"I know I made you come here, but there's no need for that grumpy face," Allie whispered, pacing back and forth to avoid standing still.

You just smiled and took a sip of water.

"Okay, tell me what's wrong"

"Besides the fact that I'm pregnant? Oh, nothing, I'm great."

Two girls who were walking past you gave you a strange look before continuing on their way.

"Oh my god, do you think they listen to me?." You said and drank more water.

Allie rolled her eyes at your nervousness.

"First, we don't even know those girls, second, don't go crazy"

Allie placed your glass on a table near you before taking your hand and pulling you into a small, empty, secluded room.

It was already routine for that girl to take you everywhere.

The room was small, not big enough to store things, and barely enough for the two of you and a few clothes hanging on the wall to fit.

"Look, maybe I've realized now that bringing you to a party wasn't my best idea, but I know there's something else on your mind because until a few minutes ago you didn't seem so worried."

You'd never heard your friend so serious, but it gave you a sense of security to see her so focused on you.

"Allie, if I tell you this, you'd better not scream."

"No yelling," she said, making a gesture of closing her mouth like a zipper. "I promise."

You inspected her face looking for something you clearly didn't find.

You took a breath and placed a hand on your forehead as if it were a support before dropping the bomb.

"The father of my baby is Dean"

Allie's eyes opened wide, and her jaw almost hit the floor.

"Are you referring to Dean di Laurentis? The same hockey player from Briar? The one who's out there like thirty paces away from us?"

"Do you know another Dean di Laurentis, Allie?"

"Okay, no, sorry, I'm not helping, but what? How is this possible?"

"Well, Allie, when two people feel mutual attraction for each other... "

"You know what I mean, it's just... wow, I just... I don't even know what to say"

"You should probably tell me something like, 'You're a loser who ended up pregnant by a stranger who doesn't even remember her.'"

"You're not a failure, honey, what you're going through could have happened to anyone." Allie took your hand from your forehead and squeezed it between hers. "Don't be so hard on yourself, okay?"

You closed your eyes for a second and let her words calm you down a little.

"Thank you, Allie"

"Now...are you going to tell him?"

"I was going to, but he didn't even recognize me when he saw me. And I'm... so scared, Allie. I don't know if I can do this, really. I want to tell him, but I don't know how he'll react.

"Listen... I know Dean. He might seem like a wrecking ball, and he's terrifying when he's on the ice, but he's a good person. And from everything you told me about the summer, you seem to know that well." allie step closer to you. "I know you're scared, and that's okay and normal because this isn't just any old thing you're dealing with. But you'll have to tell him sooner or later."

"I know, I will. It's just that I'll do it when I've fully processed it too."

"That's my girl," she said, and with a smile opened the door. "Now, let's enjoy what's left of this evening. Soon we'll be changing diapers and making feeding bottles instead of drinks."

“Wow, you really know how to cheer people up.”

“Cheering is my middle name.”

 You and Allie carried on as if nothing was wrong. 

On one hand, you tried to avoid Dean like your life depended on it, on the other, you seemed to be looking for him every second that passed. 

But you hid it well. If he was nearby, you looked away, until your body reacted when he walked by. If he spoke while you were both in the circle with the group, you ignored him, until he said a word similar to your name and you couldn't help but make a small jump. If he mentioned something he had done over the summer, you played dumb, until you realized you kept drinking to keep your mouth busy and not say anything. 

Well, maybe you weren't handling it as well as you thought. 

Hannah gave you a strange look when she noticed you kept touching your hair and tucking it behind your ear. Your friend knew you well enough to know that it was a normal thing you do when you were nervous. 

Allie, Hannah, and you looked at each other.

Allie raised an eyebrow as if to ask, “Can I?” and you nodded, not having the willpower to drop the bombshell on your own again. Allie, who was standing next to Hannah, leaned in and whispered something in her ear. It took two seconds for Hannah’s face to transform into a mixture of complete horror and confusion. She glanced at Dean, who was on the other side of the kitchen, then at you, then back at Dean again, before finally settling on your face and freezing. 

“Okay, I really wasn’t expecting this,” the redhead said when she found the words. 

“Me neither,” Allie chimed in. 

“Well, trust me, I didn’t plan this at all. I’m just as stunned as you are.” 

“And why are you stunned, ladies?” Garrett asked, appearing out of nowhere. 

He had one arm around Hannah’s shoulders and the other in his pants pocket. 

“Um, it’s just that…” his girlfriend tried to explain. 

“I’m stunned because I drank like 30 glasses of water and I still haven’t gone to the bathroom,” you said, almost slapping yourself. “And you know what? I think I have to go now, so… excuse me.” 

You squeezed past the three of them and headed upstairs, looking for an easy way out of the situation. You got in line for the bathroom; the 30 glasses weren’t a lie. Upstairs, the music was quieter, cooler, and you could breathe without the smell of alcohol clogging your nostrils. You leaned against the railing overlooking the stairs and waited with two other girls in front of you. You let your head fall back, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply. 

“Rough night?” they asked from behind you.

It had to be a joke. 

You squeezed your eyes shut before turning to the blond guy who seemed to be your new curse. 

“Just a little tired, let’s just say I was dragged here,” you managed to say without stuttering.

"Well, for me it was the opposite, I was the one who dragged the guys here", said Dean, and you almost melt at his perfect-toothed smile.

You were sure it had shone.

But you wanted the earth to swallow you up, just like you did with the news he had a right to know.

You didn't know whether to laugh at his comment, add something else, or leave the conversation there.

Dean titled his head slightly.

"So... " he said eventually, the corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked smile. "Have you survived your first week at Briar?"

he looked completely at ease, as if talking to strangers came as naturally as breathing.

You hated that.

Or maybe you hated how easy it made it for you to answer him.

You let out a breath through your nose.

"It's been... a week."

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, mostly to keep your hands busy.

If you looked nervous enough, maybe he'd assume it was because you were new.

He laughed quielty.

"That bad?"

You wouldn't imagine Dean

"I've gotten lost at least six times."

You said instead

"Only six?" he raised an eyebrown. "You're doing it better than i did."

He laugh was quieter this time

Warm.

Familiar.

And you wished it wasn't.

You looked at him, unconvinced.

"You?"

"Oh, absolutely." He nodded with fake confidence. "Second day on campus I walked into the women's locker room."

You narrowed your eyes, trying to decide wether he was joking or simply impossible to read.

Considering everything you new about him, which wasn't much, you chose both.

You blinked.

"No, you didn't."

"I did."

"You're lying."

He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense.

"I can't believe you'd accuse me of something like that."

"You have the face if someone who lies for fun."

Dean stared at you for a second before a grin slowly spread across his face.

"...Okay, maybe a little."

A laugh escaped you befoire you could stop it.

For first time this night, your shoulders relaxed.

Just for a second.

His expression softened almost instantly.

"There it is."

Your smile faltered.

"What?"

"That laugh."

Your smile lingered for barely a second before reality settled back over your shoulders.

Dean tilted his head slightly, studying you with an amused expression.

"I've been trying to get that out since we started talking."

Why?

Why would he care whether you laughed?

To him, you were supposed to be a stranger.

But now he was looking at you as if every smile, every little expression, mattered.

dean leaned one shoulder against the wall, his fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of his beer bottle.

"You know..." he said, his eyes drifting over your face for a brief moment. "I wasn't sure it was you."

Your smile disappeared.

"...Me?"

He nodded once.

"From the summer."

Your pulse came to a screeching halt.

For a split second, all you cold hear was the music doenstairs and the blood rushing in your ears.

He remembered.

He actually remembered.

You had spent weeks convincing yourself that you had been nothing more than another girl. Another party. Another summer night he'd probably forgotten before the sun came up.

Apparently, you had been wrong.

Dean scratched the back of his neck, almost sheepish.

"I kept thinking, 'There's no way that's her... then you laughed." His gaze met yours once more.

Something inside your chest tightened painfully. It wasn't just that he remembered your face. He recognized your laugh, just as you remembered his jokes, the softness of his touch, and the calluses that roughened his fingertips.

