patience.
Time that you’d spent on him.
“Sugar…”
The nickname came out quieter this time.
You followed his gaze and immediately smiled.
“Oh.”
A hint of nervousness crept into your expression.
“I made that this morning.”
Jack stared at the cake for another moment before looking back at you.
“You made me a cake.”
It sounded almost like he was trying to process the fact.
You laughed softly.
“That’s usually what people do on birthdays.”
“Not like this.”
His voice was gentle.
Because this wasn’t something picked up from a bakery shelf at the last minute.
You were the bakery.
Which meant every detail had been intentional.
Every ingredient chosen carefully.
Every decoration added by hand.
Every hour spent making it.
For him.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
Warm.
Overwhelming.
Dangerously close to emotional.
You noticed immediately.
“Jack.”
He blinked and looked back at you.
The smile on your face softened.
“You didn’t need to get all sentimental on me yet. You haven’t even seen the inside.”
A surprised laugh escaped him.
“There are more surprises?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Without thought.
As natural as breathing.
Jack looked at the cake once more before his gaze returned to you.
The food.
The decorations.
The cake.
The effort.
The obvious care that had gone into every detail.
All for him.
For his birthday.
For no reason other than the fact that you loved him.
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Pairing: Jack Abbot x F!Reader || Past!Michael “Robby” Robinovitch x F!Reader
Summary: It’s all coming together. But some of those pieces just don’t fit.
Series Warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Fears and anxieties. Panic attacks. Language. Unplanned pregnancy. Post-break up of situationship. Robby being Robby (disrespectfully). Reader internalizes a lot of their emotions. Tensions. Possible arguments. Guilt. Reader does not like asking for help. Insecurities. Jack being the man he is (respectfully). Jack wanting to take care of reader. Slow burn. Older man x younger woman trope (unspecified age gap). No use of Y/N. Unspecified race and physical descriptions. Mentions of loss of limb. Medical inaccuracies. Mentions of loss of spouse. Mental health. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
I know these chapters aren’t the longest. I hope y’all are okay with that. I’m trying to make them a smidge longer the more chapters I write, but it’s like my brain hits a block after a certain number 😅 either way, I hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 2,714
Series Masterlist || Masterlist
<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->
You paused just outside the deli’s entrance.
The glass door reflected your hesitant expression back at you. Your stomach tightened.
You swallowed thickly, trying to gauge whether you could actually make it inside without embarrassing yourself a second time.
Beside you, Jack reached for the door before glancing over his shoulder. His brows knit together slightly when he realized you hadn’t moved.
He didn’t say anything.
He simply waited.
The gesture alone eased some of the knot in your chest.
You let out a slow, unsteady breath before giving him a small nod. A tight smile tugged at your lips. “I think I’m okay,” you said.
Jack returned the nod and pulled the door open. Cool air drifted out to meet you. You took a tentative step inside. Immediately, the scent of food reached you.
Freshly sliced deli meat.
Sharp cheddar.
Warm bread.
Pickles soaking in brine.
Unlike the diner, there wasn’t a wall of grease or sizzling bacon waiting to ambush you the moment you crossed the threshold.
The smell of meat hit first.
Your stomach gave an uncomfortable roll. You stopped instinctively, breathing carefully through your nose. The nausea stirred. Not as violently as before, just enough to make your pulse quicken.
You closed your eyes for the briefest moment.
Okay. I can handle this.
Another breath.
The scent of cheese lingered beneath everything else, followed by fresh vegetables and bread cooling on nearby racks.
Manageable.
Your shoulders loosened a fraction.
When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself taking in the room.
It wasn’t crowded. A handful of customers stood near the counter, chatting with the employees as sandwiches were wrapped in crisp white paper. Someone laughed near the soda cooler.
The low hum of conversation felt oddly comforting.
Jack fell into step beside you without saying a word. Close enough that you knew he was there. Far enough away that you never felt like he was watching your every move. It struck you, not for the first time, how good he was at giving people space.
