Cami

“Gon’ let me show you, sweet thing?” He whispers against your cheek, leaning forward to bring you both back to the ground. Big hands cradle the back of your head, forcing you to look him straight in the eyes.

On impulse, you want to look away, but his eyes make it impossible. Big and brown, pupils blown to astronomical proportions.

“What do- what do you wanna show me?”

“Want me to kiss you, down ther’?” He emphasizes his question with his brows while moving a hand to rest on your pubic bone. Heat blooms across your stomach and thighs at the mere touch. New and inviting, you never knew a man could make you feel like this.

“Yes, please...” You squeak out, placing a feather-like kiss on his pulsing temple.

Joel shoulders tense, just a touch, before softening again. He clears his throat, eyes darting to the cross that sits between your breasts, glinting in the moonlight. You follow his eyes, cheeks flushing as you realize. The ultimate sin.

Joel knows.

He takes the clasp from around your neck, unhooking the dainty chain, before chucking the sterling silver towards the trees, disappearing amongst the tall grass. Tears well in your eyes as you consider his action. They weren't tears of sadness, but tears of relief at the burden that was placed at you at such a young age being lifted off your shoulders. You realize something that kills you.

You didn’t have to be a good girl when Joel was around.

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢: The Devil Wears Flannel .⋆♱

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔴𝔬: Lead Me Not Into Temptation, Father .⋆♱

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢: What remains unoppened .⋆♱

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔯: Coming soon....⋆♱

.⋆♱ Tropes: Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak, Forbidden Love, Joel is a Priest, Joel has a vow of celibacy for 10 long years, Mean Joel (at first), Protective Joel, Good Parent Joel, Soft Joel, Joel is Bad at Feelings, Joel Needs a Hug, Joel is Trying His Best, Grumpy/Sunshine Relationship, Dead Sarah (sorry), Bad Decisions, Domestic Violence, Dark Past, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Joel was a boxer (SCREAMING), Reader fiance is a piece of shit, Wet Dreams (well…), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, Joel wants to use Reader hips as an altar, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Supernatural Elements (!!!), Age Difference, Small town, Mutual Pining, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Pride and Prejudice References, Mr. Darcy would be proud of Joel, First Kiss, Angry Love Confessions In The Rain, Mutual Masturbation, Dry Humping, Eventual Smut, Touch-Starved characters, Touch Her And Die, Engaged! Reader, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Unresolved Tension, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Drama, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Joel and Reader would have a huge Secret, Emotional Infidelity, Past Infidelity, Child Death, Car Accidents, Jealousy, Gossip & Scandal, Heavy Yearning, Slow Burn.

.⋆♱ Beautiful dividers from @chrisssiren & @uzmacchiato

The storm was raging outside, throwing itself against the windows hard enough to make the glass shudder in its frame. There had been a time, not even that long ago, when sounds like that made Frankie tense instinctively. Sweat gathered at the small of his back while ugly memories flickered behind his eyelids like lightning. A life carved open by violence had a way of following a man home, even years later. It never mattered much that the things he had done were in the name of a country. That kind of reasoning didn’t quiet the ghosts. Didn’t help him sleep either.

The only thing that ever truly silenced the noise in his head was you. 

Your body tucked against his, his arms wrapped around you tight enough to feel real. Face buried into your hair while he inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla and something warmer underneath it. Something impossible to bottle up into words because it was simply you. Home in a way Frankie had never allowed himself to believe existed for men like him.

In all the years Frankie Morales had spent dragging himself across this godforsaken earth, he had become terrifyingly good at running. Never staying anywhere long enough for roots to catch around his ankles. Movement was easier. Easier than explaining himself. Easier than letting anyone look too closely at the wreckage. “No strings attached” had become less of a preference and more of a survival tactic he wore like armor. Or at least that was what he told himself.

Then somewhere along the way, there was you.

You made him pause long enough to wonder if the life he’d been living was actually freedom or just another kind of prison. Frankie had been buried so deep inside himself for so long that some days he couldn’t even see the sky anymore. Days blurred together. Time passed without him noticing. Survival became muscle memory.

But you came into his life like sunlight through storm clouds, soft and stubborn and impossible to ignore. And for the first time in years, he realized he would move mountains just to keep that warmth close to him.

Now peace looked like this: the two of you tangled together in bed while rain battered the world outside. You complaining sleepily about him taking up too much space while simultaneously stealing the blanket for yourself. Frankie smiling quietly against the curve of your shoulder blades anyway, because somehow this became his favorite thing in the world.

To be loved gently.

To be held without expectation.

To learn, little by little, that not every touch had to hurt.

Wrapped up in your softness, Frankie was finally beginning to understand that staying still wasn’t weakness after all. Sometimes it was the bravest thing a person could do.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi

THEN

The party is so loud Frankie can barely hear himself think. Bodies bump into his shoulder, alcohol-soaked breath wafting over him. 

And he can't stop smiling. 

Frankie is twenty one, he's in the air force and he shouldn't be this giddy at the thought of being someone's boyfriend. But with Pip, he's nearly beside himself with joy. 

He sneaks a look at you across the party, watching with fondness as she talks to her girlfriends. He's in love with you, he acknowledges. But he's too scared to admit that part out loud to anyone. It's too soon to tell you that. Liking you feels safer. 

Even though it's not just liking that has him fantasizing about them living in his house when they're both done with school and training. Of shared dinners after work, long nights of lovemaking and laughter. He thinks of the marriage his parents had and how he will do everything different.

He's always been quiet, prone to deep reflection and slower to anger than most of his peers. The air force has taken a bit of that from him. It can feel dehumanizing at times, exhausting and frustrating. But when he's behind the stick of his favorite chopper, everything else fades.

He just wishes Texas wasn't so fucking far away. 

He thinks about asking Pip for a photo he can bring back to his barracks. Something to look at that reminds him he has a future waiting for him back here. Would it scare you to know how much he's imagined a future with you? That this summer hasn't just been amazing because of the sex, but for the quiet moments in between?

"Can you believe my parents locked the liquor cabinet? 

Frankie is brought back into the moment, Travis at his side holding a solo cup and whining. 

"They have so much in there and they never started locking it up until now. Fucking idiots. I wish they'd leave and never come b-." He catches himself, eyes going wide as he looks at Frankie. He's said an impossibly stupid thing. "Shit... I'm sorry, Frank."

"No worries," Frankie mumbles with a wince. "You seen Santi?" 

"Nope. But I've seen Christy," Travis replies, briefly flashing a wag of his pink tongue. "Damn, she looks good." 

"Oh yeah?" Frankie replies distractedly, dark eyes scanning the room. Travis watches this, voice turning exasperated. 

"He's here with some hot date apparently," Travis says with an eye roll. "Surprised you don't know about it, being his boyfriend and all." 

Frankie's jaw feathers. He's always had to maintain a civil relationship with Travis, but as they've gotten older he finds the boy more and more annoying.  It's also painfully obvious that he has a thing for you even though she's given no indication that she feels the same. And why would you? You like Frankie. He still can't quite believe it. Seems almost too good to be true. You’re so smart and gorgeous and funny and... He feels his cheeks heat delightedly. 

"I've been sorta busy lately," Frankie finally says distractedly when he sees Pip's head weaving through the crowd. 

You glance Frankie's way and he feels his whole body going warm when their gazes connect. Everything about you is just so fucking perfect. Even the subtle smirk you send his way.

Travis' must notice the gooey look Frankie shoots her. The small smile you share before averting your gazes. 

"You try anything with Pip and Hilary will kill you," Travis murmurs. "If she doesn't, Santi will."

Frankie is quiet, unhappy that he's been so obvious in his desire for you. 

When Travis turns, Frankie can see the young man's attention is fixed on your smiling face. The way you throw your head back when you laugh. His eyes scan down your body in a way Frankie knows he wishes his hands were. 

"Would be worth it though," Travis continues in a low voice. "I've been dying to get a piece of that ass for years." 

Ugly jealousy twists in Frankie's guts. His fingers are curling into a loosened fist at his side. 

"Yeah, well, like you said, Santi and Hilary would kill us." 

Travis laughs in response and Frankie watches as his attention moves over the other girls in your group. They land on Christy and her skimpy outfit. 

"Can you believe Christy's a real beauty queen?" Travis says, clicking his tongue appreciatively. "I mean I always thought she was hot, but that's insane."

"I guess." 

Frankie knows that Christy is attractive. He's not blind. But he also knows she only ever flirts with him to get to Santi. He also knows he doesn't care what she looks like or what she does because the only girl Frankie has ever truly wanted actually wants him back. 

It's hard not to smile when he thinks about that. How the girl he grew up alongside became the woman he can't think of life without.

You're standing there stiffly observing what Christy is saying. You look upset. This look is magnified when he notices Christy approaching from the corner of his eyes. 

"Hi Travis. Hi Francisco," Christy says. He notices her voice is pitched higher, bubblegum sweet. 

"Hey."

"Enjoying the party?"

She steps closer and from this distance he can smell the floral perfume she wears. Can see her nipples jutting through her thin camisole. He forces his eyes to the ground, feeling lecherous. 

"Sure." 

She tilts her face forward, ignoring the way he doesn't look her way. She's so close he feels the heat of her body. 

"You look good tonight, Francisco."  

Knowing that you're watching from across the room this makes Frankie flush with embarrassment. "Thanks," he mutters, voice low. 

Travis excuses himself with a sneer. Clearly Frankie is taking the attention he wants for himself. Once he's out of earshot, Christy leans forward again. 

"I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I always liked you, you know, during school," she says, giving a girlish giggle and ducking your head like she's feeling shy. "I can't believe I just told you that. I must be drunk."

Frankie takes a sip of his beer, head rising to look for you. But you've escaped somewhere, lost in the shuffle.

"I hear there are some empty bedrooms upstairs," Christy purrs, her hip bumping into his. "Should we go check one out?"

Frankie cringes, trying to think of a nice way to say no. 

"You said you're drunk," he says flatly. "I don't fuck drunk girls." 

"I'm not that drunk," she insists. 

He feels his jaw tighten. He's not an unkind person at heart, but her closeness is making him uncomfortable. "Not interested, sorry." 

Christy gives an overdramatic pout, jutting her chest his way. When she sees he's not giving in she moves her face in again. "C'mon Francisco," Christy says, lips almost brushing his cheek. "I'll make you s-"

"I'm with someone," Frankie interrupts, no longer interested in being polite. She pulls back in shock, eyelids fluttering dramatically.    

"What? Since when?" 

"For a while," he replies smoothly. "And I'm really into her." 

Saying it out loud makes his insides quiver delightedly. He almost wishes Pip was there to hear it. 

Christy looks like she's just swallowed a stink bug. She's not used to being rejected and that's clear in her expression. But then her face slowly smoothes out. She leans her hip against his again, trying her best to get him to grind against her. 

"I won't tell if you don't," she says, her mouth curling into a mischievous smile as she drops her voice. "Could be our little secret." 

Frankie places his empty beer cup down on the nearby side table. "Maybe Travis wants to hook up," Frankie replies. "He's heading back now." 

Christy briefly lifts her eyes to see Travis returning with two new solo cups before her attention flicks back to Frankie. 

"You're telling me you don't want to fuck a beauty queen?" She asks with a disbelieving scoff. 

Frankie shoots her a piteous look.  "Have a good night Christy." 

He gives her a kind smile, hoping that it will soften the harshness of his departure. She doesn't seem to enjoy it though. She rolls her eyes and goes stalking off in the direction of upstairs. 

Travis smirks, handing Frankie one of the cups. 

"Damn what did you say to Miss Florida? She looks pissed." 

Frankie shrugs. He doesn't care that Christy is offended. He doesn't want her. 

"You seen Pip?" 

He wants you at his side. Or at least he wants an eye line of you. 

"You really like her, huh?" 

Frankie feels his stomach bottom out, turning his attention to Travis. The young man is looking at him in a way he's never seen, or perhaps never noticed, before. A dark kind of look: cold and dangerous. 

"What are you talking about, man?"

"Pip. I see the way you look at her these days," Travis says smoothly, like this is a fact everyone knows. "And we all know she's been in love with you for years." 

The tips of Frankie's ears burned in both embarrassment and delight at the word. "I'm just used to her always being around." 

"Is that why you wear that hat everywhere?" 

Frankie's cheeks burn as he absently taps the rim of his hat. 

"This?" he says forcing a laugh. "I'm just used to it is all."

Travis laughs back but it’s a hollow sound. It doesn't touch his eyes, his mouth barely moves. 

"Right. Sure." His eyes flick to Frankie's head again. "You won't mind if I borrow it then?" 

His arm jerks out, hand swiping Frankie's ball cap right off of his head. Frankie goes to snatch it back, but Travis has already popped it on over his shorn curls. Before Frankie can attempt to take it back again, Travis hears his name being called. 

"You can have it back in a bit," Travis said with a cruel kind of amusement as he walks backwards towards the call. 

Frankie feels his teeth clench. Not just at having his shit taken, but knowing that Travis is probably on his way to tell Santiago about Frankie's obvious affection for his cousin. 

"Hey, man." 

A frustrated Frankie glances over to see several young men on the couch. All are fuzzily bearded and sleepy-looking. The bigger one with a baseball cap extends his arm, a joint held out in his fingers. 

"You want a toke?"

Frankie hesitates briefly before shrugging. "Sure." 

He didn't smoke pot often; his dad always knew when he did. He tried popping gum and spraying cologne but it couldn't compensate for the scent that clung to his clothing. But now his old man is gone. Frankie could do whatever he wanted. He's free in so many ways. 

He takes a deep inhale, letting the sweet smoke fill his lungs before thanking the guy on the couch, handing him back his joint. 

When the pot hits him a few minutes later it feels good. He takes a seat in one of the free chairs, listening to the men talk about government cover ups. But he's not really listening. He's daydreaming about his girlfriend. 

Pip. The most beautiful, smart, funny, sexy woman he's ever known. A woman who never takes bullshit. Who sees him at his worst and still likes him. 

He thinks he sees you stealing through the crowd and his heart leaps. He jumps to his feet, moving clumsily towards you. He calls your name but you don’t hear him over the crowd.  Frustrated, he tries to muscle through the groups when he tumbles into a familiar figure. 

"Frank? What're you doing?" 

It's Santi; one arm around a cute blonde. He looks at his friend with amusement, much to Frankie's relief. Travis must not have said anything. 

"I was looking for.... Well, you actually." Frankie runs his hand through his short hair, frustrated to feel his cap still missing. He feels naked without it. "Can we talk?" 

"Sure." 

"Uh... It's private. Can we talk outside?" 

Santi trails a look over Frankie before glancing back at his date. He mumbles something and she nods, shooting Frankie an annoyed look as she moves to grab another drink. 

Santi nods towards the back door, indicating Frankie should follow. "C'mon. Let's go." 

They make it into the backyard where several groups talk loudly. Some playing chicken on the grass. 

"It's Pip," Frankie says, rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans when they find a quiet spot. 

Santi furrows his thick brows. "What? She okay?" 

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine." Frankie feels his stomach twist, his head spacey. He's trying to say it but he feels like he is outside his body. 

Santiago Garcia is his best friend. The two of them have suffered through childhood, puberty, heartbreaks, abusive fathers, shitty home lives. There's the potential that he'll be giving all of that up. Years of friendship, of brotherhood, taken from him with this confession. 

So he has to ask himself, is Pip worth it? 

The speed of his decision surprises even him. 

"I like Pip," Frankie says, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. "Like, a lot. And I want to date her."  

He physically flinches, awaiting the discipline for his affection. He waits for Santi to start cussing him out, for hatred and ugly accusations. 

"You ask her out yet?" 

A beat. 

Frankie isn't sure that Santi actually said that or he hallucinated it. He's further confused when Santi laughs, pointing across the room at one of their old friends. 

"Oh shit, did you see Jordan just bail off the table?" 

Frankie doesn't bother looking over in the direction of the laughter and whoops. All he can fixate on is his friend not looking upset at all. 

"... You're cool with it?" He says incredulously. "With me dating Pip?" 

"Does she like you back?"'

Frankie has to bite back a grin. "Uh, yeah. Pretty sure." 

"Then sure, why not? I mean.... She's a grown-up," Santi shrugs, eyes glazed from booze. "She can date whoever she wants." 

"You're not upset?"

"This has been a long time coming as far as I'm concerned. Plus I know I can trust you to treat her well." Santi shrugs, giving Frankie a mischievous look. "Better you than Travis." 

The two men laugh and the tightness in Frankie's chest unravels. He feels like he can breathe again. 

"Speaking of which... I'm pretty sure I saw Travis heading upstairs with Christy a while ago," Santiago says with a bemused look. "I just know that's going to end disastrously." 

"You never know," Frankie shrugs, smiling toothily. "Maybe it's fate." 

He doesn't actually believe that. He's just so relieved at Santi's response. 

"C'mon, lemme kick your ass at beer pong."

Frankie follows Santi to the other room, the two of them watching the game currently in progress. Frankie intends to only watch, but eventually it's dragged into the game but a very convincing Santi. 

"You're gonna be family soon enough," Santi jokes over the gathered crowd. "You better stay in my good books." 

Frankie knows he's kidding, but something about the concept of being a family with Santi and Pip and even Hilary makes his eyes water.

They win the next three games, hands sticky with booze, throat raw from cheers. Frankie feels naked without his hat the entire time. He taps out when the suggestion of a fourth round is mentioned. 