The realization made your throat go dry.

"I..." you sallowed, forcing yourself to look away. "I didn't think you'd recognized me."

He frowned, like the idea of that surprised him.

"Why would't I?"

Because that's what people like you do.

Because it was just one night.

Because you left without asking for my last name.

The words piled up behind your teeth, but none of them came out.

Instead, you gave him a small shrug.

"I don't know."

Dean studied you another second. There was something in his face that you couldn't quite place.

Something between curiosity, confusion or even relief.

"I looked for you, actuallt."

"You did?"

"I went back the next day."

His smile turned almost apologetic.

"But, well, you were already gone."

The floor suddenly felt unsteady beneath your feet.

You had thought about going back too, more than once. But life had gotten in the way bfore you'd even had the chance.

Neither of you said anything. The silence wasn't umcomfortable but heavy, maybe too heavy.

Your phone vibrated inside your pocket.

The sudden sound made you jump.

Relief wshed over you so quickly you almost laughed.

Saved.

You pulled your phone out with slightly trembling hands.

Allie: Where the hell are youuu?'? Hannah and I lost you.

Perfect.

You slipped the phone back and looked at Dean.

"I should probably go."

His smile returned, softer this time.

"Your friends?"

You nodded and gifted his a smile like his.

"They're probably wondering if I got kidnapped."

He chuckled.

"Well... I'm glad I found you before they did."

Your heart almost squeezed.

Almost.

This time your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.

"It was nice seeing you again."

"The same goes for you... um, I'll see you around." he said.

You turned, ready to head back to the party. But then he called your name before you'd taken a step. You looked over your shoulder.

Dean shited his weight, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck.

"This might sound a little random.."

He let out a small breath, almost laughing at himself.

"Would it be weird if I asked for your number?"

"My number"

Shut up you butterflies, you thought when you felt that familair snese in your stomach.

"Yeah." He shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I mean... you live with Allie and Hannah now, right?"

You nodded slowly.

"We're all probably poing to end up hanging out sooner or later." His eyes never left yours. "It'd be easier than making them play messenger every time."

He made it sound practical burt the slight pink tint creeping up his neck betrayed him.

He was nervous

You couldn't remember the last time that someone had asked your number with that much genuine hestitation.

"Sure" Youy heard yourself saying.

His face brightened instantly.

"Really?"

"Really."

You took his phone when he held it to you. Your finger brushed for the briefest second. It was barely a touch. Yet it was enough to bring back flashes of warm summer nights, salt in the air, and hands that had once held yours for reassons entirely different.

You quickly typed your number before handing the phone back. Dean looked down at the screen, the corner of his lips curled upward.

"Guess I won't have to rely on Aliie after all."

"Guess not."

"I'll text you." He said, looking at you again after he put his phone away.

Your heart skipped.

"Okay."

On this occasion, when you turned to leave, neither of you stopped the other.

You didn't dare tell him, not yet. You knew that eventually you'd have to drop the bomb, but you weren't ready yet.

me partí la espalda escribiendo esto y ni siquiera me gustó, pero era eso o actualizar la historia en 2035 perdón x tardar tanto <3

you are sitting completely alone in the bathroom of your small rented apartment.

still in pajamas.

the sun barely peeking through the curtains of the window next to the bathtub.

you look at the test in disbelief. it can't be real.

but the other one resting in the washbasin says exactly the same thing.

you're pregnant and you don't even have a partner.

two weeks later, with the secret hanging by a thread and your two best friends inviting you to live with them, you feel less alone.

"okay, let's recalculate. you said you had a summer fling with a guy, you did what anyone would have done, and now here we are". allie said, taking a sip of her freshly brewed, hot coffee.

"allie! don't say it like that!" hannah scolded her.

"that's okay, hann, after all, that's what happened". you said.

"do you know his name?" hannah asked. "you know it's not just your responsibility."

"that's the thing. we never told each other our names."

"what university did he go to? his hobbies? anything?" allie inquired, trying to help.

"i don't know. i remeber he's blond and tall, he's in shape, and that's all I know."

"aww, imagine a baby with your curls and his blonde hair, they'd be like little golden curls!" hannah exclaimed excitedly.

"weren't we supposed to take it easy?" allie inquired sarcastically, looking at your friend with a raised eyebrow.

"i never said that, i'm just suggesting the baby could be extremely adorable."

"can we talk about something else?"

you suggested, trying not to laugh at your friends' antics.

"yes! let's talk about you studying at briar now!" allie shouted.

"we'll be able to see you every day!" your other friend pointed it out.

"i'm a little nervous, i can't stop thinking about how people will look at me in the months to come."

"you said you didn't want to talk about it anymore," allie pointed out.

"i know, but it's impossible not to think about it, i won't be able to handle this, especially not alone." your eyes filled with tears and you tried to wipe them away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but they came back and you could only smile.

"the thing is, you won't be alone, you have us," hannah promised, and allie nodded. "besides, when you meet the boys, they won't judge you."

"the boys?"

"our group of friends," sllie explained, "they can be annoying, but they're not bad."

you didn't quite know what to say. but what they could tell from the warmth in your eyes was that you valued them more than anything.

the first day of college after the holidays came faster than you were ready for. with the schedule as your phone's lock screen background and feeling incredibly nervous, you and the girls got ready to go out.

you spend the day half lost, half guided by the directions of some students you ask for help to get to the auditoriums. you find it extremely tiring to have to walk so much, and even more tiring to think that in a few months you'll be doing the same thing but with a huge watermelon as your belly.

after one of your classes, you went outside for some fresh air. the campus was chaotic. people were milling about, not even looking at each other, completely absorbed in their own world.

you were trying to read something on the document you had on your phone while you were walking through the crowd. until you bumped into someone.

"shit, sorry"

you said.

your notes fell to the floor.

a hand took them before you bent down.

"no problem"

a deep voice.

masculine.

you barely looked up.

"thank you," you murmured before snatching the papers from him and continuing on your way.

he stared at you as you left. something extremely familiar had caught his attention.

finally, he shrugged and continued on his way.

"i already told you i'm not going to the party"

"pretty pleaseee, my boyfriend doesn't want to go with me and the theme is matching costumes, i already bought them!" allie begged, holding up what you thought were very colorful clothes.

"besides, you need to clear your mind for a while, and what better way than a party?"

"i'm going to kill you"

"yes! i promise you won't regret it!"

she left the clothes in your hand and directed you to your room, closing the door once you were inside.

"it's going to look great on you!" she shouted from the other side of the door.

you let out a laugh and threw your clothes on the bed to start changing. you didn't think you were anything special, especially since the costume was green. but when you put it on and saw you were poison ivy, you were truly dazzled.

the costume fit in all the right places and your curls gave it the perfect touch.

maybe you did deserve to have a good time tonight.

as soon as you crossed the threshold of the house, the music and the warmth of the people enveloped you. allie, dressed as aarley quinn, gave you a squeeze in the hand and murmured a few comforting words before dragging you off to get drinks.

"i need something to drink before i regret coming here."

she said.

what you liked most about parties was how everyone seemed to be in their own world and didn't bother anyone, apart from the fights that usually broke out when people were already very drunk.

the sound of your boots echoed all the way to the kitchen where allie handed you a glass water.

"i hate being pregnant" you said watching the water.

"cheers," she said before almost finishing the glass.

you let out a sigh before following her lead and drinking from your glass.

you were putting the glass down on the counter when you heard laughter behind you.

an extremely familiar laugh.

you froze.

no.

you turned around slowly.

a group of boys who had just arrived in the kitchen were laughing about something, and there, leaning against the door, was him.

the world seemed to stop.

it was him. the summer boy. the father of your baby.

just a few steps away.

"are you okay?" allie asked.

you didn't answer.

"move, dean, you're blocking the entrance," someone said.

dean.

that was his name.

and he studied at the same university, the one you had transferred to.

the universe had an incredible sense of humor.

"oh! come, i want to introduce you to my friends." allie dragged you by the wrist again towards the group of boys.

oh no.

nonononononononono!