“You okay?” he asked. His voice was quiet. Gentle. Not because he thought you were fragile, but because he genuinely wanted to know.
You nodded. “I think so.”
Jack studied you for a second, as though deciding whether to believe you. Eventually, he gave a small nod of his own.
“Good,” he said. He gestured toward the counter. “You want to order together?”
You looked up at him.
There wasn’t any expectation in his expression.
No impatience.
No hint that you were taking too long.
He wasn’t trying to hurry you.
He was giving you the choice.
The realization settled warmly in your chest.
You’d spent so much of the last few weeks feeling like your life was no longer yours to control. Every decision suddenly carried impossible weight. This, ridiculously small as it was, didn’t.
You found yourself relaxing another fraction.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’d like that.”
As the two of you made your way toward the counter, you caught yourself glancing sideways at him.
Jack wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was reading the menu board with the same concentration he’d probably give a patient’s chart. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, that made you smile.
By the time the two of you reached the register, the awkwardness from the grocery store had eased into something…comfortable.
Not familiar.
Not quite.
But easier.
Jack ordered first, stepping aside while you stared at the menu longer than necessary. Nothing sounded particularly appetizing, but the turkey sandwich seemed the least offensive.
When the cashier totaled everything, you instinctively reached for your wallet.
Jack was faster.
“You don’t have to—”
“I asked.”
“Jack.”
“You said one meal.”
“I can still pay for mine.”
He looked at you with an expression that was almost amused. “You really don’t like people buying you things, do you?” he asked.
Heat crept into your face. “I don’t like feeling like I owe people,” you emphasized.
“You don’t.”
He handed the cashier his card before you could protest again.
The conversation was clearly over.
You let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll remember this.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“You’ve become my financial enemy.”
Jack chuckled. “I’ll survive.”
By the time your sandwiches were wrapped, the two of you settled at one of the small outdoor tables just beyond the deli’s entrance.
The morning breeze was cool against your skin. It helped.
The fresh air made eating feel far less daunting than it would’ve inside.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
You unwrapped your sandwich carefully, taking a tentative bite. It stayed down.
Relief washed over you.
Jack noticed the tiny exhale that escaped you afterward. He pretended not to. Instead, he focused on unwrapping his own lunch.
After another quiet minute, he spoke, “So…” You looked up. “You and Robby.”
The words weren’t accusatory.
Just…careful.
Your appetite faded almost immediately.
“There isn’t a ‘me and Robby,’” you stated. The flatness of your voice surprised even you.
Jack nodded slowly. “That’s kind of what Dana implied.”
A humorless laugh escaped you. “Nothing gets past her.”
“No.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “She’s basically everyone’s unofficial mom.”
“Whether we ask for it or not.”
“Especially when we don’t.”
That earned the smallest smile. It disappeared almost as quickly as it’d come.
Jack rested his forearms against the table, his voice soft, “If something happened…” He chose his words carefully. “…I’d hope you’d tell somebody.”
Your eyes stayed fixed on your sandwich. “I’m a big girl,” you stated.
“I know.”
“I don’t need to make this mess any more complicated.”
Jack frowned slightly. “Looking out for yourself isn’t making things complicated.”
You didn’t answer.
He let the silence linger before speaking again.
“We both know how Robby can be.”
Your jaw tightened. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, “Yeah.” You picked absently at the edge of the sandwich wrapper. “I’ve learned that the hard way.”
The words came out quieter than you intended.
Jack’s stomach sank.
He didn’t know what Robby had done.
But whatever it was, it had hurt you.
Badly.
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” You shook your head. “I’ve spent enough time thinking about him.”
Your hand drifted unconsciously toward your abdomen before stopping halfway. You quickly folded both hands together in your lap instead.
“I have…” You searched for safer words. “…other things I need to focus on.”
Jack noticed the hesitation. He noticed the aborted movement, too. Not enough to understand it. Just enough to file it away.
“Like getting better?” he asked.
You looked down.
If only it were that simple.
If only a few days of sleep and decent meals could fix everything.