"I gotta go find Pip," he says with a light slur. 

Santi only punches him lightly in the shoulder, giving him a knowing look before turning back to start on the next round. 

Frankie manages to walk away from the busy table, his mood serene, and his heart full. He feels happy and warm and he wants his girl with him. He can be public with her now. He can't wait to tell her. 

He notices something dark blue on the coffee table, the familiar logo staring at him. It's half under a pizza box, forgotten, and Frankie grimaces. 

"Fucking Travis," Frankie mutters, grabbing his baseball hat and shaking crumbs from it. He places it on his head, feeling more secure already. 

"Oh my gosh are they making out?" 

Frankie hears the scattered whispers of amused teens nearby. Several of whom are gathered by the large bay window, peering out into the front yard. Normally he wouldn't care about something as banal as a party hookup but he wants to laugh about this with Pip later.

He pictures them back at his place under the covers, laughing about the party, holding each other as they fall asleep. 

He walks to the window, an amused smirk on his face. He joins the search in the darkness, eyes weaving until they land on the couple making out against the tree. Frankie goes to laugh when he sees that the boy is Travis, his movements quick and jerky. 

But the laughter, the smile, all of it dies the second he sees the girl Travis is making out with. The girl who holds onto him and kisses him back ardently. 

No. No she wouldn't. 

But the longer Frankie watches the more the figures become clearer. So clear that Frankie feels like he can hear your whines, the same ones you gave him only hours ago. He feels his heart crack when he observes how you touch Travis in that same soft way you do with Frankie. 

With that he's surging through the crowd, shouldering the front door open with a growl. Like a missile he's guided directly towards the oblivious couple. 

A part of him is so desperate for this to be a nightmare. A bad trip. Anything but Pip willingly making out with Travis after admitting her feelings for Frankie. His mind is completely blank, his feet marching quickly across the grass. His face is on fire, his heart breaking as he sees Pip being pressed into the tree by Travis. 

This turns Frankie's vision red. 

He doesn't remember much of what happens next. The memory is like snapshots of moments. Travis falling to the ground. The anger in a Pips eyes, the casual sneer at the thought of sleeping with Frankie. 

Pulling Travis off of you wasn't an issue. Having everyone circle and whisper didn't affect him. It was the coldness in your voice, the ugly look in your eyes and the disgusted scoff when you said you'd never sleep with him.  

What the fuck had happened?

He's numb by the time he turns away, everything in his body cold. He doesn't notice the laughter or whispers. He couldn't care less about that. All he can think of is your disgust, the chill in your gaze. How could he have ever thought he knew you, his Pip? 

You're a stranger to him. 

He hears his name being called, but its several blocks before a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, spinning him around. 

"Frankie, what the fuck happened?" 

Santi is doubled over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and looking at Frankie with utter confusion. 

"Forget it," Frankie says his expression dark. "Forget all that dumb shit I said about Pip earlier. I don't know what I was thinking."

"What-"

"Just drop it, okay?" Frankie snaps, eyes black with hatred. "Don't mention it again. I'm serious. Not to her, not to Travis, nobody."  Frankie has to look away from him when he speaks again. "As far as I'm concerned she doesn't exist." 

Santi is quiet, eyes big and sad. 

"Okay, Frank."

Santi is still talking, you know this because you can see his mouth moving across from you. But you're not getting any of what he says. You feel as if you're being held underwater, the world spinning and growing dark at the edges, sound muffled and your body numb before going sluggish. 

"No," you whisper, closing your eyes. "No," You repeat to yourself, but it's coming out in a whisper. The room is spinning and you grip either side of the table to stop your stomach from flipping. 

"You’re lying," you croak, head shaking violently from side to side. "That's not what happened.”

"I don't know what to tell you," Santi shrugs, brows tight. "He was with me the whole time playing beer pong." 

"No, no, that's not ..." Your throat closes up and you're suddenly spluttering for air because you can't formulate a response to what Santi is telling you. 

But your cousin doesn't lie to you, he never has. He's been there for you during the hard times as much as any brother would be. 

Bile rises in the back of your throat, your stomach heaving. You force your lips shut, swallowing aggressively. You will not vomit in a fucking Denny's. 

"Pip." Santi's voice is low and warped. Like he's a tape being rewound. "Breathe slowly. In and out."

You're starting to shake, legs going cold. 

Breathe. Breathe you fucking idiot. 

You take a deep, sputtering lungful of air, eyes blowing wide. Santi looks beside himself, hand holding your wrist. You clutch at his arm with your free hand, nails digging into the warm flesh there. 

"I saw it with my own eyes. I saw them."

"Travis came down and talked about how he fucked the beauty queen," Santi says quietly, as if it pains him to tell you this. 

"That can't be what happened," you say, lips trembling. "That can't be." 

Because that would mean you kissed Travis in front of Frankie for no reason. That this decades-long feud has been going on because of a misunderstanding. 

Years spent without the one man you've ever really loved, for no good fucking reason. 

Santi leans forward, voice light. "Pip, he never would have done that to you. He told me that night that he liked you. He wanted my blessing I think." 

You feel dizzy because things are starting to come together. Travis and Christy's secret relationship. The taking of Frankie's hat. The way the two of them look so similar from behind. It was Travis who fucked Christy in that bedroom, who came down afterwards and tried to do the same to you. Your skin crawls in revulsion at the thought of you letting him kiss you. 

And an even more distressing, you think of the hurt way Frankie looked at you at that party. The layered cruelty of you words and actions. Punishing him for a slight he never committed. 

Because you know deep down in your bones that what Santi has told you is the truth. That there's no planet in which Frankie Morales would willingly break your heart. 

The nosy patrons, the tired looking servers, everyone fades into the background as you stand, looking at your cousin with your lips quaking. 

"I have to go." 

THEN

Frankie lies in bed that night, heart aching, chest tight. It feels like finding out his parents are dead all over again. That same hopeless feeling. But during that you had been there to bring him comfort and affection. To hold him in his sleep. 

Now who does he have? 

He was going to answer your question later this evening. Of when he first realized he liked you as more than just Santi's cousin. 

The truth is he was pitifully unaware of you as a woman for most of your acquaintance. You'd just always been there in the gang, a sexless figure he liked to laugh with, to protect. 

But the summer of his eighteenth year you asked him to hunt lightning bugs while Santi and Travis were off camping. You had a mason jar and lid ready, your denim shorts high on your thighs. 

"Thanks for coming," you said, tapping the rim of his hat playfully. "Hilary says it's lame to still catch them." 

Frankie didn't tell you he felt the same. But he'd been bored and there was nothing else to do. Plus the summer air wasn't too heavy, the night balmy so Frankie led you both behind the old baseball field. 

Fireflies moved lazily in the dark, blinking like tiny dying stars and Frankie, only half heartedly invested, found himself watching you instead. 

Your smile was wide as you darted after a one flickering flash. The same look you wore when you beat the boys in a race, or said something to make everyone laugh. The smile you'd worn since childhood. 

He followed close behind, pretending to help, but getting caught up in watching how you moved, the way your face lit up when you succeeded in capturing your first.

"Got him!" You crowed, holding up your jar in triumph. 

"Not exactly a skill, Pip. Kids do it every summer." 

"Where's yours then?"

"Didn't feel like it."

You nudged your shoulder against his, rolling your eyes as the two of you took a seat on the grass. 

You never asked him about the air force or how he felt about it. You tucked your knees to your chest, eyes stuck on the jar. 

"They're so gorgeous."

You held up the jar to eye level, light flickering against your cheeks. You turned to grin at him, your face beautiful in the warm glow.

Beautiful. 

That wasn't really a word he associated with you before. But he couldn't deny that in this moment you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Like a painting come to life. 

He was curious as to what it would be like to cup your cheek, to feel the plump of your lips beneath his thumb. 

Something warm in his chest caught him strangely off guard, making his head spin.You were almost three years younger than him. Sixteen to his eighteen. He wasn't supposed to think about you like that. 

He felt the need to fill the silence. 

"How come the sudden need for fireflies?"

"Uh, guess I just needed to get out of the house," you said quietly to the jar. "Mom was just ... "

You trailed off, face dropping. Frankie could see it, illuminated by the swarm inside the mason jar. 

Instinctively he shuffled closer, throwing his arm casually around your shoulder like he'd done a hundred times before. Only now you snuggled against him, exhaling lightly. 

"Thanks, Frankie." 

Your head was at his cheek and he inhaled the scent of your hair before he swallowed thickly. You felt good against him, and he longed for you to tip your face up to him so he could capture your mouth in a sweet kiss. 

It wasn't until that warm thread began to weave its way around his lower belly that he realized something had shifted. 

Something he wasn't going to be able to ignore. 

You can't breathe. 

You know you're managing it, gulping deep lungfuls, but it doesn't feel like enough. The air is so hot and humid; it feels like it's coating your insides.

All a misunderstanding. Frankie never cheated. Frankie never cheated. I walked away from the most amazing man because of a misunderstanding.

You stop the truck midway home, your stomach heaving. You manage to stumble out of the cab before you're bent over, vomiting into the grass at the side of the street. Cars whizz by, some calling out to you, telling you to party less hard. You don't even hear them. All you can picture is the hurt in Frankie's eyes. 

You empty your stomach, eyes wet, body trembling. Your throat is scorched when you finally crawl back behind the wheel, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

You finish the drive to your house, truck parked haphazardly. You realize you're crying when your view turns into a watercolor blur. You make it through the door, slumping against the wall just inside with a ragged cough. 

A figure grips your hand, lacing their fingers with yours. You stare at the chipped black nails and many rings and look over at your sister. 

"Hey, are you okay?" 

You tell yourself that you don't want to tell Hilary everything that happened. You need time to process this, but your chin wobbles, eyes filling again. 

"Let's go on the porch," she says gently tugging you. "C'mon."

You allow your sister to guide you out onto the porch, both of you seated on the old creaky chairs before she grabs a smoke from her pocket. 

You watch her light it with an old bic lighter, orange flame springing to life. She looks at you through tired eyes, face drawn as she exhales a ribbon of smoke. 

"What the hell is going on?" 

You grip the sides of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. 

"Hilary I fucked up so bad. I fucked up everything." 

Your fingers rake through your hair again and pull as the devastation floods you. The pain serves to keep you anchored in the moment.

She sucks in a slow breath. "What? When?"

"Frankie," you say through a sudden sob. "I thought... Fuck, Hilary, I hated him for so long..." 

The pain feels so sharp, like needles along your aorta. It propels you out of your chair, legs weak. You fall to your knees on the rotted porch planks holding your head in your hands as sobs ravage you.  

You shake; feeling Hilary kneel beside you, hand on your shoulder, pulling you to face her. 

"Tell me what happened." 

She soothes you by rubbing your arms, almost like one would do if someone was cold. It calms you a fraction, allowing you to catch your breath. 

"It was during Travis' party..."

The story pours out of you, ugly and raw and accompanied by warm tears that slip down your cheeks. You can't make eye contact with her during the story, terrified to see the piteous look she'll shoot you. 

You live through that horrible memory, the sounds of Christie's moans, the sight of the standard oil logo looking back at you. 

She's silent the entire time. As you finish the story and raise your eyes you see that she's just squinting at you, perplexed. 

"You thought Frankie cheated on you?" 

"I did," you tell her, eyes blurry. "I really thought I saw it with my own eyes. But it was fucking Travis wearing his hat. This is all so fucking stupid."  

She's frowning, creases starting between her brows.  

"That's why you were kissing some guy at the party," she whispers as if things are starting to fall into place for her. 

You don't even question how she knows that bit of information. Santi probably told her, which causes your face to heat up and embarrassment. 

"It was Travis," you tell her with deeper shame. "I was kissing Travis."

"That fucking snake." She exhales shakily, furious adrenaline clearly coursing through her body. "Fucks Christy and then tries to get you into bed."  Hilary looks like she wants to punch something. Simultaneously infuriated and disgusted. "Have you and Frankie talked about it?"

"I don't think I can say anything," you insist, heart pounding. "I just found out the truth from Santi. I'm still processing." 

"Go have a shower and clear your head then," Hilary says urging you inside. "And brush your teeth because your breath is fucking disgusting."

THEN

Frankie sees Hilary from time to time in town. She's usually buying cigarettes or heading off with some new guy. Tonight she's at one of the bonfires the locals put on at the start of every summer.

Frankie had nothing better to do and with Santi overseas and Travis moved, he doesn't have much of a connection here. He thinks of going home after this to the house of his childhood. The empty one with no warmth. The one he had Pip in for several weeks. 

Barely any time at all. 

"Hey Catfish," Hilary says, handing him a beer as she approaches. Like you, she'd taken the nickname and run with it when his patchy beard grew back. 

"Hey Hil." 

The two drink quietly next to one another looking at the flames of the bonfire. Frankie tells himself he's not going to ask about you. Not going to torment himself.  But it comes out, a slow murmur. 

"You talked to your sister lately?" 

"Not much," Hilary says. She takes another deep pull of her beer bottle. "She doesn't really love talking on the phone." 

"Mhm. She like school?" 

She gives him a look. "Why don't you just call and catch up with her yourself?"

"Not much to say." 

"I know you like her, Frankie," Hilary says shrewdly. "And I bet she'd love to hear from you." 

Frankie's face goes red, splotchy pink leading up his neck. He tries to shrug it off, but fails. 

Hilary saw him that night with the flowers, with the open look of desire he had for you. There's no point in lying to her. 

"I know she cares about you," Hilary says, eyes scanning his face. "And I know because she's never cared about a guy like that. Ever." 

"You don't know that whole story," Frankie says. 

"So tell me." 

He shakes his head. That's Pip's story to tell.

"Look, it's obvious the two of you like each other. Or liked. So I don't get why you both don't just admit that to each other." 

"We did, right before the party," Frankie snaps, before catching himself. "Hours before I saw her making out with-"

He slams his mouth shut, furious at having lost his temper and given away something so private. 

Hilary looks stunned. She seems to grope for words. 

"Wait, my sister was kissing some guy at a party?"

Frankie thinks about telling her that the guy was Travis, but he doesn't want to think about it too much. Saying the details makes it hurt worse. So he stays silent, eyes on the sand. 

"She must've been drinking," Hilary continues. "There's no way she'd do that sober." 

Frankie is quiet, not having considered this. Hilary blinks at him slowly, like an animal considering something. 

"I just, I know my sister, Frankie. She's not a cruel person. There must have been something deeper going on." 

Frankie is embarrassed to feel tears starting along his lash line. He blinks them back furiously, looking away as he shakes his head. 

“You should call her, Frankie,” Hilary adds before walking away from him. “She’s still at the dorms until tomorrow.”

He watches her move over to the group she arrived with, a cigarette hanging from her lips, a beer in her hand within moments. He watches as she whispers something to the muscular man at her right, laughing gaily when he nods, stripping down to his boxers and running into the surf.

She’s always been able to charm people, to convince them to be brave. And when Frankie strides back to his truck an hour later, he realizes that she convinced him too. However, she was gone with some guy from the bonfire before he could chase her down for your number. 

That’s led him here to the hospital where your mom works.  

Would you really want to hear from him? And mostly, why does he want to talk to you? You broke his fucking heart. You acted like you were into him, agreed to a relationship and that same night you were making out in front of everyone with fucking Travis. 

He's sick when he thinks about it. A memory he's tried time and time again to exorcise through booze and women. Because there have been other women in the four years since all of that happened. At first to prove he was over you and then to help him forget you. 

Neither worked. 

Frankie notices some nurses heading out of the hospital on their break. They talk quietly to one another between puffs of their cigarette. 

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel before removing the baseball cap nestled over his curls. He smooths his dark curls back, long fingers carding through the strands before popping the hat back on.

He raises his eyes to the rear view mirror, grimacing at his reflection, because this grey hat with the fishing logo doesn't sit right because it's not the one you gave him. That one sits at home in his bedroom, a shrine to your betrayal. Standard Heating Oil. 

He should have burned it. Should have given it away. Should've buried it where he didn't have to see it every day. And yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't bear to erase that part of his life, of you, for good. 

Even after everything, he can't stop this deep want for you. A burning ache that won't be extinguished. 

He'd forgive you if you'd just explain what happened. How you could go from crying his name between his sheets to letting Travis stick his tongue down your throat. 

He needs answers. 

He needs to hear your voice. 

He pushes himself from the cab of the truck, fingers tapping at his thigh as he moves through to the nurses’ station. The hospital is very quiet at this time of night, voices hushed, wards closed. 

It doesn't take long to locate your mom. She works in the same unit she always has and tonight, despite the quiet atmosphere, looks frazzled. She's writing down something in her charts before she notices Frankie approaching. Her face drops and she comes around the desk, meeting him mid-stride in the hallway. 

"Francisco, what happened?" Her hands grip his elbows. "Is everything okay?"

Her breath seems overly minty when she says his name and he knows that its to cover the vodka she keeps in a nearby water bottle. 

"Everything is fine, ma'am," Frankie says, giving her a polite smile. "I promise."

"Santi? Hilary?"

"As far as I know."

"Thank Christ," she says, a hand at her sternum. 

When she gives a relieved smile it reminds him of yours. He never noticed until now that you both have the same smile. 

"It feels like ages since I saw you," she observes, arms crossing as she looks him over. "You've grown up into such a handsome young man." 

Frankie feels himself grow a bit embarrassed at the attention, looking down at the scuffed floor. "Thank you." 