"hey guys, this is my roommate, lifelong friend, and new transfer to Briar."

everyone introduced themselves. you heard many names, greetings, and wishes of luck. but you stopped paying attention when he looked at you.

he looked at you strangely, as if he recognized you but not quite. he inspected your face, and you froze.

not in here.

please.

please, not here

but he shook his head and with a bright smile. he introduced himself and you finally learned his full name.

dean di laurentis.

"well, welcome to briar."

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⸝⸝⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⸝⸝⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⸝⸝⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⸝⸝⋆｡𖦹

i'm definitely going to do a part two of this, only i might publish it a century from now...

i hope you liked it, read you soon! <3

Dinner had gone well, Mimi was especially pleased to see her favorite grandson’s girlfriend. Beau’s dad had offered to drive you both back to campus. The two of you using the evening to relax and have a couple of drinks in honor of Mimi. Beau held the backdoor of his Dad’s SUV open for you. You giggle slightly.

“Why thank you kind sir.” You say in your best posh accent. Beau grins at you, you’re both a little tipsy, and you know exactly what kind of fun you’ll be getting into when you get back to campus. Most likely your dorm, considering you opted out of the roommate situation.

You expect Beau to get in the passenger seat next to his Dad, but he doesn’t. Instead he slides in next to you.

“Oh babe, you don’t have to sit back here with me. You can sit up front with your Dad.” You say.

“Nah, then you’ll be all alone back here.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You hardly have any leg room!” You laugh. Beau just smiles at you.

“I’m fine, really. I want to set back here with you.” He says. Beau’s dad climbs into the drivers seat.

“Feel like I need a chauffeur hat.” He says. You and Beau both laugh, settling into the backseat for the hour long drive back to campus.

Snow drifts lazily through the glow of the headlights, just enough to dust the road. The car is warm, and you can’t help but feel drowsy as you lay your head on Beau’s shoulder. His arm wraps around your shoulders as he chats with his Dad. He’s in the rear passenger seat and you’re in the middle, having migrated to snuggle into him.

“Told you she’d be asleep before we got home,” Beau says. His dad chuckles, glancing in the rearview mirror, his heart sweeping at the sight of his son so utterly in love.

Beau smiles without looking up.

“She’s had a long week.” Beau offers.

“School?” Beau’s father asks.

“Yeah.” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “She’s been studying like crazy, and tutoring other students.” His dad nods knowingly.

“She’s a keeper.” His dad says. Beau’s smile grows.

“I know.” He tells his father. You let out a sleepy sigh, unconsciously burrowing even closer into him. He chuckles under his breath before pressing a kiss against the top of your head. Outside, snow continues to fall. The highway is nearly empty. Until it’s not. All to quickly a deer sprints across the road, causing Beau’s father to hit the breaks. The car slides as it hits a patch of black ice. Your eyes flutter open at the movement.

“Beau?” You ask, voice still sleepy. His gaze snaps toward you, your head resting on his shoulder. And the lack of a seatbelt across your lap. You’d moved to the middle to snuggle up to him and forgone your seatbelt about 20 miles ago. The world outside the windows is spinning. Snow. Trees. The guardrail rushing toward them.

Beau’s stomach drops. You’re not buckled and things are about to be very bad. He doesn’t think. One arm hooks around your waist, hauling you flush against his side. His other hand cradles the back of your head, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. He curls around you as much as the cramped backseat allows. Every instinct he has screams the same thing. Protect her and hold on. The SUV spins across the highway before the car slams into the guardrail with a sickening crunch.The passenger side takes the brunt of the collision. Glass explodes inward.

You let out a startled cry, instinctively curling tighter against him. Metal shrieks. The SUV ricochets away from the barrier. It spins again, hitting more ice.

The oak tree fills the windshield. Beau tightens his hold. The front passenger corner takes the full force of the impact. The sound is deafening. Airbags erupt. The engine compartment folds inward. The violent force throws the cabin sideways.

Beau twists with it, wrapping himself around you as the passenger side caves in. Something in his right leg gives with a sickening crack. Pain explodes through him. His shoulder slams into the interior. His ribs scream. Even then his arms never loosen.

It’s late when Dean gets a call.

His phone buzzes across the kitchen island just as he and Allie are about to head upstairs for the night. Allie is curled up on the couch beside him, half-watching a movie, half-scrolling through her phone. He almost ignores the call.

Unknown Number.

He answers anyway.

“Hello?” He asks.

“Is this Dean Di Laurentis?” A professional female voice asks. His stomach tightens instantly a feeling of dread

“Uh, yeah.” He says, sitting up on the couch. Beside him Allie straightens reading her boyfriend’s body language.

“My name is Rachel. I’m a registered nurse at Briar Memorial Hospital. I’m calling because your name is listed as the emergency contact for Miss Y/N Heyward Di Laurentis…”

Dean goes completely still.

“and Mr. Beau Maxwell.” Dean’s face turns stoic.

Allie immediately looks up from the couch. She knows that expression.

“What happened?” Dean asks, already standing.

“There was a motor vehicle collision. EMS transported both patients to our emergency department a short time ago.” Dean’s face drains of color, the worst possible scenario going through his mind.

“Are they alive?” He asks.

“Yes, sir. They’re both alive.”

The breath Dean lets out is shaky.

“But they’re both being evaluated by our trauma team. We recommend you come to the hospital as soon as possible.” The nurse says.

“We’re leaving now.” Dean says, motioning to Allie. She grabs his keys and slips on her shoes.

The call ends.

“What happened?” Allie asks, already grabbing her purse before he can answer. Dean runs a hand through his hair.

“They were in a wreck.” He says, voice shaky. Allie’s eyes widen.

“Oh my God…” she breathes. He doesn’t wait another second, he takes his keys from her hands her one of his hoodies and ushers her out the front door.

“Come on.”

Neither of them says much during the drive. Dean’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel. Allie had tried to convince him to let her drive but he felt like he needed to be in control.

Allie reaches across the center console, quietly resting her hand over his.

“They’re alive,” she says softly. “That’s a good sign.”

Dean nods, his little sister, his best friend both hurt, possibly near death.

The emergency department is controlled chaos when they rush through the sliding doors. Paramedics weave between trauma rooms. Monitors beep incessantly. Nurses move with practiced urgency. Dean barely makes it to the desk before speaking, he’s practically shaking.

“My sister was brought in after a car accident, and her boyfriend.” He explains.The receptionist nods.

“They’re both still being evaluated. A physician will update you shortly.” She says curtly. Dean starts pacing immediately. Allie stays close beside him, watching every set of trauma doors that swings open.

Then voices carry from just down the hallway. Two EMS providers are giving report to another nurse outside one of the trauma bays. Neither Dean nor Allie means to listen. But once they hear Beau’s name…

Neither of them can look away.

“Single-vehicle MVC. Driver lost control after hitting black ice trying to avoid a deer.” One says.

“Driver?” The nurse asks.

“Just some minor abrasions.” A paramedic updates.

“And the passengers?” The nurse inquires.

“The male in the rear passenger seat…” the paramedic checks his notes. “Beau Maxwell.”

“What about him?” The nurse asks.

“He took the majority of the impact.”

Dean feels Allie’s fingers tighten around his arm.

“He instinctively wrapped himself around the female passenger before the collision.”

The nurse blinks. “He shielded her?”

“Pretty much.” The paramedic says.

“Rear passenger side hit the tree.” He pauses.

“If she’d taken that impact instead…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.

Another nurse quietly says, “She would’ve been crushed.” The paramedic nods.

“He kept her against him the whole time. She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.” Allie covers her mouth, tears pricking in her eyes.

“Oh my God…” she whispers.

“He likely prevented her from being ejected or taking the direct intrusion from the passenger side.” Dean stares at the floor, swallowing hard. The paramedic continues.

“He has an obvious right femur fracture, multiple rib fractures, shoulder injuries, probable concussion.”

“And her?” The nurse asks expecting the worst.

“Bruised up pretty badly. Some facial lacerations, cuts from broken glass, we’re ruling out internal injuries…”

He gives a tired smile.