You nodded anyway. “Something like that.”
Jack wasn’t convinced.
But he also recognized the look on your face.
The conversation had reached a wall. Pushing harder wouldn’t help either of you.
After another few bites, you carefully folded your sandwich wrapper closed.
“I should probably head home,” you announced.
“You don’t have to rush off on my account.”
"I know,” you said, offering him a tired smile. “But you just worked twelve hours. Possibly longer.” Your eyes drifted toward the grocery bags resting beside his chair. “And you still have to carry all of that,” you added.
Jack looked down at the bags before giving a small, amused huff. “When you put it like that…”
“You should get some sleep.” There was genuine concern in your voice now. “I’ve seen what you look like after back-to-back shifts.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“You scared a med student once.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I was concentrating.”
“You were glaring.”
“I have a focused face.”
You laughed. An actual laugh this time. It lasted only a second.
But it was enough to make Jack smile in return.
He found himself thinking, She should laugh more.
The realization caught him off guard. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you look this relaxed. Even if it was only for a moment.
“How’d you get here?” Jack asked as the two of you gathered your trash.
“I took an Uber.” You pulled your phone from your pocket. “I’ll just call another one.”
“I’ll drive you.”
Your head snapped up.
“Jack.”
“What?”
“You just got off a twelve-hour shift.”
"So?"
“So,” you repeated, “you should be going home.”
“I will. After I drive you.”
You let out an exasperated sigh. “No.”
Jack blinked. “…No?”
“I’m not making you drive across the city after working all night.”
“It isn’t a big deal.”
“It is to me.” You unlocked your phone, already opening the rideshare app. “I can wait,” you said offhandedly.
“I don’t like the idea of you waiting out here by yourself.”
“I’ll survive.”
Jack studied you. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.
Jack wondered how many years you’d spent convincing yourself you had to handle everything alone. Too many, judging by the way you automatically rejected every offer of help.
He tried one last time.
“I really don’t mind.”
“I know.” You looked up from your phone, offering him a small smile. “And that’s exactly why I’m saying no.”
He couldn’t help the amused huff that escaped him.
“So that’s final?” he asked.
“It is.”
Jack raised both hands in surrender.
“Alright. You win.”
You scoffed, “I usually do.”
“Oh?” Jack’s brows rose nearly to his hairline. A teasing smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re awfully confident.”
“I have to be.”
“You know,” he said, settling back into his chair, “you’re a lot more stubborn than I thought.”
You looked almost offended. “Only when I need to be.”
He laughed quietly. “I’ll remember that.”
“You should.”
Your phone buzzed. You glanced down at the screen and stated, “Twenty minutes.”
You looked back up at him.
“You don’t have to stay,” you stressed.
“I know.”
“You’ve got groceries.”
“I know.”
“You should probably get some sleep.”
“I know.”
Despite yourself, you smiled. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Silence settled comfortably between you.
The kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled.
Jack picked idly at the label on his water bottle.
“So.” He looked over at you. “Any big plans while you’re off?”
You hesitated.
The prenatal appointment flashed through your mind. Leni meeting you. Trying not to have a panic attack in the waiting room.
You forced your expression to stay neutral.
“Nothing exciting.”
He watched you for a second. “You sure?” he pressed.
You nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
The answer came too quickly. Too automatically.
Jack recognized it for what it was—a conversation ender. He chose not to push.
“I know you will,” he said.
You looked down at your phone again.
“My driver’s about twenty minutes away,” you repeated. Another pause. “You okay waiting that long?”
Jack gave a single nod. “I just want to make sure you get on alright.”
You smiled softly. “Thanks. For staying.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
The two of you slipped back into silence. Jack found himself watching the morning traffic roll by instead of checking the time.
His mind, however, refused to settle.
He thought about Dana’s concern.
About the rooftop.
About the grocery store.
The diner.
The way you’d hardened when Robby’s name came up.
The way you’d insisted you were fine while looking anything but.
Something wasn’t adding up.