"And I hear you're still flying helicopters? That's so exciting." 

Frankie can't help but smile shyly, pride suffusing him. 

"Yeah, it's pretty great." 

She nods, starting to walk down the hall to check on the charts. He follows beside her, hands in his pockets. 

She scribbles away, talking to him over her shoulder. 

"So, why are you here, honey? Anything I can help you with?"  

Frankie's neck and the tips of his ears go pink, his face warm. Saying this to your mom suddenly feels daunting. 

"It's, uh, well, I wanted to know if you had Pip's number at school." 

She falters only a moment, scanning him. "You don't have it?"

"No ma'am." 

"Of course I have it. Come back with me to the desk and I'll write it down for you." 

He follows her to the desk, sidestepping a young orderly. Your mom digs in her purse for her address book, a few items shifted. 

He sees a postcard inside as she rummages. It's from Seattle, obviously from Pip. She sends postcards home instead of visiting, he muses. Santi tells him as much.  

She notices him looking, her smile toothy as she produces the postcard. He catches your writing on the back, his heart clenching. 

"Just got this one from her today," she says holding it up. "Strange to imagine my baby all the way across the country, but these help." 

"I bet." 

Your mom digs in the desk for a pen and post it note, grumbling about the other nurses being disorganized. 

"Ah, there's one," she announces, brandishing a pen with the hospital logo on one side. "Why did you need her number? You sure Everything's okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. Just..." Frankie swallows, cheeks flaming as he stands there. "Uh... I wanted to speak to her." 

He meets her eyes and despite the glazed look she wears, he sees something else. A knowing, an understanding. A softness that moves to her mouth, hitching at one side. 

"I see." 

He watches her scribble down the number, tearing the yellow sheet from the others and holding it out to him. 

"Here you are, honey." 

Frankie reaches out to take the paper, eyes already memorizing the digits before he folds the page and stuffs it in his jeans pocket. 

"Thank you very much." 

Your mother nods, looking at him curiously. 

"I bet she'll be really excited to hear from you." 

Not so sure about that, he thinks.

"I hope so." 

A beat. The two of them don't move, neither sure how to end the conversation. 

"Your parents would be so proud of you, Francisco. I just know it." Your mother adjusts her scrub top, looking at Frankie with tenderness. "I mean, hell, I'm not even your mom and I'm so proud of all you've done with your life." 

The words are gentle and said with genuine affection so sweet that it makes Frankie's eyes grow damp. 

He'll never hear those words from his parents. No observance of his hard work. No celebration for his accomplishments. Hearing them from your mom takes his breath away. 

He tries to thank her but the words are getting stuck in his throat. 

As a mother she seems to sense this, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his middle. He's a head taller than her, but it doesn't stop making him feel like a child again when she squeezes.

"If you ever need anything, you come see me," your mom tells him. "To talk, to eat, to sleep. Anytime. You promise?"

"Yes ma'am," Frankie says, a tear escaping down his cheek. "I promise." 

He moves from her with a small smile, the drive back home quick. But once inside the quiet house his bravado fades and he takes his time puttering around the kitchen.

The Post-It note sits on his kitchen table, but it could be in the trash for all he cares. He had the number memorized before your mom even finished handing it to him. The phone sits in is cradle on the table, intimidating in its stillness.

He can imagine your soft surprised voice. He loves how you say his name. The slope you put to the end of it. He feels his mouth lift at the corners in anticipation. 

"Just do it," he rasps to himself. "Just fucking do it." 

He picks up the phone, fingers trembling. He internally practices how to start the conversation. 

Hi Pip. Congrats on graduating. No, that's fucking stupid. Hey Pip, it's been a while. How've you been? Hey Pip, you broke my heart and I want to know why. Hey Pip-

"Hello?"

A man's voice. 

Frankie frowns at the phone, confused. This is your dorm room. Hilary mentioned that you live with girls a few times over the years. So why is a guy answering your phone at this time of night? 

"Hello? Is anyone there?" 

I dialed the wrong number, Frankie decides. Stupid of me.

But he still grips the receiver tightly, holding his breath. 

"Nothing." 

He goes to hang up when a voice drifts in the background. A voice he knows all too well. 

"Just hang up and let's go to bed." 

You. 

You telling another man it's time to go to bed. A leaden rock drops inside Frankie's stomach, causing an anguished noise to escape him the second the phone receiver is placed back on the cradle. 

He stares at it in numb shock for a few moments, mind going to the worst places possible. Your and some faceless guy in bed together. Him able to draw sounds from you that Frankie was incapable of. 

What was Frankie thinking? That you'd magically stay single all this time? That you'd be pining away for him like he has for you? 

Humiliation scalds his cheeks, sorrow heavy on his shoulders as he moves to the bedroom. He throws himself onto the bed he once shared with you, holding a pillow to his chest and falling into a dreamless sleep. 

The shower is restorative, the mint toothpaste still clinging to your teeth. You feel better as you enter into the kitchen. 

Hilary is seated there, ashtray half filled. You join her, breathing unevenly. Your body is still vibrating with all of this new information. 

“You need to talk to Frankie about what happened.”

An anxious twist starts low in your belly. "I don't know what to do or what to say. I don't want to bring up all this hurt again. He doesn't deserve it."

"You need to tell him."

“Why?” You keep your voice quiet, not wanting to be overheard by your mother. "It’s been almost twenty years." 

"Because he deserves to know," Hilary defends, brows crossing. "And you know it." 

You think of the lipstick tube you found in his house that one day. The clear sign that Frankie has found someone else; a woman that feels comfortable enough to leave her things behind at his home. 

You push yourself up to your feet, starting to pace around the room.

"Frankie is over all of this, Hil. I'm just the loser that never moved on." 

She gives you a sneer.

"Bullshit. I know he cares about you. He's always cared about you. Even after the party."

"Not true," you scoff. "Until this visit, Frankie has loathed me."

"No," Hilary says shaking her head. "He hasn't." She pauses, grimacing. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

You stop your pacing, eyes over your shoulder. "What?"

"Frankie has been visiting Mom since she got sick." 

You draw back, dropping into the same seat. “What?”

"I was working doubles to pay for stuff for a while and he knew I wasn't at home as much because of it. Santi probably told him. So he started showing up to bring her treats, clean the house, visit over tea. When she could walk he'd take her for walks." 

"No. That's not possible. Mom never..." You pause your sentence. 

Mops. Brooms. Bringing by your mom's favorite brownies. The way she looked at him. The way he knew exactly how to be gentle with her. 

"He only stopped when he heard you were coming back," Hilary says and looks hesitant, like she's betraying his trust by telling you. "He made me promise not to tell you anything." 

"Why would he do all that?”

Hilary sighs, lighting up a new cigarette and giving you a leveling look. 

"Why the fuck do you think?" 

THEN

"A beach birthday is such a fun idea," Inaya says walking alongside Frankie, a cooler full of drinks carried between them. "I'm so bored during the summer." 

Frankie grunts and nods, pulling his baseball cap down a little lower over his eyes. A red one this time. One from the flight school he teaches at.

It's where he met the very beautiful Inaya when she came to take lessons. She works at a daycare during the school year, she's patient and she thinks Frankie is charming.

They both keep it casual. What started as drinks after class has turned into the odd dinner out, sleeping together when they both feel like it. Sometimes it's just nice to go to the movies with someone who isn't Benny or Will. 

Frankie likes Inaya because she fills a lot of the silence between them with chatter about traveling, about her job and her family. 

He's jealous of her stories of close multi-generational family life. That she's excited about visiting her grandparents back in India. It seems surreal that anyone could enjoy being around their family.

She also carries a pain, and it's the only thing she doesn't like to talk about. The death of her fiance, Michael, when they were both still in their twenties. He was in the air force too, shot down over Paraguay. 

He thinks that's why she likes to keep things surface level. It's easier for both of them that way. 

"Do you think Santi will like the gift card?"

"He'll like anything," Frankie assures her.

She laughs, head tilted back. Frankie brought her today because the other guys have been bugging him about bringing her out. They keep telling him that he needs to have a proper adult relationship instead of flings. 

In Frankie's opinion they're the last people he'd turn to for romantic advice. Santi is a serial heart breaker whether he's in Florida or working in Columbia. Will has been seeing the same girl off and on for the last few years and Benny is so focused on his boxing career he might as well be celibate.

"I know you guys served together in Argentina, right?" 

"Yep." 

"Loquacious as always, Morales," she says shouldering him playfully. 

Frankie scans the perimeter, taking in what the BBQ's are, where the bonfire has been started. He takes note of how many umbrellas and towels are lying out, how many bodies rest in various states of repose, sunglasses on, drinks in hand. 

It's a habit that won't leave him, one that he cultivated overseas; making sure no danger lurks anywhere if he can control it. Yet there's only one danger that he can't see. One that terrifies him more than any other. 

You. 

As far as he knows you won't be showing up. You're in Seattle, living a life away from your home life in Florida. Still, his stomach clenches anxiously as his eyes drift over the smiling faces. He searches each one as Inaya makes some crack about millennials and driftwood. 

His shoulders lower when he doesn't see your face, the knot in his stomach loosening. 

He can survive this. 

Inaya is a hit with the guys, not to Frankie's surprise. Will seems particularly enamored with her, hiding it poorly from Janette who hangs off his arm possessively. Frankie cracks a beer, smirking over at Santi who has observed the same. He drifts over to his friend, waving at those who wish him a happy birthday.

"Oye perdejo," Santi greets him, tapping his beer can against Frankie's. "Stop having so much fun." 

Frankie rolls his eyes. If it was just the guys he'd be able to relax. But with this crowd of revelers he just feels awkward. He's never really enjoyed big crowds of drunken people.

"Enjoying your party?"

"Depends, what'd you get me?"

Frankie digs into the back pocket of his shorts holding a small envelope his way. "Gift card." 

"So sentimental," Santi quips, snatching it and shoving it into his pocket as he motions to Inaya laughing with Benny. "So, your girlfriend's pretty great."

"Not my girlfriend," Frankie murmurs huskily against his beer can, eyes hidden behind his aviators. 

"Right." Santi nods, his own eyes fixed so long on Frankie's profile that he feels his cheeks burn.

"What?"

"Nothing." Santi taps his beer can with his pointer finger absently, a small wistful look on his face. "Just wondering when you're gonna be honest with yourself."

"About what?"

"About the reason that you never want commitment with anyone."

Frankie's heart is in his throat. “There’s no reason. Just not the settling down type.”

His friend presses his lips together, exhaling through his nose. "Frank, c'mon-"

"I'm gonna go check on Inaya."

It's clear he wants to say more and Frankie wants nothing less. Santi gives a rueful shake of his head as Frankie crosses the sand, stopping to grab a beer bottle from the cooler before coming to stand next to a bemused Inaya . She's standing politely listening to Benny peacock.

"I'm still new but they're already calling me the 'blue-chip prospect' of the division."

"That's so cool," Inaya says with such sincerity Frankie would think it was real if he didn't know her so well. She glances over at Frankie taking a deep pull of his beer. 

"Forgot mine?"

"You didn't ask for one." 

Inaya gives an exaggerated look of exasperation over at Benny. 

"Since Frank here decided chivalry is dead, I guess I'll have to go get a beer myself," she says, elbowing a smirking Frankie in the ribs. "Be right back." 

"Dig to the bottom," he calls after her. "Stuff on top is still warm."

Benny is smiling broadly when he looks back. Will slowly approaches as well, Janette having just left in a fit. 

"So," the younger Miller says in a teasing drawl. "She's pretty great, Fish."

Before Frankie can explain that he and she are casual, something stops him; something in the air. A strange sense that has gooseflesh starting on his arms and the back of his neck. 

 Santi's voice rings out over the crowd. 

"Hi, Pip! There you are!"

Everything narrows down to a pinprick. The world is muted, save for his shallow breathing. He might as well be back in Argentina with the guys, focus fixed on his surroundings. His heart pumps slowly, body tight all over. His arms have tensed up, knuckles white around his beer bottle. 

It's you. 

He doesn't even need to turn around to know exactly how you'll walk, the way the sun will highlight parts of your hair, the curve of your mouth. 

But he does. 

He moves slowly, sunglasses plucked and moved to hang from the collar of his t-shirt. His pulse plays a cruel staccato in his neck as he finally views you and your sister approaching the group in. 

It's been almost ten years since he last saw you and time has done nothing but add to your beauty. You've developed into your curves; you walk more confidently, your hair loose instead of its customary low ponytail. 

Deep, aching want spreads through his body as he takes in the way your eyes shyly look around, just as they did when you were teens. You may be more at ease in crowds, but you've never really shaken off that initial insecurity. 

"Is that the cousin?" 

"Thought she was in Seattle," Benny murmurs to Will. 

"As far as I know she still is," his brother agrees.

He looks over to Frankie who shrugs even though he knows very well you are. Did you fly out just for this? Why the hell didn't Santi tell him? 

"Here take this first," you say to Santi, your voice makes Frankie's mouth dry. 

He remembers that quiet murmur in his ear wishing him a good morning. He remembers the way you looked when you told him you loved him. He remembers the perfect comfort of being with you whether it was riding bikes through the neighborhood or between sheets. 

You shared more than sex. You shared childhood. A history. Each other's ups and downs. The awkward stages. The milestones no child should have to endure. There is joy at seeing you here and now, pure and honest. 

"She's hot," Benny observes, eyes trailing over you slowly in a way that tells Frankie everything he needs to know about his friend’s intentions. 

"Down boy," Will chuckles. "Pope will kill you if you mess with Pip." 

It all comes rushing back in that moment. And then all of a sudden that same pathetic joy turns to a feeble flame that is easily extinguished. All that's left is ash and ruin at the reminder of your callousness. Your sickening betrayal. 

Fury plumes up Frankie’s throat, a scowl etched across his full mouth when your gaze finally shifts over to him and your eyes connect. He doesn't expect your stare to betray the same simmering agitation, nor an accusation in every blink you don't make. But he long gave up any ability to understand your anger. 

Finally, like a physical severing, the two of you tear your eyes away and turn back to your respective conversations. 

"Lemme get you a burger," Frankie hears Santi offer you. 

Frankie clears his throat, not wanting to hear your reply. He doesn't give a shit about you. He never should have. 

Will's eyes drift over to Frankie who has turned back away from you, fingers tightening around his beer bottle. He feels like he's going to punch something. 

"You okay, Fish?" Will asks, puzzled. He scratches at his eyebrow as he stares at him. 

"M'fine," Frankie mutters. 

He moves from around the BBQ, trying to distance himself. He glances around for Inaya, horrified when he notices her laughter from across the fire. She's standing with you, beer extended as the two of you talk. 

Why the fuck is she talking with you? 

He ducks his head, grabbing some veggies and popping them onto a plate. He sees some blonde guy from one of Santi's poker nights. 

The guy - Barry? Terry? - greets him, starting a lively conversation with him about how they need to have a rematch so he can win back his money. Frankie is only half listening, he keeps sneaking looks out the corner of his eyes at you and Inaya. 

The two of you are still talking, making his stomach a quiver uneasily. 

He distracts himself with conversation, trying to look un-phased that you're here. Before long an hour has passed and Frankie can't stop the itch under his skin. The one that compels him to casually scan the party. 

Inaya is nowhere to be found, but even if she was Frankie wouldn't notice. His dark eyes are dragging over the sand for you and you alone. 

He spots you over by the BBQ, looking tense as you go about fixing a burger. You've got that serious look you wear when you're frustrated. Brows pinched, jaw clenched. 

You could be six, sixteen, and twenty six all at once. You'll always have that same expression and Frankie will always melt at the sight of it. 

He misses you. Misses the way you could comfort him like no one else. Misses the way you said his name. Misses the scent of your skin. He misses lightning bugs and ghost stories around campfires. 

And he knows in that horrible moment, that he's still so in love with you. Despite the party. Despite the man in your dorm room. Despite Seattle. Despite the silence. He misses you so much it feels like a physical pull of his sternum. One that forces his feet over the cooling sand, just to be near you. 

He halts a few steps away, watching the way your body tightens at his nearness. Can you hear his shallow breathing? Can you just sense him? He holds his breath and comes to stand next to you, reaching for a plate that he doesn't even need. He can't eat right now, his stomach is in knots. 

He tilts, eyes finally catching yours and he thinks he might faint or throw up. He's not sure which. You're not glaring at him anymore; instead it seems you're cataloging his features, taking in what a decade has done to him. 

What do you see? The lines between his brows? The patchy quality to his beard that he never grew out of? The length of his messy hair? Or are you looking at the hat he wears today? The old green one from his closet? 

Say something, Frankie tells himself when he realizes he's just been staring at you. Say something. Anything.

"Didn't know you'd be here. Didn't think you'd fly back for it," he adds before clearing his throat, hating how stilted he sounds.  

Your focus moves back to your plate. He watches you work, ears growing warm. 

"Sure." 

Silence extends as you both busy yourself with condiments and sides to your burgers. He keeps sneaking looks at your profile, questions running through his mind. Why did you never call him to explain? Don't you understand he would have forgiven you? Who was that guy in your dorm? Do you miss Frankie? 

"Your girlfriend seems nice," you say. 

Fuck. Inaya. 

He could tell you she's just a friend from work. Could tell you that he just met her recently. But he's never lied to you before, so why start now? 

"She's not really my girlfriend. We just... Hang out together sometimes." 