“Honestly, she’s doing far better than we’d expect from that mechanism.”

“Because of him?” One of the nurses asks.

“I’d bet my paycheck on it.” The paramedic says.

Dean feels his chest tighten. Beau hadn’t just been hurt. He’d put himself between his sister and a tree.

A trauma physician steps into the hallway.

“Dean Di Laurentis?” He asks.

Dean and Allie are both on their feet instantly.

“I’m Dean.”

The doctor offers a reassuring smile.

“They’re both stable.” He says. Dean exhales so sharply his knees nearly buckle. Allie grips his arm to steady him.

“But Beau will need surgery tonight for a fractured femur.” He explains. “I’ve already spoken with his father, he has you both listed as emergency contacts.” The doctor explains.

“And my sister?” Dean asks immediately.

“She’s bruised, cut up, and has what appears to be a mild concussion, but all of her scans look reassuring so far.” The doctor pauses.

“Considering the severity of the crash…” He glances toward the trauma bays. “…she’s incredibly lucky.”

Dean looks through the narrow window in the door. He spots his little sister first. Bandages. Bruises already blooming across her face and arms. But alive. Then his eyes drift to the next bay. Beau. Blood is streaked across his forehead, his brown eyes wild. His right leg is immobilized. His shoulder splinted. Three nurses trying to keep him flat on the stretcher, but he’s frantic.

“Where is she?” Beau rasps. One of the nurses gently presses him back down on the bed.

“Mr. Maxwell, you need to stay still.” One of the nurses says calmly. The look he gives her is heartbreaking.

“I can’t. I need to find her.” He says voice cracking.

“Honey, you need to calm down, we need to help you.” Another nurse coaxes. Beau looks like a wild animal, trapped in the trauma room. He tries to get out of bed wincing in pain. He spots Dean, that only makes him more frantic, tears spilling down his cheeks. It’s the adrenaline and shock and pure fear for her life that has him acting out.

“Dean! Dean! Is she okay, oh God is she okay?” Beau cries. One of the male nurses enters the room helping to hold down Beau’s arm as a nurse preps some medication. No doubt something to calm him down.

“Somebody tell me something.” Beau begs.

“She’s alive.” The male nurse offers. “They’re trying to help her in the next room, just like we’re trying to help you buddy.” He says. The medication hits Beau almost instantly, his body going limp, eyes heavy. Beau squeezes his eyes shut trying to blink off the sedation.

“Can I… can I see her?” He mumbles.

“Not yet.” One of the female nurses says.

“Please…” Beau slurs, his eyes shutting. Dean has known Beau for years. He’s seen him after devastating losses. After brutal practices. After his childhood dog Sparky died unexpectedly. He’s never seen him look this terrified. Allie quietly wipes away her tears, she’s trying to be strong for Dean, but seeing her friends hurt is killing her. Dean simply stares through the glass. Realization hitting him square in the face. He’d never doubted Beau loved you, but this was different. This was the kind of love that overrode fear, reason, and even self preservation.

In the next room over, your sobs echo through the thin hospital curtain. Hot tears stream down your cheeks as a doctor carefully examines the deep gash along your hairline, gently parting the blood-matted strands of your hair to assess the wound.

The doctor glances up as Dean rushes into the room.

“I’m sorry, unless you’re immediate family, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside,” he says, his tone professional but kind.

“She’s my little sister,” Dean chokes out, his voice cracking.

Without another word, he crosses the room and takes your hand, wrapping both of his around yours. The doctor’s gaze flicks briefly toward Allie as she quietly slips into the chair in the corner, but he doesn’t object. She offers you a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes are glassy with tears.

The physician turns his attention back to your head.

“Based on the depth of this laceration, it definitely needs to be closed,” he explains. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, calm and composed. Under almost any other circumstance, you might have thought he was cute.

“I can give you a couple of options. I can suture it, but because of where it’s located, I’d need to shave a section of your scalp first. Or…” He lifts a small sterile stapler from the tray. “We can close it with staples and avoid shaving your hair.”

Your eyes widen at your options, neither sounding particularly pleasant.

“Shave my head?” you whisper before the words dissolve into another sob. Dean’s grip tightens around your hand.

“No.” His answer is immediate. He looks the doctor square in the eye. “Clean it out, staple it, do whatever you have to do—but you’re not shaving my twenty-one-year-old sister’s head.” The doctor gives a small nod.

“Fair enough,” he says. “Some patients get a little uneasy about the staples, so I like to offer both options.”

He opens a drawer and pulls out a sterile staple kit, setting it on the tray beside you.

“I’m also going to numb the area first,” he adds reassuringly. “You’ll feel a few pinches from the anesthetic, but after that you should only notice some pressure. We’ll have this closed up in just a few minutes.”

The doctor snaps on a pair of gloves. Your mind races into a jumbled ball of incoherent thoughts.

“Is Beau?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, you can’t finish the sentence. Dean looks up from where he’s been holding your hand, his heart sinking.

“What happened to Beau?” You ask.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Truthfully, he doesn’t know and as much as he wants to tell you everything is okay he doesn’t want to give false hope.

“I…” He glances toward the doorway. “I don’t know yet.”

Allie is already on her feet.

“I’ll go find out.” She says. Dean nods gratefully, never once letting go of your hand.

“Thank you.” He tells her, she nods, eyes full of love and empathy.

She slips quietly into the hallway, leaving the room just as the doctor begins preparing the local anesthetic.

“I’m going to numb the area first,” the physician says. “You’ll feel a few pinches.” You don’t respond. Your eyes remain fixed on the doorway, willing Allie to come back. Every second feels like an hour. Dean rubs slow circles across the back of your hand.

“He’s tough,” he says softly. “If anyone can pull through this, it’s Beau.”

A few minutes later, Allie returns. She steps inside, her expression enough to make your stomach twist. She walks over, stopping beside the bed.

“I talked to Beau’s dad.” She says softly. You hold your breath preparing for the worst.

“He’s alive.” She assures quickly. The words release a fraction of the panic squeezing your chest.

“But…” you whisper. Knowing that it couldn’t be that easy. Allie nods gently.

“But he’s pretty banged up, a broken femur, several broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder.” She pauses. “They also think he may have some internal bleeding.” Your fingers tighten around Dean’s, you try to stop the tears from spilling but they come anyway.

“So they’re taking him into surgery,” Allie finishes quietly. “Actually…” She glances toward the clock. “He’s already there.” The room goes silent.

“It-it can’t be that bad,” you whisper, shaking your head. “He was talking to me.” Dean’s thumb brushes across your knuckles.

“The adrenaline probably kept him going.” Dean says softly. Your eyes immediately fill with fresh tears.

“He wrapped himself around me.” You say. Neither Dean nor Allie says anything.

“He…” Your voice breaks. “He held onto me the whole time. I-I didn’t have my seatbelt on.” You say choking on your sobs. Dean looks down, swallowing hard. A sob tears from your chest.

“This is all my fault.” You say.

“I’m going to staple now, try to stay still for me.” The doctor instructs. You close your eyes flinching at the sound of your head being stapled shut.

“No, it’s no one’s fault. It was an accident.” Dean’s answer is immediate.

“If I hadn’t climbed into the middle and taken my seatbelt off…” you trail off.

“No.” His voice is firm now. “This is not your fault.”

“I want to see him.” You say, even though you know he’s in surgery. Allie gently shakes her head.

“Not yet.” Allie reminds. “As soon as he’s out and the doctors say visitors are okay,” she promises, “we’ll take you straight to him.” You nod weakly, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“I just need him to be okay.” You whisper. Dean leans over and kisses your forehead, careful to avoid the wound.

“He knows you’re alive,” he says. “And I guarantee the first thing he’s going to ask when he wakes up is where you are.” For the first time since the crash, you manage the smallest, tearful smile.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “That sounds like Beau.”