He’d known Robby for years. Long enough to know his friend could be immature. Careless. Thoughtless, especially when it came to relationships.
But this? This felt bigger than a messy situationship ending badly. Whatever had happened between the two of you had left cracks that were impossible to ignore.
Jack frowned almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t interested in prying into your personal life.
But…
The next time he saw Robby, he had a feeling they were going to have a conversation. Whether Robby appreciated it or not.
The twenty minutes passed quicker than either of you expected.
Conversation came in comfortable bursts, interrupted by long stretches where neither of you felt the need to fill the silence.
It was…easy.
Surprisingly so.
Jack glanced toward you.
“You have my number?”
You looked up from your phone, confusion flickering across your face.
“…No.” A beat passed. “Why?”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Come here.”
Your brows drew together. “What are you doing?”
“Just come here.”
You hesitated before leaning across the table.
Jack held out his hand. “Your phone.”
You looked down at it suspiciously.
“…Should I be concerned?” you murmured.
“Only if you think I’m about to order myself expensive gifts.”
A quiet laugh escaped you. “You don’t strike me as an online shopping kind of guy.”
“You’d be correct.”
Still smiling faintly, you unlocked your phone and placed it in his outstretched hand.
Your fingertips brushed briefly against his palm.
His hands were warm. Rougher than you’d expected.
Calloused.
Years of life and medicine etched into skin that looked strong enough to hold far more than a cellphone.
You pulled your hand back a little too quickly.
Jack, thankfully, either didn’t notice or pretended not to.
He opened your contacts and began typing.
“In case you need anything.”
You frowned. “…Jack.”
He didn’t look up.
“I’m serious. What if I never text you?”
“Then you never text me.”
Simple.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You watched him save the contact before he finally spoke again.
“I’m not much of a therapist.” A small smile crossed his face. “I pay someone else to be good at that.”
You couldn’t help the quiet chuckle.
“I do, however—” He handed your phone back. “—talk to one every couple of weeks.”
You blinked.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Have been for a few years.”
There wasn’t an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. Just honesty.
“It helped after…” He paused. “…everything.”
He continued before the brief silence could become uncomfortable. “I think people get the wrong idea about therapy.”
You looked down at your phone.
His name now sat among your contacts.
Jack Abbot.
“I don’t think you have to be in the middle of a crisis.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sometimes it’s just nice having someone whose entire job is listening.”
You traced your thumb absently over his contact.
“I appreciate it.” Your voice came out softer than you'd intended. “I haven’t really needed a therapist in a long time.”
Jack nodded. “I’m glad.”
There wasn’t any disappointment.
No attempt to convince you otherwise.
Just acceptance.
“But if that ever changes—” He gestured toward your phone. “—now you know someone who can point you in the right direction.”
You smiled faintly.
“I appreciate the concern.” You glanced at his contact before looking back up.
He gave a hint of a smile.
Before you could say anything else, your phone buzzed loudly in your hand.
Your driver has arrived.
A silver sedan pulled up to the curb. The driver’s window rolled down.
“Hey!” A woman leaned out, smiling. She called your name.
You stood, instinctively tightening your grip on your grocery bag. Jack stood with you.
“That’s me.” You turned back toward Jack. “I should…” Your voice trailed off.
He nodded before you could finish.
“I know.”
For a second, neither of you moved. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because saying goodbye suddenly felt…awkward.
Not uncomfortable.
Just unfinished.
“Thank you.” The words came quietly. “For the food. And…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “…everything.”
Jack offered one of those small, reassuring smiles that seemed to come so naturally to him.
“Get some rest.”
You nodded. “I’ll try. And…you too.”
Jack gave a single nod.
He watched as you walked toward the waiting car.
Halfway there, you looked back.
Jack was still standing exactly where you’d left him, waiting until he knew you were safely inside.
Only after the car door shut behind you and the vehicle pulled away from the curb did he finally turn toward the grocery store, toward his own truck.
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain…
He found himself hoping you’d actually use his number someday. Not because something had gone wrong, but because you wouldn’t have to face it alone.