He doesn't want to talk about Inaya. He wants to talk about that night. He wants to know what happened. He wants to know if you still care about him. 

"Guess some things never change,” you say with a curl to your upper lip. Gone is the sweet voice he remembers, now replaced with something cold and flinty. 

"Huh?"  

“You’ve just always been good at making girls think they mean more to you than they actually do," you clarify.  

Old hurt comes rolling back, like a furious locomotive up his spine. "What's that supposed to mean?"  

Your name is called by Santi and the other guys. Tom has arrived and is clearly eager to meet you. You give a false smile and wave their way before looking back up at Frankie. 

"It means whatever you want it to, Frankie," you say with a disgusted scoff. "Just keep me out of it."  

He watches you leave, hips swaying as you move over the sand to greet the guys. They'll love you, he's sure. 

"That's her, huh?'

Frankie nearly jumps when he hears Inaya's soft voice at his elbow. "Huh? Who?"

"Morales," she sighs in mock exasperation. "C'mon."

Her eyes move from Pip back to Frankie and his nostrils flare slightly, eyes squinting. 

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, In." 

She steps closer, voice quiet, only for him. 

"I think I just met the reason you don't want to commit to a relationship."

Frankie's eyes narrow on her, anger clear in his expression. "Since when do you want commitment?"

"Not now," she says with a roll of her eyes. "But someday with someone." 

"Not everyone has your penchant for romance, I guess," Frankie hisses, cheeks splotchy

She looks at him with a worried expression. His jaw tightens, long fingers twitching at his sides as he shuffles in the sand. Inaya knows him well enough to recognize the signs. 

"You wanna leave?"

Frankie glances over her shoulder to see you at the rest of the guys laughing loudly. Just like he suspected, they love you already. 

"Yeah." 

She nods, taking his hand in hers and heading back to the truck. He doesn't bother saying goodbye to anyone. He just wants to slink off into the encroaching dusk and forget this ever happened. 

“That Benny is like an oversized puppy who doesn't know whether to bite or chase its tail,” Inaya laughs, her feet propped up on the dashboard as he drives.

Frankie can smirk at that, nodding. "Spot on." 

"You know, today I think I saw how you would have been as a boy," Inaya says affectionately, "All nervous and serious, hiding under that hat.”

She reaches over and tugs at the stray curl under Frankie's ear. He flinches away from her, scowling. 

"Quit it, I'm driving." 

She giggles, hair dancing in the air from the open window. She glances at the passing houses when she speaks next. 

"Pip seemed cool." 

Frankie is silent. He goes to turn on the radio but Inaya stills his fingers. She pulls herself into a properly seated position, braid falling over one shoulder. 

"Frank, c'mon. I know something happened there. You were avoiding her like the plague for most of the party. And the second you saw her you were, like, in a trance." 

Frankie swallows thickly, trying not to look unsettled. He had no idea he appeared that way to others. Is that what inspired Santi's stupid comments earlier? He's quiet, knowing that his silence is its own damning admission.

Inaya reaches across the cab of the truck, fingers light on his forearm. 

"I just wanna know what happened. I'm your friend, let me help you." 

Friends. He and Pip were friends. Inaya is nothing like you. The comparison makes him furious. 

"We're not friends, Inaya," Frankie snaps, teeth clenched as he jerks to a stop at a red light. 

Inaya takes a slow breath in, fingers lacing in her lap. "We're not?"

"No," Frankie says with a brutal curl of his lip. "We watch movies and eat food and sometimes we fuck. That's it." 

For a moment he thinks she might slap him, but she remains self possessed, voice controlled. 

"I see." 

The light turns green and the truck jostles to life as he aggressively pushes down the accelerator. The rest of the ride is incredibly tense. Inaya flicks the radio on this time and Frankie is thankful for the normally annoying sound of Barry Manilow. 

He eventually drops her off in front of her apartment building, turning the engine off with a slow twist of his keys. Frankie feels dead, his body heavy and useless. 

The two sit in a heavy silence, the day and the harsh words from earlier still echoing around the cab of the truck. Both seem to know this is the last time they'll see each other. 

Inaya unbuckles her seatbelt, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth before she looks his way. 

"We get one shot at life, Frankie," she says as she opens her door and climbs out. "Don't waste yours." 

Frankie doesn't say anything. He just watches her move to the building as he settles himself behind his steering wheel. He waits until she's safely inside before he pulls away, eyes wet and heart aching. 

“I need to see him.”

You move on shaky legs, eyes wild and shaky hands gripping the strap of your purse. Everything you’ve learned in the last hour has shifted your universe in a monumental way. There’s no way you can just sit here any longer

Hilary stands, trying to grab at your wrist at you attempt to leave. “Hey, slow down.”

“I need to see Frankie,” you say sharply. “Right now.”

“You can always call him up and ask him to come over." 

“Face to face.”

"You shouldn't be driving," Hilary tells you, face soft with concern. "Take a minute to breathe.”

"I'll be fine," you insist, shaking off her hand. "I promise." 

Your hurried feet almost catch on the carpet as you rush for the door. Hilary is calling after you, but you don't hear her. All that pounds in your ears is the thrum of your heartbeat. 

Frankie. Frankie. Frankie. 

Images of your time together are assaulting you, the kite, the pool, your first kiss, the funeral and his arms around you. His eyes, those beautiful fucking eyes. 

Your vision is blurry, but you blink the building tears back as you practically tear the door of your truck open. 

You need to see Frankie right this second. You need to clear this up. No more misunderstandings. 

You peel out of the driveway, small little hiccupping sobs escaping you as your foot slams against the accelerator.

You think of the lost years. Of the twenties you two could have shared, could have spent building a life together. Instead you diverged like branches away from one another. Lives led with carried animosity. All because of a fucking misunderstanding. 

I fucked up.

All this time we could have been together.

I didn't trust him.

We could have had so much time. 

These thoughts make your breath catch in your chest, distracting you the vehicle that slams into the side of you truck. For a moment everything seems to go in slow motion. You take in the squeal and scent of burnt tires, the crunch of metal.

And then darkness.

DON'T HATE ME.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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@vickie5446

“Here, hold on to me.” He takes your hand in his, helping you out of his truck. "You good?” 

You look up, kissing his cheek as he closes the passenger door behind you. “Always the gentlemen.”

He grins, looking up at the old diner. “Sorry we couldn't go anywhere better.”

“I don't mind; a quiet dinner with you is all I need tonight.”

"How are the cramps?"

"Still there."

You’re both tired, but tonight is probably the last chance for a date night before the twins arrive, and when you're this heavily pregnant and he’s had a long day on horseback, driving into town to the only diner for miles is the best you’re both going to get. 

“Hey Mr. and Mrs. Miller, what can I get ya?" the waitress asks. 

Mrs. Miller. You’re still getting used to that, pinching yourself every time you hear it on someone else's lips because you never thought you’d get your happy ending, especially not with him. 

*Flashback*

“So, where are you taking me?”

“Up there.” He nods straight ahead towards the top of valleys that surround the ranch. "In a couple week those tops will be covered in snow, so I figured we should take the chance while it’s still safe.”

“Shall we take the horses?” You smile, knowing that’s a stupid question. 

“Nice try, you know I'm not letting that happen. Now go grab some warmer clothes; it can get cold up there once the sun drops. I’ll wait in the truck.”

You nod and head inside. He’s been acting weird today, all week actually. There’s a nervous energy about him, like he’s waiting for something. Last week you had a minor scare with the twins; it wasn’t serious once the doctors figured out what was going on, but maybe that’s what's got him acting all uptight.

As he drives up the valley, his eyes stay locked on the road, his shoulders tense, his hands gripping the wheel so hard. his knuckles are white.

“You okay?”

He doesn't respond. 

“Baby?”

He clears his throat, finally hearing you. “Yeah.” 

“Here,” you reach over, take his hand, and rest it on your bump. “You feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Just wait.”

The second you feel one of the twins kicking, he instantly relaxes, his face lighting up, and he pulls the truck to a halt on the side of the road. 

“They’re kicking?”

You nod, "One of them for sure.” 

He turns as best as he can, resting his other hand on your belly too. “Hey boys, it's Daddy!"

You feel another kick, and he begins to laugh excitedly. 

“They hear you, Joel." 

“Yeah? You hear us boys? We can't wait to meet you; better be looking after each other in there, no fighting, alright?”

Joel doesn't cry, it’s rare you ever see it happen, but after he leans down to kiss your belly, he looks up at you, tears building in his eyes.

"you ok?"

"Just so fuckin' happy, darlin'."

Later that night your cuddled up in the bed of his truck watching the stars glimmer above you when he shifts, digging into his pocket to pull out a small piece of woven leather in the shape of a ring. 

“What’s that?”

“I love you so much, I love our sons, and I love this life we're building together, and I want you to be mine forever.”

“You have me.” You giggle, furrowing your eyebrows a little confused. 

“I’m serious, darlin’. I want you to carry my name."

“Joel…” your voice trails off, your heartbeat increasing rapidly at his words. 

“Be my wife. be my wife before the boys arrive. We’re going to be a family, and we should do it right.”

“I don't know what to say…”

He chuckles nervously. “Say yes? Say you’ll have me.”

“But I thought you hated the idea of a wedding?”

“Of a wedding, yes. But not marriage. I don't need some pretentious ceremony that just caters to our friends and family to prove I want to spend eternity with you. Although if you would like that, hell, I’ll make that happen, believe me. " He takes a deep breath. “I don't care how we do it; I just want to know that when I wake up beside you every morning, you’re mine in this life and in whatever comes afterwards.” He tilts your chin up to look at him. “So what do you say?”

“Yes, Joel.” You smile through the tears. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he’s beaming now. “Gimme your hand.”

You notice his hands shaking as he starts to slide the handmade ring onto your finger. “I’ll get you somethin' better, I promise. But I found one of Shadow's old bridles in his stable; it took a little work to make it into this, but I thought it could work as a temporary one."

“Are you kidding? This is perfect!” You don't need anything else; he took the time to think about this and to make it, and therefore it holds more meaning than anything else ever could.

“Well, you can have two, because I'm getting the ring you deserve.”

You shift, moving into his lap as you snake your arms around his neck, your palms holding the back of his head as you kiss him. 

“So we’re doin’ this?” he asks between kisses. 

“Mmmh,” you bite your lip. “Let's get married, cowboy.”

The very next morning, you wake to him watching you, his sleepy face all smug as you reach up and brush your fingers through his messy curls.

“How about today?” he croaks.

“Today?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Well, we could get the license this morning while I get Tommy to find an officiant, and then we could pick a spot somewhere here on the ranch, and by tonight it could be official.” He shifts until he’s on all fours, hovering above you. “Afterwards we could go dancin’, party…totally sober, of course… and then I'd bring you back here and carry you over the threshold of our front door and all the way back to this bed where I’d make love to you all night.”

You‘re unsure what to say; the idea is crazy but also perfect.

“I know your parents aren't here, or your friends, so we can wait if you want—"

“Today.” You cut him off.

He smiles. “You sure?”

You nod eagerly. “Let's not wait a second longer.” The excitement fills you with butterflies and you could squeal uncontrollably at the thought that today you’ll become Mrs. Miller, but then the panic starts sets in.

“What's wrong?”  

“I don't have a dress!”

He pauses for a minute before an idea enters his mind. “I’m on it.” He crawls off the bed and takes his phone off the nightstand to make a call. “Baby girl? I’ve got some big news to tell you, and then I'm going to need your help.”

Following Joel out on the front porch, you see Tommy approaching the house on his horse and Sarah’s truck in the distance coming down the road. 

“Tommy, I need you to find an officiant for me. Oh, and go dig that suit out; you’re going to need it later.”

“Huh?” Tommy looks down from his horse, confusion written all over his face. “An officiant? Why?” 

“There’s going to be a wedding today.”

“A wedding? Who’s getting married?”

“I am, brother.”

His face lights up. “Wait… are you serious?”

Tommy looks up to you, the smile on your face telling him all he needs to know.

“Holy shit!” Tommy laughs, “I’m on it, brother.”

As Tommy rides off, Sarah pulls up in her truck and rushes over to you, both of you uncontrollably giddy as as she wraps her arms tightly around you. 

“Woahhhh, careful! Don’t forget she’s carrying the most precious cargo.” Joel calls over.

Sarah brushes her dad's comment off. “I can't believe this is really happening!” 

“Me neither. And… you’re really okay with this?”

“Stop! Of course I am. You're growing my baby brothers. You're basically already my stepmom anyway.”

“Nooo please don’t call me that; that’s too weird.” You laugh. 

“Okay, okay! But we should get going if we’re gonna find you a dress in time!”

As you pass Joel on the way to Sarah’s truck, you intertwine your fingers with his and he leans down to kiss you. When you pull away, his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you back into him, kissing you more as you feel Sarah watching on behind. 

“Uh guys, this is cute and everything, but if you want to get married today, we have to go now.”

He hums against your lips, kissing you for a moment longer before you reluctantly pull away. 

“See you soon, handsome.”

He tilts his hat. “I’ll be waiting." 

As the night draws in, you follow closely behind him as he rushes up the steps. You reach out instinctively to support him as he almost trips as you both giggle your way to the front door. He’s tipsy, and you’re simply high on happiness. 

He fiddles with the lock for a while until you take the key and do it for him and he smirks down at you as the door swings open. “May I?” 

“Be careful mister, don’t drop me.” 

“Never.” 

He bends down and scoops you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest. He nuzzles his head into your neck, peppering eager kisses on your skin. “Woah, Joel. Let’s get safely in the house first, you’ve had a drink remember.” 

By some miracle, he manages to successfully carry you inside and up the stairs all the way to the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed.

Dressed in his best shirt and jeans, and still wearing that damn hat that will always stir something deep inside you, he lets his eyes travel up and down your form with hungry eyes.

“Mmmmh. You sure did well with this dress, darlin’."

“You like?” 

He nods. “Fuckin’ divine, my love.” He takes a deep breath and when you look down, you notice the bulge in his jeans. “But as much as I’m enjoying this sight, I think it’s time we took it off you, Mrs. Miller.”

You giggle. “Say that again.”

He moves over you, snaking his way up your body, breathing you in desperately as he hums in approval. “What? Mrs. Miller?” he stops once he’s level with your face, his lips just above yours as he stares into your eyes. “My wife?”

You whimper at the sound of those words on his lips. “Mmmmh. I’m your wife.”

Present day

“What?” you ask, noticing that naughty look in his eye as he sits across from you in the booth, watching you eat.

"Nothing, I just like looking at ya" 

You blush, looking away from him. He tilts his head to the side. “Don’t shy away from me.”

“Just eat your damn food, mister.”

Pregnancy has been hard on you, not just physically, but mentally. Getting used to the way your body was changing at each stage had taken its toll, even if you did have Joel telling you every morning just how beautiful he thought you were, or showing you exactly what it did to him when he’d get home after a long day and find you naked in the shower waiting for him.

He’d always be extra careful, taking it slow to ensure he was never going to hurt you or the babies, but he’d always give you exactly what you needed to reassure you in all the best ways that he still wants every ounce of you. 

And then there were his small, tender touches like when he’d lie in bed beside you and rub cream over your tummy to ease the tight skin, or help you wash your hair when you didn’t have the energy. Or just the simple reminders to make sure you’d eaten plenty and hydrated enough. These were the things that made you realized how lucky you were to have a man like Joel by your side and how lucky the twins were to have him as their father.

“Ahh, Marcus, haven’t seen you around here for a while!” you hear the voice of the diner owner, your eyes immediately flicking up to Joel. Surely not. 

Joel drops his fork onto his plate with a loud clang. He slumps back against the seat as he glances just past you towards the counter, his jaw locked, his eyes wide like he’s seeing red. You don't need to look over your shoulder to confirm your suspicion; judging by the way Joel isn't taking his eyes off the man tells you all you need to know. Great, that’s the quiet date night officially over. 

“Joel?”

He hums in response, but he isn't listening.

“Joel, can we go? The cramps are getting worse.”

“Alright, just gimme a minute, darlin’.” He stands, leaving you alone in the booth. 

“Joel, please don’t.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, so you sit there, refusing to look behind you, instead carefully listening out in anticipation of what might happen next. 

“Shit. Joel," you hear that familiar irritating voice behind you, the sound of it making you cringe.

“Whatcha still doing round here, boy?” Joel asks. 

“I'm not; I'm working down south now; just passing through.”

"Ah, yeah?”

“Don’t want no trouble, Miller," the owner of the diner warns, picking up on the tension.

"Oh, I don’t want any trouble either, but it seems someone in this damn place does, showing his face around ‘ere.”

“Alright, relax, I just wanted a drink after a long day; I'm going.” Marcus sighs, his chair scraping along the floor as he stands. He pauses then; and you can feel his eyes at the back of your head. “Heard she married ya.”

“Where’d you hear that?” 

“I got my sources.”

“Sure ya do.” He scoffs. “Well, if you heard that, you’ll also know she’s carrying my sons too.”

The room goes silent then. Maybe he didn't know that. “Shit.” Marcus laughs. “Well, congrats, I guess. You both got it all figured out, don't ya? Must be nice.”

Joel smirks, taking out his wallet and flicking through the wad of bills sitting in there; he’s being an ass now, simply because he can. “Drinks on me.”

“Don’t want your money, man.”

“Take it. But I promise you kid, if I ever see your ass in this town again, I won't be so polite.”

“Fuck you, and fuck her too.”