The room is quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. You stop in the doorway. For a second, all you can do is stare at him. He’s pale, bruised, and wrapped in enough bandages to make your chest ache. His right leg is elevated in a bulky cast. His arm is secured in a sling. There are scrapes across his face and a small bandage near his hairline. But he’s here, and he’s alive, and he’s breathing, and he’s entirely yours. Dean gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Go on.” He en courages. You walk to his bedside, carefully slipping your hand into his. His parents had stepped out, Dean assuring them that he’d look after you and Beau. Almost immediately, Beau’s eyelids flutter. He blinks staring at you. Then he blinks again. You’re afraid for a split second that something horrible has happened, that he doesn’t remember you or something. His eyes finally find yours. He stares.

“Well…” he trails off, voice scratchy. You laugh nervously giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hi.” You whisper. Beau’s brown eyes assess you, another long stare.

“You’re really pretty.” He murmurs. You smile, heart beating erratically, maybe he didn’t remember you.

“You’ve said that before.” You tell him.

“I know.” He says nodding slightly.

“Worth saying again and again.” He tells you, his eyes shutting for a split second before he opens them again looking around the room. Dean snorts realizing that his best friend is absolutely zooted.

“He’s still on another planet.” Dean says. Beau barely seems to notice he’s in the room, his eyes drifting to his best friend for a half a second before fluttering back to you. He keeps looking at you.

“Did I die?” He asks seriously. You shake your head quickly.

“No, no baby.” You say reassuring him.

“You sure?” He asks you in disbelief.

“I’m positive.” You say with a slight laugh. He gestures weakly toward you, his hand just barely coming off of the bed, the oxygen sensor lighting his finger up red making him look like E.T.

“’Cause you look like an angel.” He tells you. Your eyes immediately sting, you can’t help but smile. Even high off his ass he’s sweet.

“Beau…” you say. He smiles lazily.

“Knew you’d come find me.” He mutters. Your heart squeezes in your chest. Then his eyes wander past you. He spots Dean. His face scrunches in confusion.

“How the hell did he get in here?” He asks looking back and forth between you and Dean. Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” Dean says feigning offense.

“I thought this was heaven.” Beau whispers to you. Your face scrunches in confusion.

“If this is heaven who the hell let him in? Someone’s getting fired.” Beau says seriously. Allie has to turn around because she’s laughing hysterically. Dean folds his arms.

“I’ve been sitting in this hospital for seven hours and these are the words you have to say to me? Wow, I’m hurt truly.” He says.

Beau looks genuinely confused.

“Dude I know the stuff you’ve done.” Beau says giving him a knowing look. Dean just shakes his head a smile on his face.

“I liked you better unconscious.” He says jokingly. Beau narrows his eyes weakly flipping him off. You laugh.

The nurse walks in with a warm smile, carrying another bag of fluid.

“Look who’s awake.” She says kindly. Beau looks over.

“Hi.” He says.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him. He thinks about it, pondering the question before he sighs.

“Not the best.” He admits. You laugh so do Dean and Allie. Even the nurse laughs.

“Any pain?” She asks.

“My whole body.” Beau replies. Your heart squeezes in sympathy. Your poor baby.

“We’ll fix that, I’ll bring you some pain medicine.” She says. She checks his IV before asking, “Need anything else before I go grab those meds?”

“Yeah.” He says.

“What is it?” She asks sweetly.

“I gotta pee.” Beau whispers. She smiles.

“You’re okay. You have a Foley catheter in. We’ll take it out tomorrow. But it’s peeing for you essentially.” She says. Beau nods.

“Cool.” He says. She checks something in the chart. Five seconds pass. He looks back at her.

“Hang on.” He says skeptically.

“Yes?” She asks.

“Take what out tomorrow?” He asks.

“The catheter.” She reiterates.

“Where is it?” He asks confusingly.

“It’s draining your bladder.” She explains. He nods slowly.

“Okay.” He says. His eyes suddenly get enormous.

“Oh.” He says realizing what that must mean. The room goes silent as he looks under the blanket, then back at the nurse.

“You mean to tell me…” he trails off. He points toward himself.

“There’s a tube in my penis?” He asks. The nurse nods calmly an amused smile on her lips, you can’t help tell she’s trying hard to stay professional.

“Yes.” She confirms. Beau stares at the ceiling contemplating his life.

“That is the worst news I’ve gotten all day.” He says with a sigh. Dean barks out a laugh.The nurse smiles sympathetically.

“We’ll take it out first thing tomorrow.” She assures. He looks at her.

“You’ve seen it?” He asks wide eyed. You bite back a laugh.

“I have.” She confirms.

“Man.” He says.

“It’s okay.” She assures him.

“I don’t really like people seeing it all…” He makes a vague motion with his hand.

“…noodley.” He says. Allie folds in half laughing. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Leaning forward you bury your face against Beau’s bed because you’re laughing too hard yourself. Dean has tears in his eyes.

“Noodley?” Dean asks through laughter.

“I don’t know, man.” He says. Beau shrugs.

“I wasn’t expecting company.” He says. The nurse pats his shoulder.

“Honey, I’ve seen more genitalia than a prostitute your is unremarkable.” She says. She starts toward the door signing out of the computer and sliding the glass door shut.

Beau stares at you.

“Well that doesn’t necessarily make me feel better.” He huffs. You bite back a laugh, running a hand through his hair gently.

“Baby, it’s very remarkable in my opinion.” You say.

“Did not need to hear that.” Dean mutters. Beside him Allie laughs.

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, you want anything?” Allie asks. You shake your head.

“I’ll go with you, you two behave. No funny business.” Dean says eyeing you down.

“Dude there’s a tube in my dick.” Beau says. You laugh covering your face with your hands. Allie and Dean walk out leaving you and Beau alone.

A moment passes before Beau glances down at his leg. He lifts the blanket an inch.

“Geez.” He huffs.

“What?” you ask.

“That’s my leg?” He asks.

“Unfortunately.” You say, grimacing at the sight of his poor leg. He stares at it.

“Fuck.” He mutters. “There goes the draft.” He says. You frown.

“Baby,” you begin, not sure what to say.

“Guess I’m just gonna have to be your trophy husband.” He says leaning his head back against the pillows.

“We’ll have to see what the doctor says baby, but you’re always welcome to be my trophy husband, NFL or not.” You say.

“Yeah…” Beau sighs dramatically.

“But now Mel Kiper’s gonna spend six months saying ‘if healthy’ every time he says my name.” He says. You laugh, he just survived a horrible wreck and of course these are the thoughts going through his head.

“And you will be healthy.” You say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I swear I hate that guy.” He mutters. You laugh so hard your head starts to ache. Beau hears it and looks back at you.

“There it is.” He grins.

“What?” You ask.

“Your laugh.” He says softly. He smiles, eyes already drifting closed.

“Missed that.” He murmurs. You squeeze his hand.

“I missed you too.” You say eyes welling with tears.

He hums sleepily, his eyes fluttering shut. “Still think you’re the prettiest girl in the room.” He murmurs.

“Baby I’m the only girl in the room, but that’s very sweet.” You say.

Beau doesn’t even open his eyes. Thirty seconds later, he’s asleep again, still holding your hand.

“Your entire Spotify sounds like someone’s divorced uncle buying a motorcycle.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and Dean pointed at you like he had just won something.

“See? She gets it.”

“I’m not getting involved,” you said, even as you kept smiling.

“You already did.” Dean dropped onto the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His attention shifting onto you was always dangerous. Dean with a target was impossible. “Actually, since you’re feeling honest tonight.”

“No.”

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“That’s why I’m saying no early.”

Allie grinned. “Smart girl.”

Dean ignored her. “Out of everyone in this house, who would you hook up with?”

Garrett groaned from the kitchen doorway. “Don’t start.”

“I’m curious.”

“You’re nosy,” Hannah corrected.

“I contain multitudes.”

You pressed your cup to your mouth to hide your smile, but that only made Dean’s eyes narrow with interest. He knew weakness when he saw it. Worse, he could smell embarrassment from across a room.

“Oh, you have an answer.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.” He leaned closer. “Look at her face.”

“My face is normal.”

“Your face is guilty.”

“It is not.”

“It’s very guilty,” Allie said, not helping at all.

You gave her a betrayed look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am. I just also want to know.”

From the kitchen, Tucker moved quietly around the counter, gathering empty bottles and tossing them into a trash bag because, of course, he was cleaning during a party he didn’t even throw alone. That was Tucker. He did things without announcing them, without waiting for praise. He remembered who liked what, who needed water, who had left their jacket upstairs, who needed to be walked home before they got too drunk to text properly.

He was wearing a faded Briar T-shirt and jeans, hair a little mussed, mouth tipped in that quiet half smile he got when everyone else was being ridiculous. He looked over when your laughter rose, and for one second, his eyes caught yours.

Your stomach flipped, and you looked away too fast, fast enough that Dean noticed it, too.

“Oh,” he said.

You pointed at him. “No.”

“Oh, this is good.”

“Dean.”

“You looked at someone.”

“I looked at the room. That’s how eyes work.”

Garrett appeared behind him, instantly interested now that someone else was suffering. “Who did she look at?”

“No one,” you said.

Dean’s grin widened. “She has a crush.”

“I have patience,” you said. “And you’re testing it.”

That only made them laugh. Your face felt hot. The room felt even hotter, or maybe that was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that Tucker was still in the kitchen, close enough to hear pieces if he wanted to.

The worst part was that you did have a crush.

A soft, stupid, inconvenient crush on John Tucker that had started slowly and then gotten completely out of hand before you knew what to do with it. It was the way he listened. The way he made space for people without making them feel like a burden. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he was catching details no one else cared enough to notice.

The way he called you sweetheart in that warm voice and ruined your ability to think like a normal person.

Dean tapped your knee with two fingers. “Come on. We’ll be mature.”

Garrett snorted.

“We will not tell a soul,” Dean added.

“You’re literally asking in a living room full of people.”

“Fine. We’ll only tell a few souls.”

You should have kept your mouth shut. You really should have. But you were tipsy, and warm, and tired of pretending you didn’t glance toward the kitchen every time Tucker moved.

So you sank lower into the couch, smiled into your cup, and said, “John. Obviously.”

The reaction was immediate.

Dean sat up straight. Garrett made a noise like someone had handed him a gift. Allie’s brows shot up. Hannah blinked, then turned toward the kitchen, then back to you like she was putting something together too late.

And from somewhere near the hall, Logan looked over.

“Me?” he asked.

Your smile faltered.

Dean burst out laughing. “Logan?”

Garrett pointed at him. “Did not see that coming.”

Logan looked delighted and confused at the same time. “I mean, I’m flattered.”

You stared at him, trying to make the room slow down enough for your brain to catch up. “What?”

“You said John,” Dean said, like this explained everything.

“There are two Johns,” Hannah said carefully.

Dean waved that off. “Yeah, but nobody calls Tucker John.”

Your eyes shot to the kitchen.

Tucker had gone still with a bottle in his hand. Not dramatically. He didn’t freeze in the middle of the room or make some big scene. His posture barely changed, but you saw it because you were always looking at him more than you should have been. His shoulders set a little tighter. His mouth softened out of its smile.

Then he dropped the bottle into the trash bag and looked away.

Your stomach twisted.

“No,” you said, but it came out too soft under all the noise.

Logan raised both hands, grinning. “Hey, I’m not complaining.”

“You should be,” Garrett said. “This is the first time anyone’s ever chosen you while drunk and meant it.”

“Rude.”

Dean leaned back, laughing. “Well, this changes everything.”

“It changes nothing,” you said.

“Sounds like something a woman with a Logan crush would say.”

“I don’t have a Logan crush.”

Logan placed a hand over his chest. “Now that hurt.”

The room kept moving around you, loud and amused, everyone turning the moment into a joke before you could untangle it. You looked toward Tucker again, but he was already turning toward the fridge, pulling out a water bottle.

A minute later, he crossed the living room and handed it to you.

“Here,” he said.

Your fingers brushed his.

Even tipsy, even embarrassed, you could tell he was pulling himself back from you. Tucker was still being kind. Still careful. But there was distance in his expression now, a quietness that hadn’t been there before.

You held the bottle with both hands. “You’re mad at me.”

His gaze flicked over your face. “No, sweetheart.”

“You are.”

“I’m not mad.” His voice stayed gentle, which somehow made it worse. “Drink some water for me, all right?”

For me.

You wanted to grab onto the words and make them mean what you wanted. Instead, you twisted the cap off and took a sip.

Dean was still laughing with Garrett. Logan was still pretending to be smug. No one else noticed the way Tucker’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

You noticed.

Of course you noticed.

Later, when the party thinned and the floor felt a little less steady beneath your feet, Tucker was the one who found your jacket. He was the one who tugged it around your shoulders when you kept missing the sleeve. He was the one who crouched in front of you by the entryway, holding your shoe steady so you could slip your foot inside without tipping over.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you mumbled.

“I know.”

“You always do that.”

His hands paused at the laces. “Do what?”

“Take care of everybody.”

He tied the knot, then sat back on his heels and looked up at you. His face was softer from that angle, the party lights warm on his skin.

“Somebody’s gotta do it.”

You wanted to tell him that wasn’t why he did it. You wanted to tell him he took care of people because it was built into him, quiet and stubborn and good. You wanted to tell him you said John because you meant the one in front of you.

Instead, you touched his shoulder lightly and said, “I said John.”

Something shifted in his face.

“I know,” he said.

But he didn’t know. Not really.

And before you could make your mouth explain it properly, Hannah came over with your bag, and Tucker stood, and the moment slipped away into the cold night air.

He walked you home because he insisted, keeping his hands to himself except when you stumbled on the curb and he caught your elbow.

At your door, you looked up at him, still fuzzy and frustrated and aching with something you didn’t know how to name.

“Tuck.”

His eyes moved over your face.

“Get some sleep,” he said softly. “We’ll talk when you’re sober.”

Then he waited until you were inside before he left.

By morning, you had a headache, a dry mouth, and a terrible feeling that something had gone very wrong.

The Advil on your nightstand helped with the first two.

The third got worse when you checked your phone and found a text from Hannah.

hannah: before you panic, you didn’t do anything bad hannah: but you may need to clarify something you: oh god hannah: yeah

You stared at the screen for a full minute, slowly remembering flashes of the night before. Dean being nosy. Allie laughing. Logan looking over.

John.

Obviously.

Your eyes closed.

“Oh no.”

By the time you made it back to the hockey house later that afternoon, your stomach was tied in knots. You had planned to talk to Tucker privately. That was the mature thing. The adult thing. The thing you were absolutely going to do as soon as you stopped wanting to walk into traffic.

Unfortunately, Dean opened the door.

His grin started before he even said hello.

“Well, well, well.”

“Don’t.”

He stepped aside to let you in. “Our girl returns.”

“I’m not your girl.”

“Logan’s girl, apparently.”

You stopped in the entryway. “I am going to kill everyone in this house.”

From the living room, Logan called, “Not me, I’m the victim.”

“You are not the victim.”

He appeared over the back of the couch, all lazy grin and bright eyes. “I had a beautiful woman confess her feelings and then immediately take it back. I’m wounded.”

“I didn’t confess my feelings to you.”

Garrett walked in from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal. “That’s not what we heard.”

You looked around, heat crawling up your neck. “Where’s Tucker?”

The room went a little too quiet.

That was when you realized he was standing at the far end of the hall, one hand on the laundry room door, his gaze fixed on you.

He had heard you.

Of course he had.

Dean, sensing blood in the water, leaned against the wall. “Why do you need Tucker? Thought you were here for your man John.”

“I was,” you snapped, then immediately wanted to disappear.

Logan’s grin dropped into open delight. Garrett choked on his cereal.

Tucker did not move.

Dean blinked. “Wait.”

You pressed your hands over your face. “I meant Tucker.”

Silence.

Then Logan said, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I meant Tucker,” you repeated, quieter this time, but clear enough that no one missed it. “Last night. When I said John. I meant John Tucker.”

Garrett started laughing first. Dean followed a second later, so loud and delighted you wanted to throw something at his head. Logan looked between you and Tucker, offended in the most dramatic way possible.

“So I was collateral damage?” Logan asked.