You stand then; you couldn't care less about your ex, but you don't want to have to split up a fight when you're this heavily pregnant. So you turn and look into Marcus' eyes for a second with a blank expression before you take Joel's hand. “Joel, come on, let's go home.”

He doesn’t budge. Rolling your eyes you give up and leave. “I’ll be in the truck.”

As you climb into the passenger seat with a clear view into the neon-lit diner, you notice the sheriff pulling in and an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach then.

It all happens too fast. Joel’s head connects with Marcus’s face making him fall backwards onto the bar, and unfortunately for both of them, the fight then erupts exactly as the sheriff walks.

Pissed, you open the door and climb out of the truck in an attempt to go inside and defuse the situation, but the moment you stand, you feel an intense rush down below and you realize your waters just broke. 

You stand frozen in place unsure what to do. The entire pregnancy you thought you'd be calm when this moment came; all the classes, books, and videos made you think you’d handle going into labor pretty well, but not one of those things mentioned your waters breaking as your husband got dragged out of a diner in handcuffs.

You call out for him but he doesn’t pick up on what’s happening to you as he’s pushed forcefully towards the sheriff's vehicle. “I’m sorry, baby. Go get Tommy; he’ll know what to do.”

“Joel, my waters just broke.”

He frowns. “I can’t hear ya, just go get Tommy." 

“The babies are coming!” 

His eyes go wide as your words register. Pure panic reverberates through his body then as he starts yelling, trying like hell to free himself from the grip of the sheriff, but of course he can't. Both men stumble onto the ground Joel’s elbow collides with the sheriff's nose, instantly drawing blood. 

The deputy steps in then, helping to secure Joel on the ground, both men yelling at him as you look into your husband's helpless eyes as his face squishes against the asphalt. This can’t be happening. 

You plead and plead with the men like it’ll make any difference, but they don’t listen. Joel might be liked and well respected around here, but he isn’t above the law. 

Once Joel’s secured in the vehicle, the men come over to you, and the sheriff sighs with a pitiful look. “My deputy will drive you to the hospital, ma’am, but I’m sorry; your husband has to come with me.”

———

The entire night felt like you were in somebody else’s body watching this nightmare happen to you. You were scared, pacing the hospital room between examinations and contractions, wondering why hell Joel had to go and get himself arrested tonight of all nights.

But when Sarah and Maria arrived, they helped you realize that anger wasn’t going to help. Tommy was dealing with Joel, and you had two tiny humans relying on you right now, so you had to be strong and try to forget about him in a jail cell for the sake of the twins.

Labor had lasted hours. You were exhausted, highly emotional and honestly terrified. But just as you notice the sun starting to rise, the midwife helps you back up on the bed to examine you again. 

She looks up from between your legs, and the look she gives you tells you it's time.

“I don’t think I can do this; this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I can’t do this without him.” 

Sarah grabs your hand tightly then. “You can. You have to.” 

“When the next contraction comes, I need you to push for me, okay?” 

You don’t know how long you’ve been pushing; you don’t know if this is even real; you just know the pain feels overwhelming.

But at some point between pushing, the door bursts open and you see that face you’ve been desperate to see. He’s here.

Your head falls back against the pillow as you pant hard, feeling relieved that despite the pain, you don't have to do this without him no longer. The tears start to fall then. “How? How are you here?”

“It doesn’t matter; I just know I’ve got a lot of sweet talking to do after this.” He smiles.

“I hate you for leaving me like that!” 

He chuckles, dabbing your sweaty forehead. “You can hate me; that’s okay. You do whatever you need to do to get through this.” 

You shake your head, anticipating the next contraction. “I’m so tired, Joel.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. But you're so close now.” He leans down, kissing your forehead. “Take my hand; you fuckin' break it if you need to.” He looks deep into your eyes then. “You’ve got this, my love. Let’s meet our sons, yeah?" 

A few weeks later…

“You’re home.” You sigh in relief as he steps into the bedroom. 

“I’m home.” He checks on his son in the crib before walking over to you in the rocking chair, bending down to lay a soft kiss on top of your head. “How are our sons?”

“It’s been a long day; I think they’ve been missing their daddy.” 

You hand him his other son, watching him cradle the tiny bundle in his huge arms. 

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my day was pretty rough too. The auction didn’t go great, and your dad definitely still hates me.”

You smile. "No, he doesn’t.” 

“Didn’t say a word to me the entire day. Maybe it was a mistake taking him with me; now he’s seen me failing as a cowboy as well as a husband.”

“Joel, please stop beating yourself up about that. I promise you, he was over you getting arrested the second he saw his grandsons. I think he just likes to keep you on edge.” 

“He does that, alright.” Joel grins, a mischievous look in his eye. “Anyway, I got you something today."

“Yeah?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

“I mean it’s more for the boys, but I don’t think they’ll quite appreciate it just yet.” He places his son into the crib beside his brother and leaves the room.

“It’s not a horse is it, they’re a little young still.”

When he comes back, he’s smirking and holding a small box. You open it and two tiny pairs of cowboy boots sit there. 

“Oh my goodness! Joel!” 

“You know I don’t part with my money unless it’s to buy a horse, but not this time. I saw ‘em and couldn’t resist getting the boys their first pair.”

With your hormones still all over the place, this might just send you over the edge. “They’re so cute.” 

“Well, my sons are gonna be cowboys one day, they gotta look the part.”

Your son’s babbles turn into cries and you slump back into the chair with a quiet groan, feeling deflated.

He smiles. “It’s alright, you should go eat something, daddy’s got this.” You smile, kissing his shoulder as you pass him. 

You weren’t naive; both of you knew having twins wouldn’t be easy, but the reality of having two newborns, running a ranch, and having your parents stay with you for the first few weeks of the twins' lives was often challenging. The house was also a mess and the post natal effects on your body were rough.

But it was the overhwelming love you felt for them as well as those small, soft moments of watching Joel as a father all over again that made the stress and the worry of adjusting to being parents so worthwhile. 

Like when he’d been unable to get away from work and he’d come home late tired and filthy, but the moment his eyes caught you sitting on the porch, the twins bundled in your arms as you all waited for daddy to come home, it would give you both a new energy that made the long day just disappear in an instant. 

Or how he'd refuse to miss bath time, knowing the twins loved it; he’d never want to miss a moment of their infectious smiles. Watching him read the boys their bedtime story as they fell asleep was always your favourite though, the little funny voices he'd create as he sent them off into their dreams would make you burst with joy. he was the best daddy, and you were so grateful to be on this crazy ride of parenthood alongside him.

“Are they down?” You ask, sitting on the kitchen counter as he walks towards you. 

“Finally. What ya got there?” He leans against the counter, trapping you.

“Open up.” 

You feed him a spoonful of ice cream, and he hums, licking his lips. “We really have to eat something more substantial.”

“The wonderful joys of having newborns, huh?”

“Any chance your mom put leftovers in the fridge?”

“Uh-uh, that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“Don’t be mean," he chuckles as you feed him another spoonful. 

“You smell like horses.” 

"Hmmm, and you love it.”

Your eyes scan down his frame. “Maybe, but really you should take a bath." 

“Alright, but only if you join me and bring the ice cream too.” 

His strong arms wrap around your waits as he pulls you back into his front, peppering kisses along your shoulder. “Now this is more like it.”

He digs the spoon into he tub of ice cream on the side, collecting the biggest amount before taking a bite.

“You think the boys are gonna like this life?” you ask.

Through the mouthful of ice cream he responds, “It’s in their blood, baby; of course they will.”

“But what if they don’t want to be cowboys?"

“They ain't got a choice.”

"Joel—"

“okay, okay, I’m joking. We’ll be there for them no matter what they want to be, just as long as they don’t want to move to the city," he laughs. “Look, all we can do is try our best to raise two beautiful and healthy boys. The rest is out of control.” 

“But what if they become criminals like their dad, getting arrested—"

“Heyyy shut up!" He squeezes you playfully then, tickling your sides and making you squeal as the water splashes around. “I ain't no criminal, it happened once, alright?”

“Alright! Please stop!” you giggle as he digs back into the ice cream. "Can i have some?"

He brings the spoon to your mouth and as you go to take a bite he pulls it away quickly, drawing a trail of it along the back of you neck instead. Instantly his tongue comes out to draw along the trail then making you sigh into him.

"That's not fair."

"No? How about this?” He discards the spoon, his hand instead stroking up your front until he reaches your tits, his thumb flicking over your nipple, teasing you as you start to feel him getting hard agaisnt your back.

“Or this?” He brushes his knuckles down your body before dipping into the water and between your thighs until he reaches your folds, making you moan softly into the room. It’s been too long, and even though you're still healing, having him tease you like this feels so good. 

"Is this okay?” He mumbles.

"Yesss,"

“You need to tell me if it's too much, darlin’. I don't wanna hurt ya.”

“No, don’t stop; it feels so good.”

He takes his time and he’s so gentle in his touch, but it’s enough to drive you crazy, enough to have you withering against him and enough to have you completely surrender yourself to his control.

———

It's still dark and silent when you stir the next morning and when you turn in the sheets, you find the bed cold and empty next to you. Sitting up, you check the crib, and it’s empty too. Naturally as a mom, you panic but then your phone lights up and see the message from Joel telling you that he’s taken the boys down to the barns. 

Curious, you dress and go downstairs; you take Joel’s coat, loving the way it smells of him and wrap it around your body as you stroll down the hill in search of them.

A soft voice draws you in, and when you peer around the door, you see him, the twins bundled protectively inside his thick flannel as he introduces them to the horses. “This one’s daddy’s. He's the biggest and he’s the best boy I’ve got, although I hate to say it but he’s getting a little old now, just like me I s’ppose." 

He walks over to the other side where shadow stands watching him. “And this is Mommy's horse. There’s a little story about him and how she got him and I’m sure she’ll tell ya when you’re older.” He looks down to his sons snuggled against him. “And, one day when you're both a little bigger, I’ll get ya both have your own and maybe, just maybe you might wanna help run this place alongside your big sister, huh?” He sighs. “Yeahhh, you don’t have any idea what Daddy's talking about, do ya?”

“Morning.” You interrupt softly so as not to startle him. 

He gasps. “Who’s that? "Is that Mommy?" 

“What’s going on in here?” 

“Just letting ‘em meet the team.”

You chuckle. “It’s super early; they usually sleep a little longer?” 

“Not today; I guess they're going to be early risers like their old man.”

“Hmmm. I wonder how long that’s going to last.” 

A few years later…

The sun is only just rising, but the summer heat is already starting to settle in now, and it gives you that giddy feeling because you know it means long days in the saddle, warm family nights by the camp fire, and days off watching the boys play with their father, uncle and cousins in the river.

You check the boys' room, and sure enough, their beds are empty. School might be out for the summer, but that just means the boys get to learn alongside their father instead.

You dress before heading down the hill where like always you spot the group of cowboys along with Tommy and Sarah saddling up their horses, ready for yet another day out on the land. 

You lean against the corral fence, watching the cowboys when you spot Joel. He’s saddled up like he means business, except this time your sons are sitting up there with him, their little smiles lighting up from the excitement of being on their dad’s horse. They’re growing up so fast, and seeing them like that, with their little boots and hats looking just like their father makes you a little emotional.

When Joel spots you, he gives you that irresistible miller smile and rides over and dismounts. “You hold him steady now while I go talk to your mama.”

He comes to the fence, lifting the brim of his hat a little to capture your lips in that way that will forever make your tummy feel fuzzy. "Morning, darlin’.”

“Heading out?”

“Hmmm. Gonna take them with me today.”

“You sure they'll be okay?”

“Of course, they're so eager to get out there; they were down here with the horses even before I was.” 

That makes you smile, they’re just like their father. “Of course they were. Just be careful, please.”

"Always," he pauses, an idea running through his head. “You wanna come with us?”

When you were pregnant with the boys, you’d spent a lot of that time finalising your second book. And to your surprise but not to Joel’s, it was big success, but that meant now you had a team of people working for you, eagerly anticipating the second draft of your third novel so you were busier than ever. Yet today, the idea of taking Shadow out and riding alongside your three boys is just an opportunity too perfect to be missed.

“Okay!”

He smiles. “That’s my girl. Go saddle up; we’ll be waiting for ya."

“Yes sir.”

You walk away from him, feeling his eyes on you as you do.

“Hey,”

You turn to his call. “Yeah?”

He comes to you, removing his hat from his head and placing it on yours. “That’s better. I love you, Mrs. Miller.”

“I love you too, cowboy.”

Almost everyone in the Jackson community were in attendance at the barn dance tonight. Children of all ages were playing and running around the town hall and the streets of Jackson, the crisp autumn air filled with their laughter and the sound of country music playing. The adults danced in pairs on the hardwood floor space of the town hall as a small group of community members with different musical instruments played country tunes. Others stood around the floor drinking cider and beer and talking about the upcoming harvest, how mild the weather had been lately, and how Jackson needed more reasons to celebrate like this more often. It was 8pm and the festive spirit of the night had just begun.

You and your friends sat at one of the round tables dotted around the town hall, glasses of punch littering the table. Your eyes followed the couples gliding around the dance floor as you all spoke. The men and women looked so cheerful as they moved in sync to the music, their actions appearing automatic and effortless, the joy in their smiles and laughs undeniably infectious to the other town folk who were watching from the sidelines. Most of them were married couples but some of them were domestic partners, ranging in age from late teenagers right up to the most senior members of the community.

The courtship and reproductive aspects of the circle of life were crucial points of interest for many people in Jackson. Despite the hardships of the reality of the end of the world, life within the walls of the Jackson commune were quite simple; everyone was assigned jobs to ensure the town functioned successfully, people dated and married and had children, and everyone had a role to fulfil regardless of their skill level.

Your own dreams and hopes for the future were quite traditional. You wanted a life partner who would compliment you perfectly, someone to have children with and grow old with. You had lost your parents when you were only a child and the grief had rooted itself inside your heart, carving a deep well of sadness and insecurity within you.

Your yearning for the security of your own family had grown vehemently recently, perhaps punctuated by some of the milestones achieved within your friendship circle - an engagement, a wedding, a new baby.

Your smile curls against the lip of the glass as you take a sip of punch. You had enjoyed the company of your girlfriends, laughing with them and listening to their animated gossip. But there was only one person you wanted to dance with.

And he was never going to indulge you in that desire.

He wasn't at the dance tonight. In fact, he never attended any of the social events in town. He hated socialising any more than he had to. This was evident in the way he carried himself during day to day life living in Jackson; stalking wordlessly to and from his patrolling shifts and eating times at the mess hall, a scowl permanently etched on his face.

His name was Joel Miller. Considerably older than you, father to a teenage daughter, and one of the head patrolmen of the community.

His brother Tommy and his daughter, Ellie, seemed to be the only people who knew Joel well. You did, too, although you knew a different Joel to the one anyone else did. And you knew he wouldn't be at the dance tonight, nor would he be overly happy that you were there.

You glanced at the large clock perched on the hall wall. It was getting late. You should really get going - Joel would be waiting for you.

And Joel hated to be kept waiting.

You made a half hearted excuse of feeling tired to your friends. You slipped out of the town hall, leaving behind the cheer and festivity. You trekked to Joel's house under the cloak of the night sky, making sure to avoid the main street.

When you approach the side door of his house the butterflies in your belly were fluttering with anticipation. Even though your clandestine meetings had been happening for the past 8 months, you still felt the swoop of excitement every time you were going to see him.

You wonder if Joel feels the same eagerness you do.

Your feelings for him ran deep in your heart and soul - truthfully, you had been in love with him since the very first time you allowed him to devour you. You had never voiced these feelings though. You knew Joel never wanted a relationship, never wanted anything official, although your affection for him was clear. Clear in the way you cuddled up to him after sex, how you baked muffins and banana bread for he and Ellie, how you buried your face in his chest after he returned from a rough patrol shift, the mesmerised, pained look in your eyes when he pounded into you.

You wore your heart on your sleeve. Joel, on the other hand, was always stoic. He would evade all of your attempts at serious conversation, pacifying you with gruff cuddles and mumbled snippets of affection. Your heart was constantly on the verge of breaking, but you couldn't help being tied to him, your body and brain both addicted to him in the alluring and unexplainable haze of chemical, animalistic attraction, the innate need to be protected and fucked and owned by an older, domineering man. If only you could've chosen one more kinder than Joel Miller.

Just a few days earlier you had made the decision that tonight would be the night you confess your feelings to him. Tonight would be when you laid all your cards on the table and ask Joel to be with you, officially.

•••

Doing your best to swallow the anxiety rising in your chest, you stand infront of his door and pause for a minute to gather some courage. You then rap on his door lightly with your knuckles, waiting a few moments before opening the door and slinking inside.

You shut the door behind you and creep into the living room, the space dark except for the glow of dull light emanating from a lamp beside his armchair. He sits there now, nursing a shot glass of whiskey.

You come to stand in the middle of the living room with your hands clasped infront of you shyly, secretly hoping he will compliment your dress and the flower tied in your hair.

Joel sets his glass down on the coffee table beside his chair. He is in his usual attire of jeans and a flannel shirt, and from the small distance between you, you could already smell the faint scent of mahogany and pine mixed with his natural smell. The curls of his dark salt and pepper hair sit atop his head like a crown, the expression on his tanned face not betraying any hint of emotion, the steady gaze of dark brown eyes travelling up and down your body making you shiver.