“Yes,” you said.

Dean clapped a hand over his mouth like he was trying and failing to control himself. “The wrong John got the ego boost.”

You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

Tucker still hadn’t said anything.

His expression was unreadable in that quiet Tucker way, but his eyes were locked on you now. Not distant like last night. Not hurt. Careful, maybe. Like he was trying to decide whether he could believe what he had just heard.

The laughter around you faded into a dull buzz.

Then Tucker nodded once toward the hall.

“Come here a second?”

Your heart climbed into your throat.

Dean made a low, obnoxious sound, and Garrett slapped his arm.

“Shut up,” Garrett said, still smiling.

You walked past them without looking back.

Tucker led you down the hall, not touching you, and stopped just outside his room. The door was open behind him. You could see the navy comforter on his bed, a folded hoodie on the desk chair, a pair of sneakers lined neatly near the closet. Everything about it was so Tucker that your chest hurt.

He turned to face you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you said, “I’m sorry.”

His brows pulled together. “What are you sorry for?”

“For last night. For making it weird.”

“You didn’t make it weird.”

“Tucker.”

“All right,” he said, mouth twitching faintly. “Maybe a little weird.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. It came out nervous.

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” you said. “I thought it was obvious.”

“That you meant Logan?”

Your eyes widened. “No.”

“Because it sounded pretty obvious to everyone else.”

“That’s because everyone else is stupid.”

His smile showed for half a second, then faded into something softer. “You said John.”

“Your name is John.”

“Nobody calls me John.”

“I know.” You rubbed your palms against your jeans, hating how shy you suddenly felt. “That’s why I thought it would be obvious.”

Tucker stared at you.

Then he huffed a quiet laugh and looked down, shaking his head. “You’ve had a crush on me long enough to start using my government name?”

Your face went hot. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?”

“You shouldn’t.”

He stepped a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that you noticed. You noticed everything when it came to him.

“Were you serious?” he asked.

The teasing was gone now.

You swallowed. “Yes.”

His gaze searched yours. “You were pretty drunk.”

“I was tipsy.”

“You were drunk enough that Dean almost made sense.”

“That is not fair.”

“It’s a little fair.”

You smiled, but Tucker didn’t. Not really. His eyes stayed steady on your face, gentle and cautious in a way that made your heart squeeze.

“I’m not gonna do anything because of something you said last night,” he said. “Not unless I know you mean it now.”

Your breath caught.

Sweet, decent Tucker, making sure there was solid ground beneath both of you before he took a single step.

You looked at him and felt every bit of your embarrassment settle into something warmer.

“I mean it,” you said.

His jaw flexed.

“You sure?”

“I’m sober. I’m humiliated, but I’m sober.”

That got you another almost-smile.

“And you meant me?” he asked.

You tried to roll your eyes, but your voice came out softer than you wanted. “I said John.”

“There are two of us, sweetheart.”

“Yeah.” You held his gaze. “But there’s only one I wanted.”

The air between you changed.

It wasn’t loud or sudden. There was no dramatic shift, no big movement. Tucker just went very still, and for the first time since you had known him, you saw the restraint in him crack.

He stepped closer.

Not touching yet. Not quite.

“How long?” he asked.

You blinked. “What?”

“How long have you wanted me?”

You looked past him into his room, then back at his face. “A while.”

His eyes dipped to your mouth.

“I’ve been trying to be decent about it,” he said. “Thought I was doing a pretty good job until last night.”

“What happened last night?”

His mouth tilted, but there was still something bruised underneath it. “I had to listen to you say his name and pretend it didn’t bother me.”

You shook your head. “I said yours.”

Tucker’s hand lifted slowly, giving you time to move away. You didn’t. His fingers touched your jaw, warm and careful, his thumb brushing just beneath your cheek.

“Say it again.”

Your breath came in a little unsteady. “I meant you.”

His eyes held yours.

“Good,” he murmured.

Then he kissed you.

The first kiss was soft. Almost too soft. His mouth moved over yours like he was still asking, like he was giving you every chance to decide this wasn’t what you wanted after all.

You answered by fisting your hand in his shirt and pulling him closer.

The second kiss broke whatever careful thing he had been holding onto.

Tucker made a low sound against your mouth, one hand sliding to your waist as he stepped into you. Your back touched the doorframe. His body was warm and solid in front of yours, and the shock of finally having him this close went straight through you.

He kissed like he did everything else, steady until he wasn’t. Patient until he had a reason not to be. His hand held your waist, thumb pressing lightly through the fabric of your shirt, while the other tilted your face up for him.

When his mouth left yours, it only went as far as your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive place just below your ear.

“Tuck,” you breathed.

He paused.

The sound of his name seemed to do something to him. His fingers tightened at your waist, and his breath brushed hot against your skin.

“One more time,” he said.

You closed your eyes. “Tucker.”

He kissed your neck, slower now, open-mouthed and warm. Your knees weakened, and he noticed, of course he noticed, because his arm slid more firmly around you.

Behind you, the living room erupted in laughter over something completely unrelated, muffled by the hallway and the blood rushing in your ears.

Tucker lifted his head. His eyes had darkened, but his voice stayed low. “You want to stop?”

“No.”

“You want to go in?”

You nodded, then remembered he needed words. “Yes.”

His gaze softened for one brief second.

Then he reached past you, pushed his bedroom door open wider, and walked you backward inside.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The sound was small, but it made your stomach tighten.

Tucker turned the lock, then faced you again. For a second, he just looked at you, like he was memorizing the sight of you standing in his room with kiss-swollen lips and nervous hands.

Then his eyes dropped to your mouth.

For a moment, he did not say anything. He just stood there with his hand still near the lock, jaw tight, chest rising a little too slow, like he was trying to decide how much restraint he had left.

Then he crossed the room.

You barely had time to breathe before his hands were on your waist and his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was not soft this time. It was deep, certain, his fingers pressing into your sides as he walked you backward toward the bed. You went with him, hands catching at his shoulders, your stomach flipping at the difference in him.

Tucker was always careful. Always steady.

Now he was steady in a way that felt dangerous.

Your legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You meant me,” he said.

It was not really a question.

You swallowed. “Yes.”

His eyes moved over your face, then down to your mouth again.

“Good.”

Then he kissed you again.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, warm palms dragging up your bare skin. You shivered, and he noticed, but he did not stop to ask if you were cold. His mouth stayed on yours while his fingers curled into the hem.

“Arms up,” he murmured.

You obeyed before you could think better of it.

He pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion and tossed it aside. His eyes dropped to your chest, still covered by your bra, and the way he looked at you made your face warm.

Not because he looked shocked.

Because he looked focused.

Like every second of holding back had led him here.

“Tucker,” you whispered.

His gaze came back to yours. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” His thumb brushed over your ribs, just beneath the band of your bra. “But you don’t have to be.”

He reached behind you and unclasped it. The straps slipped down your arms, and he pulled it away slowly, adding it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

You were bare from the waist up now, standing in front of him in only your jeans, and Tucker went quiet again.

“You’re staring,” you said, but your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

“I know.”

Your breath caught.

His mouth came back to your neck, then lower, open and warm over your collarbone. His hands held your waist as he kissed down your chest, taking his time with you in a way that made your knees feel unreliable.

You gripped his shoulders.

He smiled against your skin. “You wanted me quiet and sweet?”

“No.”

His mouth brushed over your breast, and your answer broke into a gasp.

“No?” he repeated.

You shook your head, fingers tightening in his shirt. “No.”

“Good.” He lifted his head. “Because I’m not feeling very sweet right now.”

The words sent heat straight through you.

You reached for his shirt, impatient now, tugging at the fabric. Tucker let you pull it up, then took over when your hands got clumsy. His shirt came off and landed somewhere near yours.

For one second, you forgot how to move.

He was all warm skin and hard muscle beneath your hands, his stomach tightening when your fingers dragged down the center of his chest. You had seen him shirtless before. Everyone had. But not like this. Not with his mouth still swollen from kissing you and his eyes fixed on yours like he wanted to watch you realize exactly what you had asked for.

Your hands went to his belt.

He caught your wrist before you could open it.

“Not yet.”

Your pulse jumped.

He sat you down on the edge of the bed, then dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands moved to the button of your jeans.

He opened them, dragged the zipper down, and pulled the denim over your hips. You lifted yourself enough to help, and he slid them down your legs. He pulled off one shoe, then the other, then removed your jeans completely and dropped them beside the bed.

You were left in your underwear.

Tucker’s hands settled on your knees.

He spread them apart slowly.

Your stomach tightened at the look on his face.

“There,” he said, voice low. “That’s better.”

Your fingers twisted in the comforter. “You’re being very smug.”

His hand slid up your thigh, his thumb pressing into the soft skin there.

“I spent too long pretending I didn’t want this,” he said. “I’m not pretending anymore.”

You reached for him, but he pushed your hand gently back to the mattress.

“Tuck.”

His eyes lifted.

“Say it again.”

You knew what he meant.

“Tucker.”

The tension in his face shifted into something darker.

He leaned in and kissed the inside of your thigh.

“Again.”

“Tucker.”

His mouth moved higher.

You sucked in a breath when his fingers hooked into your underwear.

He pulled them down slowly, eyes on yours until they passed your knees. Then he took them off completely and tossed them onto the floor with the rest of your clothes.

Now you were naked on the edge of his bed, and he was still kneeling in front of you in only his jeans.

The imbalance of it made your whole body burn.

Tucker noticed.

Of course he did.

His hands slid up your thighs, firm and warm, spreading you open again when your legs tried to close.

“Don’t hide.”

The words were quiet, but there was no uncertainty in them.

You let your knees fall apart.

His eyes dropped.

A rough breath left him.

Then he leaned in and put his mouth on you.

Your back arched instantly, one hand flying to his hair, the other gripping the sheets. Tucker’s hands locked around your thighs, holding you open as he licked into you with none of the hesitation he’d shown at the door. He was still controlled, still Tucker, but this was a different kind of control. The kind that let him take his time because he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Tucker,” you gasped.

He hummed against you, and the vibration made your hips jerk.

His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping you where he wanted you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, mouth brushing against you. “That’s what I want to hear.”

You barely had time to process the words before his mouth returned.

He figured you out fast. What made your legs tremble, what stole your breath, what had you clutching his hair and murmuring his name like nothing else mattered.

When you tried to muffle yourself with your hand, he stopped just long enough to reach up and pull it away.

“No.”

You blinked down at him, dizzy. “They’ll hear.”

His thumb stroked over your wrist once before he pinned your hand gently to the mattress.

“Then they’ll know.”

Your body reacted before you could stop it, clenching around nothing, and Tucker saw it. His eyes darkened, mouth curving slightly before he lowered his head again.

This time, he added his fingers.

You cried out before you could catch it.

“There,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction.

He worked you with his mouth and hand until the room blurred at the edges, until the noise downstairs faded into nothing but a distant hum. He did not need to keep bringing up the mistake. The possessiveness was in the way he held you open, in the way he dragged your sounds out of you, in the way his eyes lifted every time you said his name.

You were close too quickly.

Tucker knew that too.

He curled his fingers, and your whole body tightened.

“Tuck,” you gasped.

He looked up at you.

“Come for me.”

You did.

It hit hard, rushing through you in a wave that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders. Tucker did not stop until you were shaking, until your hand had gone loose in his hair and your breathing had turned uneven.

Only then did he ease back.

He kissed your thigh once, slower now, almost gentle.

Then he stood.

You watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and the sight made heat bloom in you all over again.

His eyes stayed on yours as he undid his belt.

The buckle opened. Then the button. Then the zipper.

He pushed his jeans down his hips, taking his boxers with them, and kicked both aside. Now there was nothing between you except the few inches of space he crossed when he leaned over you again.

You reached for him, wrapping a hand around him, and Tucker’s breath caught hard.

His head dipped, mouth brushing your shoulder.

“Easy,” he said, voice strained.

You moved your hand again, slower this time, learning the weight and heat of him.

His hips pressed forward into your touch before he caught himself.

“Sweetheart.”

You liked how wrecked he sounded.

You did it again.

This time, his hand covered yours, stilling you.

“Condom,” he said, rough and breathless.

Even now, worked up and possessive and looking at you like he wanted to forget the rest of the house existed, Tucker remembered.

He reached over to the nightstand, yanked the drawer open, and pulled one out. The wrapper tore between his fingers, and you watched him roll it on, your mouth dry, your whole body aching.

When he looked back at you, something in his expression softened for half a second.

Then he moved over you.

He guided you farther up the mattress, settling between your thighs as you lay back beneath him. His body covered yours, warm and solid, one hand braced beside your head while the other hooked under your knee and pulled your leg higher around his waist.

The first press of him against you made you gasp.

Tucker’s eyes stayed on yours.

“You still want me?” he asked, quiet but direct.

“Yes.”

“Say my name.”

“Tucker.”

He pushed into you slowly.

Your mouth fell open, and no sound came out at first. The stretch was full and deep, enough that your fingers dug into his shoulders. Tucker moved inch by inch, jaw clenched, his breathing rough against your cheek.

When he was finally inside you completely, he stopped.

The pause made everything sharper. The weight of him. The feel of him. The way his hand held your thigh up against his side.

You wrapped your other leg around his waist.

“Move.”

His eyes flashed.

The first thrust was slow, deep, dragging the breath from your lungs. The second was firmer. By the third, your nails were in his back and his mouth was against your neck, breathing hard as he found a rhythm that made your thoughts scatter.

This was not soft, not exactly.

It was intimate because it was Tucker. Because he watched you. Because his hand slid under your back to hold you closer. Because every time your breathing changed, he noticed.

But it was rougher than you expected from him. More possessive. His hips drove into yours with a steady, controlled force, his hand firm on your thigh, keeping you open for him. His mouth moved against your jaw, your throat, your lips, like he could not decide where he wanted to claim you most.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice low against your ear. “That’s what you do to me.”

You moaned, and his pace deepened.

His hand came to your jaw when you turned your face into his shoulder, guiding you back to him.

“No hiding from me.”

“They’ll hear.”

His eyes held yours.

“Let them.”

Your body clenched around him.

A rough sound left his throat, his forehead dropping near yours.

“You liked that,” he breathed.

You could not deny it. Not with him still inside you. Not with his hand on your face and his hips pressed tight to yours.

So you whispered, “Maybe.”

His mouth curved.

Then he moved again, slower this time, deeper, making your back arch.

“Good,” he said. “Then let me hear you.”

His name slipped out louder this time, and Tucker rewarded it with a thrust that made your legs tighten around him. He kept that rhythm, deep and deliberate, his hand sliding between your bodies to touch you where you were still sensitive from his mouth.

The pleasure sparked fast.

“Tuck.”

“I’ve got you.”

His fingers moved in time with his hips, and suddenly you were right there again, clinging to him, breathing his name against his mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You came hard, your whole body tightening around him, a broken sound leaving you as he held you through it. Tucker cursed softly, his rhythm faltering, his face burying against your neck.

A few thrusts later, he followed, pressing deep as his body went tense over yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest. His breathing was uneven, his hand still curled around your thigh, but the roughness in him had gone quiet.

He kissed your shoulder, then your cheek.

“You okay?” he asked, softer now.

You opened your eyes and found him watching you, warm and serious beneath the mess of his hair.

“Very okay.”

“Good.”

He kissed you once, slow and careful, then eased out of you. He disappeared only long enough to take care of the condom, then came back with tissues, a bottle of water, and one of his shirts.

You sat up, still unsteady, and he helped clean you up without making a big deal of it. Then he slipped the shirt over your head, pulling it down around your thighs.

From downstairs, Logan’s voice carried faintly through the floor.

“Tell her I forgive her!”

You covered your face. “Oh my god.”

Tucker laughed quietly and pulled you into his side.

“Don’t worry,” he said, kissing your hair. “I’ll handle him.”

You looked up at him. “And me?”

His eyes softened, smug and warm all at once.