"Hi," you smile at him.

His eyes flicker to meet yours and a slight smirk dances on his mouth. He hauls himself up out of the chair and takes a few steps to close the gap between you, his figure towering over you.

"Hey, baby," Joel murmers in his Texan drawl. You bite your lip as you study his face, admiring the patchy growth of his beard and the masculine square of his jaw. He really is so handsome.

His large hands reach out to grab ahold of your hips. They move up your waist and back down again as he stares into your eyes, the spark of lust already evident in his orbs.

"I went to the dance," you say quietly, your arms moving upward to wrap around his neck. He hums in response and you feel his hands trail up to your breasts, the callouses on his palms rough against the lace trimming of your dress. "It was fun."

He says nothing as his hands settle on the plush of your cleavage and began kneading there, drawing a low moan from you. He leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss, the taste of whiskey and an underlying sweetness meeting your tongue as his slips into your mouth. You subconsciously stand on your tiptoes and tighten your hold around his neck, encouraging the kiss to deepen.

One of his hands snakes around to your back and down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze and pulling you closer to his body. You can already feel his hardness against you.

"Joel," you gasp, pulling away from the kiss. "I missed you. Did you miss me?"

Joel doesn't respond. He roughly tugs one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder, grabbing your bare breast in his big hand and groaning at the softness of your skin. His other hand keeps a firm hold of your ass cheek, his grip leaving you without any strength to move.

You can't help but moan when he bends down to kiss your neck. You tilt your head to the side to allow him better access, running your fingers through his hair as you let your body surrender to the familiar dance of seduction that Joel always tangles you in.

"Joel," you gasp breathlessly. "I said I missed you."

"Missed you too," Joel mumbles against your throat. He begins to shuffle backwards toward the armchair, his hands still gripping your breast and ass possessively, shifting you with him. He falls back to sit down on the chair with an unceremonious thud, pulling you into his lap to straddle him, making you squeak in surprise.

Joel pushes you down to grind his erection against your crotch, his mouth still attached to your neck, now sucking on your delicate skin. You can't help but moan, sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.

You find yourself rocking against him, your fingers still tangled in his curls, now faintly aware of the wetness beginning to pool in your underwear. The skirt of your dress has bunched up to your thighs and has made it easy for Joel's hand to slip under the material and squeeze the bare flesh of your ass.

You suddenly remember the purpose behind you being here tonight. You need to initiate the discussion before becoming entwined in his web, before you are too distracted by his skilled fingers and warm mouth and the deliciousness of his cock.

"Joel," you whimper. "Please stop for a moment."

He detaches from your neck and leans back in the chair so you can see the drunk look of lust hooding his brown eyes. You sit up straight in his lap, one leg kneeling on either side of Joel's thighs, your core nestling directly over the erection straining behind his jeans. Joel brushs your nipple gently with the pad of his thumb as he stares at you.

"What?" He murmurs without a trace of concern in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, you sigh and idly toy with the curls on the nape of his neck, trying to formulate an opening dialogue.

"Okay, so...." You start softly, making a point to keep your eyes fixed on his. "Uhm, so...Cassie is getting married soon, right?"

Cassie was one of your best friends. Joel gives a small nod to indicate he is listening. His hand still caresses your ass, the other still cupping your breast.

"Yeah, well, I just...really I was wanting...," you stumble over your words, the beating of your heart thudding in your ears now. "I wanted to ask you to go to the wedding with me. As my date."

You blurt out the last part and press your lips shut tightly, eyebrows knitting together worriedly in anticipation of his reaction.

"I never go to those kinda things, you know that." He mutters, pulling his hands away from your body.

"I know, but--"

"They're your friends, not mine." He retorts evenly. "Why would I go?"

"Because the guests bring a date with them, to enjoy the occasion," you try to speak confidently, but you are unable to hide the faint warble in your voice. "Like their boyfriend or girlfriend, or whatever....so I wanted to ask you."

Joel runs a hand over his beard, sighing once more. "Sugar, I hate that shit - dressin' up and bein' around a buncha people I don't give a fuck about. It ain't for me."

"But they are my friends," you pout. "And they mean so much to me. And well, I want you to meet them. I want you to come with me."

Joel just looks at you, his expression tight and stern. You feel exposed, your heart cracking with frustrated rejection.

"Joel, I...I really like you," you whisper through the lump forming in your throat.

"I like you too, sugar," he says smoothly. His hands slide under your dress and up to the top of your thighs, his thumbs sitting at the edge of your panty line. "I like these sexy legs. Like what's inbetween 'em even more."

He isn't paying attention.

He is distracting you.

Again.

No, you have to do this now. No more sex. No more anything until you get it out.

You retract your arms and push away from him to stand up off his lap. You hurriedly fix the strap of your dress back up over your shoulder, stepping back to create some distance between you. You try to collect your thoughts as Joel watches you from his relaxed position on the armchair, a scowl etched on his face now.

"Joel," you sigh, looking at him with imploring eyes. Your fingers twist together nervously. "I don't just like you. I...I love you. And I want to be with you. For real. Like partners."

Joel furrows his brow, tilting his head slightly. "Partner? Are you serious?"

You can only nod your nod lamely, tears beginning to well in your eyes. He runs his hand down the lower of his face and sighs.

"Partner..." He huffs a small scoff, like he can't believe you're actually bothering him with something so trivial.

"What's wrong with that?" You question softly, genuinely curious.

He leans forward in the armchair, shaking his head again, something like irritated disgust written on his features. "You think this is some kinda romance novel? Come on. You and me, we ain't never gonna be like that."

His words feel like a knife slicing through your heart. A single tear breaks free and spills down one of your cheeks.

"You're mine - sure." He shrugs a little. "Mine whenever I want a quick fuck."

You feel the air leave your lungs, a pitiful sob escaping your lips. You take a step backwards, your limbs feeling shaky beneath you.

"But I ain't ever gonna walk down the street holdin' your hand, honey. I ain't soft like these boys runnin' around after you and your little slut friends."

The cruelty of his words and the matter of fact tone of his voice make your stomach roil. You instinctively wrap your arms around your middle as if you have been physically wounded.

"How could you say that to me?" You warble, more tears breaking free and spilling from your eyes. "After all this time...you've don't have any feelings for me, at all?"

A low growl rumbles in Joel's throat. He hauls himself up and quickly grabs a hold of your upper arm, his thick fingers sinking into your flesh. The unexpected pain causes you to cry out.

He stares down at you with steely dark brown eyes. "You always knew I ain't that type of man. But you just kept comin' back to get fucked again and again."

"Let me go," you sob, trying to squirm out of Joel's bruising grip. "You're hurting me."

"Don't you like that, baby? Thought you liked it when I hurt you," Joel snarls, momentarily squeezing your arm before releasing you with a force that makes you stumble against the wall.

"Why are you doing this?" You plead, voice choked with emotion, your vision blurred.

Joel turns to pick up his whiskey glass, tossing back the last shot of remaining alcohol. He slams the glass back down on the table and glares at you. You instantly recognise the cruel passion shining in them - a look you have seen many times, one that sends shivers up your spine with both excitement and fear, one that makes you wet yet causes a knot of apprehension in your stomach at the same time.

"Get on your knees," Joel says lowly. His hand flexes at his side.

"What?" You whisper back, your mind too muddled to comprehend what he is asking for.

"You love me?" Joel bites out, bitter and gravelled. "Then you do as I say. So get on your fuckin' knees. Now."

You bow your head and let the tears fall to the floor. You do love Joel, and while you had no idea what reaction you were expecting from him tonight, you never anticipated this. You knew he could be harsh, seemingly heartless at times, and he could be downright sadistic during sex.

But the level of Joel's ruthlessness tonight is unprecedented. You suddenly feel so tired; tired of the aching left inside your soul after your nights together, tired of pretending the unrequited affection didn't sting, tired of allowing your body to be devoured, manipulated and abused in exchange for meagre crumbs of attention.

"No," you reply, your voice thick. "I won't, Joel."

"What'd you say?" Joel growls.

You peer up at him from under your long lashes, feeling a renewed determination stir inside your chest. You lift your chin to stare back at him.

"I said no, Joel."

Joel frowns at the audacity of your refusal, a flash of confusion passing over his features. It only lasts a brief moment before being replaced with his usual scowl of displeasure. You both stare into each other's eyes in tense silence, as if challenging the other to initiate the next move. The beat of your heart seems distractingly loud in your ears - you hope he can't hear it.

After what seems like forever, Joel breaks the silence.

"Go."

You stand before him, searching his face for any trace of remorse or sadness. Any sign that he might be regretting what he's doing to you right now. But he gives nothing away.

His jaw ticks and he crosses his arms, looking at the ground.

"Joel--" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Get outta here," he mutters without meeting your eye.

Your eyes rover over his downturned face, uncertain of whether to obey him or stay. Could you try to resolve this, to salvage whatever is left of the ruins between you, this absolute wreck of dysfunctional intimacy?

You hesitate for a few seconds, deliberating.

But for the first time ever, you chose not to beseech Joel.

Instead you leave.

You don't look back as you walk out his door. You walk to your home, your arms wrapped around your waist in an effort to stop yourself shivering from the panic coursing through your body. Your breaths come out ragged and unsteady as the tears continue to stream down your face. You are thankful for the dark of the night.

As you make your way to your porch you promise yourself you would never let Joel Miller hurt you again.

Your home is one of the smaller houses in Jackson. A two bedroom weatherboard cottage that, despite desperately needing a new coat of paint, was quaint and perfectly suited to you. It's cosiness is comfortable and the unpretentious simplicity of its appearance felt safe. You have the comforts of a couch in your living room, along with a small bookshelf full of books, a bed in your room complete with a dresser and mirror, and hot running water. Although you don't have many furnishings and your most cherish possessions were sparse, you are proud to call the cottage your home, your sanctuary.

The morning daylight streams through the lace curtains of your bedroom window, its warm touch rousing you from your slumber. You managed to find sleep sometime after midnight, after replaying the scene at Joel's in your mind over and over. You cried into your pillow until you were too exhausted to stay awake.

This morning your head was aching and your eyes felt swollen. As soon as you roll over in bed the memory of the previous night comes flooding back to you. Groaning, you throw the blanket over your head and bury your face into your pillow, wishing you didn't have to work today.

Three days a week you work as a teacher at the school and the other two days you are scheduled to cleaning work in the mess hall. You realise you really should talk to Maria about the possibility of switching jobs. If you remained working in the mess hall then you were bound to run into Joel - the thought of seeing him makes you feel sick. Thankfully, today was a teaching shift and one you had been looking forward to - your class today was with the younger children and you had planned to teach them about the difference between insects with exoskeletons and endoskeletons.

Suddenly you remember the library book you forgot to pick up last week, a children's science book with illustrations that you needed for today's lesson. You look at the clock on your bedside table - good, you have enough time to shower, have breakfast and quickly pop into the library before the start of your lesson.

Begrudgingly you drag yourself out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, stepping over the dress you wore last night that you had left discarded on the floor. You give it a half hearted kick to the corner of the room. You don't want to see it.

You stand before the bathroom mirror and strip off your sleep shorts and tank top. The puffiness around your eyes looks terrible, and you hope the warm water of the shower can lessen the swelling. Your eyes wander over your naked form, spying the fading hickey Joel had given you on one of your hips last week.

He often marked you with bites and hickies. A way of claiming ownership of your body, hidden underneath your clothes for only you and him to see, your own personal reminder that it was Joel who you belonged to. You had never denied him this liberty, only protesting when the drag of his teeth or his sucks became too painful. A memory flashes in your mind suddenly, to a night when Joel had been especially rough with you and had bitten the flesh of your ass too hard, causing you to squeal in pain. The bruise had lasted more than a week. You remember the way he had massaged and kissed the area with a kind of gentle reverence, the touch of his large hands and the plush of his lips both soothing and arousing you at the same time.

The realisation that he would never mark you like that again makes your heart sink. But then you spot the bruise blooming on your upper arm where he grabbed you last night, the purple marks outlining the way his fingers wrapped around you. The sight conjures a different memory now; the way Joel's lips had curled into a cruel snarl as his words cut through you, the savage grip of his hand, the sheer contempt that had shone in his eyes.

It sends a shiver down your spine. You quickly turn away from your reflection and step into the shower.

•••

The morning sunshine warms your skin as you stroll down the street toward the town centre. You take a deep breath of fresh air. Today would be a new beginning. No more arranging your schedule around Joel's demands. No more sneaking around the backstreets of Jackson. No more being at his beck and call whenever he wanted you.

You have your day planned out. After your teaching shift you want to spend some time preparing for tomorrow's lesson, then you can find Maria and talk to her about changing jobs. You know you will still have to see Joel around town occasionally, but you want to limit the possibility of running into him or having any potential chance encounters. You need the distance in order to heal from him, from everything you had shared.

The town was already bustling with community members going about their daily business, children playing games in the street, men and women on their way to their jobs, shopkeepers opening their stores. As you walk through the town people greet you with friendly smiles. Some of the children call out to you and wave. You feel grateful for their affection and the sense of community around you, and deep down you hope that this comraderie and the sense of purpose your job gave you was enough to soothe the ache of your broken heart.

The library was a small building tucked away in a nook on the main street. It was a relatively small space comprised of several rows of neatly arranged shelves, two couches, and a very worn arm chair. Over the years the patrols had managed to collect an impressive catalogue of books from their raiding missions. Maude, the elderly librarian, managed the library three days a week and took her role quite seriously. You had always loved to read, books being an escape from the precarious world you lived in.

The library was a peaceful niche of Jackson that you enjoyed delving into, often curling up on one of the couches to read a novel in your spare time, Maude's quiet nature being the perfect company for your visits.

You enter the library and smile at the little jingle of the bell that sits above the entrance. You expect to see Maude standing at her usual spot at the counter, writing something down while muttering to herself. But this morning she isn't there. Instead, there is a man.

The unexpected presence makes you freeze still by the door. At the sound of the chime he looks up from the book laid out infront of him on the counter. You recognise his face as someone you've seen around Jackson before, but have never spoken to.

He is of average height and has short curly black hair. His short facial hair is thick - unlike Joel's patchy beard, you randomly think. His skin is very lightly tanned olive. The small round glasses he wears give him a studious quality, and his large dark brown eyes seem kind and welcoming. He is older than you, though not as old as Joel. He wears a dark knitted sweater and his overall appearance is bookish.

He is gorgeous.

"Good morning," he greets you, offering you a soft smile.

"Good morning," you reply, a little stiff. You cautiously step up to the counter, uncertain if you should be suspicious of Maude's absence. The man pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"How can I help you?"

"Oh," you frown and shake your head slightly, as if trying to shake off the awkwardness you feel. "Uhm, there was a book that I was supposed to borrow the other day. Maude put it aside for me."

"Oh, yes," he clicks his fingers and nods eagerly. "You're the teacher, right? Maude told me you'd be in. She put it under the counter. Something about bugs."

"Yes, that's right." You eye him cautiously. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The man bends down behind the counter and retrieves a hardcover book with the title Kids Bug Science Volume II in large letters on the front, the one Maude had told you about last week. He places it on the counter and gives a small chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I should've introduced myself by now. Guess I get a little carried away at times." He smiles at you again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm Oscar."

He holds out his hand to you. You accept it gingerly and gave it a light shake, telling him your own name. His hand is warm and soft, but strong, masculine. You have not had another man touch you, even formally like this, since before you gave yourself to Joel.

The contact makes you blush and you avert your eyes to look down at the book instead of his gaze.

"Maude hasn't been feeling well, so Maria assigned me to help out in the library," Oscar explains as he braces himself against the counter, his tanned hands splaying on-top of the wood. "One of the patrols brought a load of books in just the other day, so there's some work to do."

"Oh," your eyes flicker back up to look at him, your interest piqued. "What do you usually do?"

"I work in the stables and sometimes on patrol," Oscar replies. "But I injured my ankle and I'm not really of any use at either job at the moment." He smiles ruefully.

There is a benevolent air about him, a gentle humility that shines through as he speaks. You begin to relax, no longer wary of him.

"I'm sorry to hear about your injury," you say shyly, "but this job must be great. It's quiet, you don't have to talk to many people, you can read as much as you like..."

Oscar grins at you and pushes himself away from the counter to stand up straight. "Yes, it's a nice change of pace," he agrees with a nod, "I like the peace, and reading, too. Do you like to read?"

"Yes, I do," you reply. You look down and shift on your feet awkwardly, inwardly hating the curse of your shyness.

"What do you like to read?" Oscar asks. "I can keep an eye out while I sort through the new books we got. So, if I find something I think you might like, I could keep it behind the counter for you."

His voice is gentle with sincerity but there is also an edge of eagerness in his tone, as if he yearns for conversation, as if he needs to prove his usefulness.

You are hit with the recognition that no one has shown interest in you like this for a very long time, if ever. It makes you feel nervous. You pick up the science book and hug it to your chest, comforted by its weight against you.

"That would be really nice," you respond quietly. You gather the courage to look up at Oscar and find his cheeks tinged pink, the corners of his mouth curled into a tender smile.

You spot the sight of the clock hanging on the wall behind him and the time makes you gasp - your class is due to start in 5 minutes.

"It was really nice to meet you Oscar, but I've gotta go," you smile apologetically at him. "Thank you for the book."

"Oh, no problem," Oscar waves his hand. "How about you write down a list of any books you might be after?" He suggests, holding his hand out palm up. "I mean, whenever you're free, or if you even want to. No pressure." He stumbles over his words as if he were nervous and it makes you giggle.

"That's a good idea, I'll do that. Thanks Oscar." You nod toward him one last time before turning to walk out of the door.

"It was nice to meet you, too!" he calls out to you as you pass through the threshold. You step back into the sunshine and smile to yourself.

I can do this, you thought, there are other people in Jackson besides Joel, more friends to make. Life can be exciting without him, I can be happy without him.

You hope that if you repeated these things inside your mind enough times that you would eventually believe it.

•••

The next three days pass by uneventfully. You teach your class, make notes for the next lesson, have dinner in the cafeteria with your friends and spend some time hanging out with them, then go home for the evening.

You know Joel's patrolling schedule like the back of your hand, so you're able to avoid the main street and the cafeteria hall and the local bar, The Tipsy Bison, when he's likely to be around. You talked to Maria about switching jobs and she said she needed to check the rosters to see what was available, but ultimately she granted you the relief of no longer working in the mess hall. When Maria questioned your decision to quit, you gave a mumbled, noncommittal response about needing a change. She didn't need to know your real reason, although the answer you offered wasn't necessarily a lie; you truly were determined to rebuild yourself, to start living your life how you wanted, and you really did need a change.

Tonight you sat with three of your friends at a table in the hall to eat dinner. You ate dinner together most evenings, catching up on gossip and discussing the events of the day, the plans for the next town event, what men your friends had their eye on. You were fortunate enough to have some friends the same age as you in Jackson and over the years your small circle of girlfriends had proved to be one of the main sources of happiness and comfort in life.

Kate, your closest friend, sat beside you at the table, scraping her spoon around her tray as she listened to the conversation happening infront of you. Your friends Jess and Rhi sat opposite you, engaged in a debate about some subject you weren't paying attention to. You were deep in thought about your lesson plan and what research you needed to finish before next week's class.

"Are we going to the Bison tonight?" Kate interjected.

"Yes!" Jess cheered, immediately abandoning the argument. "After the week I had, I need a drink."

"Ugh, same," Rhi groaned. "Let's get drunk and dance "

They all looked at you expectantly for confirmation but you were quiet, lost in your thoughts. Kate nudged you out of your trance.

"Hmm?" You hummed, head snapping up to look around the table.

"The Bison tonight, you coming?" Jess asked eagerly.

It was the last place you wanted to be tonight. You had always enjoyed the occasional nights spent at the bar dancing and drinking with your friends. You would laugh with them as you danced and drank beer and tried to play darts, all the while secretly being watched by Joel across the bar, both of you pretending to ignore each other until the end of the night when you would rendezvous somewhere and Joel would fuck you senseless. It had always been so fun and exciting. But now, the thought of the mere probability of seeing Joel at his favourite hang out caused a knot of dread in your stomach.

"I'm pretty tired." You mumbled. "Just going to have a quiet night at home."

"Boring!" Rhi declared. "Come on, we haven't been out in forever!"

"The barn dance was just a few nights ago," Kate laughed.

"But we didn't get drunk," Rhi corrected her. "And I didn't go home with the blonde ranger, either. So that doesn't count."

Your group continued talking about the plans for the night and what everyone was going to wear when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Maria standing beside you.

"Hey Maria." You greeted her.

"Hey. Just letting you know that I took a look at the job rosters and all I've really got are patrol shifts."

"Oh," you mumbled, deflated. "Sorry Maria, I don't think I'd be very good at patrolling. I can't even shoot a tin can to save my life."

Maria laughed a little, nodding in agreement. "I know. Well, the only other option is the library. Maude isn't sure she will be up to working anytime soon, and Oscar might need some help. He was talking about doing some painting in the interior. Is that something you'd be willing to do?"

You couldn't help the broad smile of relief that broke out on your face. "That would be perfect, actually. Yes please, Maria."

"All sorted then," she nodded. "You can start tomorrow."

"Whose Oscar?" Jess asked in a whisper as Maria left the table. The girls look at you with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, he's looking after the library while Maude is sick," you picked up the bread roll on your tray. "He used to do patrolling and some other stuff, but he got hurt."

"Ooooh, I know him," Kate chirped. "He sometimes patrolled with Matt." Matt was Kate's older brother. "Kinda nerdy but cute, right?"

You pursed your lips together bashfully, unsure what to say in response. Oscar certainly was cute, infact he was quite attractive, but you didn't want to admit that to anyone. To your relief, Rhi suddenly squealed and leaned against the table to hiss excitedly about the blonde ranger who just strolled into the hall. Kate rolled her eyes.

"Could you be any more obvious?" Jess chuckled.

"By the way, I have a great idea for Cassie's wedding gift," Kate leaned against you affectionately. "You're gonna love it."

"Fantastic," you smiled. "I'll walk with you when we're done, and you can tell me all about it."

•••

After dinner Rhi and Jess went back to the house they shared to get ready for drinks at the bar. You walked Kate across town to the house she lived in with her brother and his wife, chatting along the way. The sun had already set and the sky had faded into twilight. The streetlights would alight soon. Not many people lingered on the streets of Jackson at this time; they were either eating a late dinner in the mess hall, or already settled into their homes for the night, or at the bar. A few teenagers stalked around the streets in small groups, presumably on the hunt for mischief.

"Are you sure you won't come out tonight?" Kate asks you gently as you both approach her house. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you flash her a small smile. "I'm fine. I just need an early night. You guys go have a good time."

"Okay, well, get some rest." She embraces you. "Let's do some more gift planning tomorrow, yeah?"

You agree to meet Kate after your first shift at the library before saying goodnight. You leisurely stroll through one of the residential streets with your hands in your jeans pockets, marvelling at the first twinkle of stars appearing in the black night sky above you. You turn a corner into another quiet street, occupied by your thoughts as you sift through the events of the day in your mind.

You were enthusiastic at the prospect of starting work at the library, although you felt bad that Maude was so unwell; you made a mental note to visit her sometime in the next few days to check in on her health. You decide you would try your best to gather a small arrangement of flowers to give her, thinking that it may help to cheer her up a bit.

Halfway down the street you divert from the sidewalk to cut through a bunch of shrubs inbetween two houses, taking a short cut to lead into your own street. You are only a few houses away from your home when suddenly a hand clamps down over your mouth and nose, stifling your shocked squeal. An arm snakes around your waist and pulls you into the dark shadows between the neighbouring houses.

The air leaves your lungs as you are shoved hard against the side of one of the buildings. You recognise the scent of Joel's skin and the callous palm of his hand straight away, but the rush of fear continues to course through your whole body.

He has your back against the wall, his hand still covering your mouth and his arm around your waist, his body pressed flush against yours. Your eyes widen at how close he is, his warm breath fanning against your cheeks, his belly and hips digging against your lower half. The clear discrepancy between your height and size makes you feel like trapped prey, helpless and weak in his grasp with no hope of escape. You feel suffocated and frightened.

"Why weren't you at home? I was waitin' for you." Comes the rough drawl of Joel's voice in your ear.

He uncovers your mouth and you quickly swallow a gasp of air, the oppressive press of his body against yours making you feel like you have such little room to breathe. You shove your hands against his torso in a futile effort to push him away.

"Why would I be waiting for you?" You hiss, craning your neck to meet his intense gaze, your mind bewildered and disorientated.

Joel's brow furrows, his features hardening with displeasure. His eyes dart between yours, searching for some kind of explanation. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"We broke up." You try to remain composed and assertive but the unsteady tone of your voice betrays you. "Don't you remember?"

Joel's jaw ticks. "You think I'd let that happened? Just cos you say so?"

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your mouth feels dry. "I just..." you try to explain, "I..."

His large hand skates up to rest on the column of your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "You think you make decisions between you and me?"

"I want more," you finally manage to croak, your voice soft and sorrowful.

"More?" Joel spits. "I don't give you enough?"

"I want more than just sex," you whisper back, angry at yourself for the tears springing to your eyes. "It's over."

"We ain't over til I say we are," he sneers back.

His grasp on your neck tightens, stealing your breath and causing more panic to flood through your body. You try to whip your head away to break free from his hand, but it's impossible.

"Stop," you whisper hoarsely, your tear filled eyes widening.

Joel keeps you pinned against the wall as his other arm uncoils itself from your waist. You feel his hand roam over your stomach and down to your jeans. Humiliation washes over you as he starts to unbutton your jeans, his breathing now becoming slightly ragged. His threatening hold on your neck has robbed you of the ability to protest any further.

"Little bitch," Joel snarls, his hand dipping into your underwear. "You want more, huh?"

He pushes two of his thick fingers directly onto your clit, making you twitch. When his fingers start moving in light circles, you can't stop your mouth from falling open and your eyes from rolling back in pleasure.

"This ain't enough?" Joel whispers huskily. "This ain't what you want? Cos I know you fuckin' love it. 'Soon as I touch ya, you turn into a whore."

The bite of his words force your glassy eyes to recenter on his face, the tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. Joel stares at you intently, his eyes appearing black under the glinting light of the lamp post.

He continues massaging the pads of his fingers on your clit, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your quivering lips. You sob helplessly, hating yourself for the wetness that was gathering in your panties despite the depravity of what was happening to you, despising the fact that Joel knew your body so intimately and was so adept at making you come undone. His fingers inch further to brush over the entrance of your pussy and instantly become coated in your slick.

"See?" He purrs, his Southern accent rich with his own desire. "No one knows you better than I do, baby."

Joel slowly slides his two fingers inside you, your wetness allowing his thick digits to stretch you open in a way that is exhilarating.

You can't help but moan, your eyebrows knitting together from the pleasure. He fucks you with his fingers, pumping in and out at with a slow, steady pace. Without thinking, you instinctively part your legs and grab onto his shoulders to keep yourself upright. He relinquishes his hold on your neck and shifts his hand to loosely cup your chin, his thumb stroking along your jaw. You shut your eyes and allow yourself to be consumed by his touch.

"That's it, baby," Joel drawls.

His fingers sheath all the way inside you and expertly curl up against your g-spot. You bite your lip in an effort to suppress your moans and dig your fingers into the rounded muscles of his shoulders. Your legs tremble and you start to feel that familiar intoxicating swirl of ecstasy coil in your belly.

"Joel," you whimper.

With his fingers deep inside you stimulating the spongy ridge of your sweet spot, Joel rubs your clit with his thumb. Your resolve was starting to break, tempting you to forgive him and succumb once more to his control. His eyes are zoned in on your features, darting over your mouth and eyes, drinking in every mirco expression that passes over your face.

"My little slut."

You open your eyes to see the warmth has left his eyes and has been replaced with animalistic hunger. You are suddenly aware that you can feel his erection digging into you.

You know that look. He's going to fuck you right here. Right now.

The realisation snaps you out of your trance.

"Stop," you whine.

You push your palms flat against his chest and try to shove him back, even though you know it is pointless. "I said stop, Joel."

"Ain't goin' anywhere," Joel grunts. His thumb continues circling your clit as his fingers fuck in and out of your wetness. You randomly contemplate screaming for help, to slap him, kick him, to fight back somehow, but realistically you knew it would only enrage him. And that would make things a whole lot worse for you.

Without warning, the loud sound of glass shattering rings through the quiet street. It is followed by the sounds of teenage voices nearby, their laughing echoing. Both your heads whip around towards the direction if the noise.

Joel claps his palm over your mouth, his movements coming to a halt, poised to see if anyone is approaching. The voices grow louder. You guess there must be atleast three of them close by.

When Ellie's distinct voice sings out to tease one of her friends, Joel quickly pulls his hand out from your underwear and steps back from you. He adjusts his hard cock in his pants. You hurriedly button up your jeans as you watch him, still terrified but relieved. He shoots you a scowl, his eyes dark with warning.

"I meant what I said," he says bitterly. "Ain't over til I say it is."

The voices grow closer now, Ellie's lilt loud and unmistakable in the chorus. You know the possibility of Ellie discovering you and Joel in such a compromising situation would force him to abandon his pursuit of you. Without saying another word, Joel turns his back on you and stalks away, the leaves and gravel crunching underneath his heavy work boots.

You remain in the shadows as you race to your cottage. You are in desperate need of the quiet haven of solitude of your home. Once safely inside you curl up in bed under the weight of your blanket and cry. You weep at the overwhelming mixture of disgust and sadness that twists in your gut. You weep for the deep ache inside your heart that Joel's callous attitude has left you with.

But perhaps the most painful thing of all is the self hatred you feel at the way your body still yearns for Joel.

Your skin was slick with sweat despite the chill, and your eyes—those sweet eyes that usually held so much warmth, so much life—were glassy, trying to focus but failing to land on anything. 

Then, a light flickered inside. The lock scraped, and the door swung open to reveal Jack Abbott, still half-dressed in a worn pullover over his undershirt, his grey hair mussed from sleep that had clearly been interrupted. 

"What the hell happened?" He asked, eyes going worried. 

Joel didn't answer. 

He just moved, carrying you past Jack and down the narrow hallway that led to the small clinic room Jack kept in his home. 

The space was clean but lived-in: a metal examination chair in the center, shelves lined with bottles and worn medical texts, a couch, a single lamp casting a warm, yellow glow over the worn wooden floor. 

Jack Abbott arrived in Jackson a little over two years after Joel did. 

He had been traveling with a small group before, acting as their medic, but the constant moving wore him down. 

Jackson was the first place in years that felt safe enough to stop, so he stayed when Maria asked him if he wanted to, while the others moved on. 

Within a few months, he turned one of the unused small houses near the edge of town into two spaces: a tiny clinic in the front and a small living area for himself in the back.

People started calling it Abbott's clinic.

Joel met him after a patrol accident left him with a deep cut. 

Jack stitched him up with quiet, steady confidence, and Joel respected him immediately. 

He didn't ask too many questions, no bullshit, no small talk. Over time, Joel kept ending up at Jack's door, Jack kept patching him, and a quiet, practical friendship formed between them.

So when Joel set you down on his examination chair he knew you were in good hands. 

His hands stayed on you, steady, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. 

Jack followed close behind, already pulling out a pair of latex gloves from a box on the counter. 

The snap of rubber against his wrists was sharp in the quiet room. He moved to your other side, his eyes scanning you with the practiced efficiency of someone who had seen too many emergencies in too many late hours. 

"Joel." He said it firmly, not a question. Then softer, more insistent. "Joel. Talk to me. What happened?"

Joel dragged a hand down his face, the stubble rough against his palm. 

"We—" He stopped. Swallowed. And then started again, his voice lower. "We weren't supposed to be there."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Where?"

"The old storage yard. Past the perimeter."

The silence stretched for one beat, two, three and Joel could see the thoughts racing behind those dark eyes—the implications, the danger, the sheer stupidity of it. 

Jack let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "You two were past the forbidden perimeter?"

Joel nodded once, feeling guilty, miserable.

"She saw…" He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head. "Hell, I don't know. Rabbits or somethin'. Wanted a closer look."

His voice cracked on the last words—with frustration, with...with anger at himself, at the moment of weakness that had led him to agree, to let you wander just a little too far, just a little too deep into the overgrown brush beyond the safe zone. 

You had smiled at him. God—that sweet, hopeful smile that made it impossible to say no. And now you were here, burning up and it was all his fault.

"She breathed in this cloud of…dust. Pollen. Somethin'."

Jack only stared at him, open mouth, gaze caught somewhere between disbelief and the cold calm of a man processing information. 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, very quietly, he said: "Joel."

"It ain't important right now," Joel snapped, the words cutting through the air like a blade. But the edge softened almost immediately as his eyes flicked back to you, and his voice dropped to something quieter, more fragile. "Just—just fix her, alright?"

Jack held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and turned his full attention to you. 

He leaned in, his movements careful, deliberate, as he reached for a small penlight from besides him. "Alright, sweetheart. Let's take a look at you."

He leaned closer, bringing the penlight up to your eyes. But your head lolled slightly, and you squirmed on the chair, a low, restless sound escaping your throat. Jack paused, his hand hovering near your jaw.

"Easy now. I need you to hold still for just a second, okay?" He tilted his head, meeting your gaze from behind the flashlight. "C'mon. Look at me."

Your eyes—glassy, unfocused, pupils blown wide—drifted toward him. 

Jack clicked on the penlight, shining it first into your left eye, then your right, watching the way your pupils reacted—or failed to react. His brow furrowed. He hummed low in his throat, a sound that made Joel's stomach clench.

He clicked off the penlight, put it back into his place, and straightened up. He met Joel's gaze, his expression thoughtful.

"Pupils are dilated and sluggish. Could be a neuroactive toxin," he said, his voice carrying the weight of professional assessment. "Some kind of alkaloid, maybe. That targets the central nervous system." He paused, then added, almost to himself, "But her skin is flushed, and her pulse is tachycardic. Heart rate's way up. Could be pyrexia, but…" He trailed off, then turned back to you, his voice gentle again. "How did this flower look? Can you tell me anything about it?"

Your lips parted. "Trans…translucent. Purple."

Jack's eyes sharpened suddenly. 

He turned away, crossing to the cluttered desk in the corner where a worn leather notebook sat among scattered papers. He opened it and the silence stretched while he flipped through it. 

"Damn it," Jack muttered under his breath.

Joel stiffened. "What?"

Jack didn't look up. He kept turning pages, his finger tracing lines of cramped handwriting. "I've seen mentions of this before. Not many though, just scattered reports from patrol medics out west. And a couple of passing mentions in some old pre-outbreak botany notes I found in the library archive." He stopped on a page, reading it intently. Then he let out a slow breath and turned to face Joel.

"Reports of what?" Joel pressed, his voice tight.

Jack hesitated. It was a hesitation that Joel had never seen on him before.

He set the notebook down and crossed his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Joel.

"A mutated flower. Causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse…and some....sexual changes." 

Joels head snapped up. "It ain't the time for jokes, Abbott." 

But Jack didn't flinch. "I'm not joking. That's what the reports called it. I told you—it causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse." He paused, letting the words settle. "The body's been flooded with a compound that mimics extreme sexual arousal. It's not toxic on its own, but if left untreated, the fever and heart strain can cause complications."

Joel stared at him and when he turned back to you, he saw the way your fingers curled and uncurled against the metal and the way a soft, breathy sound escaped your lips as you shifted restlessly on the chair.

"Complications," Joel repeated, his voice hollow. "What kind of complications?"

Jack moved closer, his expression softening as he looked at you. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand gently against your forehead, feeling the fever that radiated off you in waves.

"If we don't address the underlying arousal-based symptoms, the body will keep ramping up. Heart rate spikes. Temperature climbs. Eventually, the system burns out." He pulled his hand away, his voice dropping lower. "The only effective treatment recorded in those reports is…direct physical release. Sexual stimulation to completion, multiple times, until the compound is flushed from the system."

He held up a hand as Joel opened his mouth, ready to protest. "Look, I know how it sounds. But I've seen enough strange things in this world to know that nature doesn't care about what sounds reasonable."

Joel turned away, his hand dragging through his hair, frustration in his face.

"So what are you tellin' me? That I gotta—" He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"I'm telling you that she needs care, Joel. And that care is going to involve intimacy. Whether that's with you, or with me helping her through it medically, or both—that's up to you. But she can't wait much longer." Jack's voice was calm, steady, the voice of a man doing his job. The room fell silent again. The only sounds were your labored breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house.

Joel then turned back, his eyes meeting yours. He saw the fear in them—and something else, something raw and needy that he didn't know how to name.

And suddenly—

"Please," you whined, the word thick and broken. "Please…need…need something."

Your body was a furnace, burning from the inside out. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed, screaming for relief. The fabric of your shirt clung to your skin, damp with sweat, and it felt like a cage. Your hands moved before your mind could catch up—grabbing at the hem, tugging, pulling.

Joel's eyes widened. "Hey, hey—hold on—"

But you couldn't hold on anymore.

You were beyond reason, beyond shame. You squirmed against the chair, your movements jerky and frantic, yanking your shirt over your head and tossing it aside.

Joel caught your wrists gently, trying to slow you down, but you twisted out of his grip, your fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans, the zipper, pushing them down your hips with a desperate, whimpering sound that tore at Joel's chest.

"Honey—" Joel started, his voice cracking.

But Jack held up a hand, his expression calm but intent. "Let her. The compound is driving her body to seek release. Fighting it will only make it worse, Joel."

Joel's hands fell to his sides. He watched, helpless, as you rid yourself of the last of your clothing, tossing jeans and panties to the floor until you were bare on the examination chair, your skin flushed and slick with sweat, your chest heaving with every ragged breath.

Your legs fell open without thought, your hips rolling against the cold metal, searching for friction that wasn't there.

"Need…please…I need something…" Your voice was a broken loop, tears starting to stream down your cheeks.

Joel's throat tightened. He looked at Jack.

When Jack met his gaze, there was no judgment in those dark eyes—only the weight of a man who understood the gravity of the situation. Jack's hand paused over your body, as he turned to Joel, his expression asking a silent question.

May I?

Joel stared at him for a long, breathless moment. Then he nodded, his voice low and rough. "Do what ya gotta do. I trust you."

Jack's shoulders relaxed a fraction and he moved to the foot of the chair, positioning himself between your spread legs. 

"I ain't no gynaecologist," Jack said, his voice carrying a hint of dry humour. "But I need to see if it's really the flower we're talking about. The reports mentioned specific physical changes."

Joel clenched his jaw, stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders, holding you steady as you squirmed beneath him. You looked up at him, your eyes glassy and wet, and you whimpered.

"Please…let him…"

Joel let out a shaky breath. He looked at Jack and gave a short, sharp nod.

Jack leaned in. His gloved fingers found your thighs, then he gently parted your labia with precision. 

He murmured to himself, cataloging observations as he worked. "Labia swollen. Significant engorgement. Vulvar tissue appears hyperemic, engorged with blood flow consistent with severe vasocongestion." 

You gasped as his thumb accidentally brushed against the hood of your clit, a jolt of electricity shooting through your core. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a desperate, wordless sound escaping your lips.

"Easy," Jack murmured, more to himself than to you. 

He shifted his grip, using his thumb and forefinger to part the inner folds, exposing your entrance. It was gaping, red, and glistening with a clear, almost viscous fluid that had already pooled on the chair beneath you.

Joel's hands tightened on your shoulders, his knuckles almost white. 

He trusted Jack—hell, he was the only man in this godforsaken place he trusted you with. But he still couldn't help the way he felt. A little too protective. Maybe even jealous.

"Her insides feel swollen," Jack said. He pressed two fingers—index and middle—against your opening, testing the resistance. The muscles fluttered and clenched, straining against the intrusion before it even begun. "Loss of tone in the pelvic floor muscles. Usually, there's some natural tension, but here…it's like her body is actively pulling things in."

And then he pressed inside.

The latex-covered fingertips breached you with a wet, slick sound that echoed in the small room.

You cried out—not in pain, but in need that tore through every nerve ending. Your back arched off the chair, your head thrown back, Joel's name falling from your lips in a desperate, ragged moan.

"Oh, fuck—!"

Jack didn't move. He held his fingers still, buried to the second knuckle, his eyes fixed on your face, watching your reaction with clinical detachment even as his body betrayed a slight tension.

"She's extremely sensitive. The internal tissues are swollen and hot—probably a few degrees above normal body temperature. The flower is causing nerve hypersensitivity."

Your hips bucked again, grinding against Jack's hand, seeking more. Every bit of shame leaving your body.

But the pressure of his fingers inside you was maddening—not enough, never enough. You whimpered, a high, thin sound that turned into a gasping sob as Jack slowly began to withdraw his fingers, dragging them along your inner walls.

And then, suddenly, an orgasm hit you without warning. 

It crashed through you like a wave, sudden and violent, pulling a strangled scream from your throat. Your entire body clenched, your inner muscles spasmed around Jack's retreating fingers, and a gush of fluid flooded out of you, soaking his gloved hand and dripping onto the chair in thick, sticky ropes.

Jack pulled his hand back, his fingers coated in the warm, translucent fluid. He held them up, examining the consistency with narrowed eyes.

Joel could only stare, his mouth hanging open. 

His gaze flicked from your flushed, trembling body to Jack's dripping fingers, and then back to your face, where tears and sweat had mingled in a mask of desperate relief and craving.

"Did she just…?" Joel's voice was hoarse, cautious. 

Jack nodded slowly, wiping his fingers on a clean cloth. "Ejaculate. Yeah. That's…that's exactly what that was. The flower causes her body to reach climax extremely quickly—and just as quickly, the need returns. It's like the release doesn't satisfy anything; it only opens the door for more."

You were already squirming again, your hips rolling against the empty air, your breath coming in sharp, frantic pants. "Please…more…need more…"

Jack set the cloth aside and picked up the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it around your upper arm. 

He pumped it up, watching the gauge as the numbers climbed. 

"This is an unusual procedure," he said, his voice flat. "Her body will need release. Repeatedly. And even then, the effects might last for hours—until the compound works its way out of her system."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the grey strands in frustration. "Jesus Christ. Is there any medicine? Anything you can give her to stop this? To slow it down?"

Jack shook his head, the blood pressure cuff hissing as he released the pressure. "No. This is all about managing symptoms. The fever, the blood pressure, the dehydration. The only thing that treats the root cause is—" He paused, glancing at Joel. "—well, you know..."

He pulled off his gloves with a snap, tossing them into a bin. Then he grabbed a fresh pair, pulling them on with practiced efficiency. 

"I could now let you two go," Jack said, turning to face Joel fully. "Let you handle this on your own. Just fuck like goddamn rabbits for the next few hours. But her blood pressure is 160 over 110. That's stroke territory if we're not careful. And her fever is also still climbing."

You whimpered on the chair, your hand reaching out blindly. "Please…Joel…I need…"

Joel caught your hand, pressing it to his chest. "S'okey, honey. I'm right here. Don't be scared." He leaned down, pressing another kiss to your damp forehead, his voice softening to a trembling murmur. "I got you. I ain't goin' nowhere."

He turned to Jack, his eyes hard and resolute. "I'll do it. You keep her fever and blood pressure in line. I trust you."

Jack nodded. 

He pulled the chair behind your head, positioning himself so he could put cool towels on your forehead and monitor the equipment. 

"I'll keep the cold packs on her neck and forehead, monitor her vitals. You handle the rest."

Joel let out a long, shaky breath. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the nearby counter. He moved between your legs, his boots scraping against the worn linoleum.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking down at the mess you've had made. 

Your pussy was a complete wreck; swollen, red, glistening with a mix of your own fluids and the lingering evidence of your climax. Your clit stood out, big and glossy, twice its usual size. Your hole gaped, soft and open, the muscles twitching with unfulfilled need. 

Joel had never seen you like that. Not even when he fucked you countless times the night before. 

Jack's voice came from behind your head, quiet and steady. "I know. That's the flower."

Joel looked at your face—your tear-streaked cheeks, your parted lips, your eyes glassy and fixed on him with desperate, animal hunger. He placed his rough, calloused hands on your inner thighs, spreading you wider.

"You'll be fine, babygirl," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "I'll take care of you."

Joel's jaw tightened, his gaze flicked anywhere but towards Jack as he unzipped himself and wrapped a calloused hand around his own cock. 

He stroked himself slowly at first, trying to will himself hard despite the awkward weight of another man's eyes in the room. Embarrassment flushed his neck, but the sight of you—needy, swollen, and waiting—pushed him forwards. 

He needed to do this for you, his sweet girl, no matter how strange it felt with his old friend watching.

Joel lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance before he pushed inside in one steady thrust.

A high-pitched moan tore from your throat, your hips bucking up to meet him as your walls fluttered and sucked him deeper.

"Continue," Jack said quietly, nodding once, his voice calm and measured.

Joel grunted, hips snapping forward. 

The wet, splashing sounds of your soaked pussy filled the small clinic room with every thrust, obscene and loud. 

He punched into you harder, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet, sensitive spot inside while your cunt milked him greedily, rhythmic pulses drawing him in.

"You need to talk to her the way you guys always do it, Joel," Jack instructed, still monitoring your pulse. "Keep her grounded."

Joel's eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded, voice rough. "D-does that feel good, honey?" He drove deeper, breath hitching. "Prettiest cunt all fuckin' swollen. Look at you, takin' me so good."

You whined, the praise sending fresh heat through you. 

Jack suppressed a smirk, trying to focus instead on the steady thrum beneath his fingers. "Pulse is elevated but stable," he murmured. "Pupils are still dilated."

And without warning, another orgasm crashed over you. 

This time, your thighs fell further apart as a raw cry teared from your throat, back arching off of the examination chair. Your cunt clamped down, once, twice, then opened. A hot, gushing stream bursted hard, pushing Joel's cock out and making a splashing sound in the quiet room. 

"Joel—"

Joel's breath hitched as your cries echoed off of the walls, his eyes widening when the hot flood gushed against his groin.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes landed on Jack's calm ones, and a wave of embarrassment hit him. He was standing there like this was nothing, like the whole scene wasn't awkward as hell, and Joel just couldn't decide if that made it better or worse.

Jack nodded, his eyes landing on your clenching tummy. "Normal reaction."

Joel cursed again, gripping his slick cock and thrusting back inside your still-quivering pussy. 

"Wanted to see those bunnies, huh?" he rasped, tsking with his tongue as he set a punishing rhythm. "Now look at what happened to you." 

Each thrust made your squelching cunt echo wetly around him.

Jack's gaze sharpened as he noticed drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. "Hm. Another autonomic response; excessive salivation," he noted, and glanced at Joel mid-thrust. "Mind if I help keep her calm?"

Joel nodded without breaking his rhythm. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted you to feel better.

"Easy now. Breathe for me." Jack slid two latex-gloved fingers past your lips. "I'm just gonna help you." 

And you immediately sucked them in, tongue swirling, a broken whimper escaping around them. "Please, doctor…"

Jack's breath got caught in his throat, his own cock twitching to life, growing visibly against his pants even though he was trying to he professional. 

"S'okay, sweetheart." he soothed, fingers gentle but firm in your mouth.

You sucked on them with desperate, whining pulls, saliva coating the gloves. 

Joel shook his head, voice strained. "God damn flowers."

"I know," Jack replied, eyes flicking down to where Joel's cock disappeared into your soaked cunt. "Reports were way worse. It's like heat for humans—constant need until the cycle breaks."

Joel kept thrusting, the filthy wet sounds growing louder, his thumb finding your sensitive clit, giving only gentle, light rubs. You moaned around Jack's fingers, whimpered, your body arching from the stool as another orgasm ripped through you.

He buried himself deep, grunting as he came too, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt while your walls clenched around him.

Jack's free hand stroked your hair. "You're doing so well," he whispered. "That's it. Let it all out."

Joel slowly pulled out, watching thick ropes of his release trickle down from your swollen pussy. He tucked himself back in, thinking that would be enough. 

But the needy ache in your core hadn't faded. Your hips still rocked, eyes glassy, silently begging for more. Your cunt started clenching again, desperate to be stuffed. 

Jack pulled his fingers out of your mouth, taking his gloves off. 

"She's…she's still not done," he said, his voice softer now, laced with an uncertainty that wasn't there before. 

He swallowed. "The flower's effects are cumulative. She's had three orgasms so far, but the pollen load was significant." 

Jack's fingers trailed down your cheek, your jaw, until they rested on your collarbone. "Your heart rate's still high." He glanced at Joel. "Can you hold her steady? I need to examine her cervix again."

Joel nodded, his hand moving to cradle your head. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his breath was warm against your cheek, pressing a kiss on your nose. "You hear that, baby? Doctor Abbott's gonna take a look. Just breathe, okay?"

Jack pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, the snap of latex loud in the quiet. 

He positioned himself between your legs again, his fingers gentle as he parted your slick folds. 

Your cunt was still a swollen, pink mess—puffy and raw, dripping with Joel's cum and your own release. 

Jack's brows furrowed deeper, his tongue wetting his lips. "No tearing. But she's inflamed. The tissue is still pretty engorged." He pressed two fingers just inside your entrance, and you gasped, your hips bucking. "Still sensitive. Very sensitive."

Joel watched, his eyes dark, the grip on your hand tightening. "What do we need to do?"

Jack withdrew his fingers slowly. "I think…I think she needs stimulation again. But maybe a different angle. She's been stimulated vaginally. The flower's compounds are absorbed through the mucous membranes, so oral stimulation might also help" He looked at Joel, and for the first time, a faint blush colored his cheeks. "I could…only if that's okay with you, I could use my mouth. On her. It's the gentlest way. Fingers or a toy might be too rough with the swelling."

Joel's eyebrows rised. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at Jack with a mixture of surprise and unsureness. But he trusted him. "You're the doctor." 

Jack's answer was a shaky breath. 

He knelt down, his prosthetic clicking softly as he positioned himself between your spread thighs. He looked up at Joel, eyes wide, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I won't do something that you don't want."

"You won't," Joel said, and there's a quiet certainty in his voice. "You're good at what you do. And you care. That's all that matters."

Jack leaned in, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh first, a soft, hesitant kiss. He started murmuring to you, his words muffled against your skin. "It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me help you." 

He trailed his mouth up, leaving a wet path, until he reached your pussy. 

He hesitated at first, his breath hot against your swollen folds, and then his tongue darted out, flicking tentatively over your clit.

You cried out, a sharp, high sound, your hips jerking. 

Joel shushed you, his hand stroking your hair. "Easy, easy, honey. Let him work."

Jack's tongue moved in slow, careful circles, his eyes closed, his whole being focused on the task. He was so gentle—so so gentle it almost hurt. He let his tongue flatten, just barely, dragging the softest, wettest line from the bottom of your slit all the way up to the hood of your swollen clit.

When he reached the nub, he didn't flick or circle. 

Instead, he parted his lips just enough to take the tiny bud between them, not sucking, not even really holding—just resting it there, letting his breath ghost over it. He knew you were sensitive so he gave it a single, featherlight pulse of his tongue, like a heartbeat, before releasing it just as gently.

He pulled back for a moment, looking at Joel. "She's still very wet. The pollen keeps secreting fluids. That's good—it means her body is actively metabolizing." 

He pressed another kiss onto your inner thigh, his hand coming up to cup your mound, his thumb rubbing soft circles. "You're doing so well. Just a little more, okay? I'll make it good."

Joel watched, his breath coming heavier. He was hard again, his cock pressing against his jeans. 

He didn't touch himself, though. He just held you, his eyes locked on Jack's mouth as it worked over you, his own throat tight with something that feels like gratitude and jealousy all tangled together.

"I got her, Joel," Jack said between gentle strokes of his tongue, his voice strained. "She's responding. Clenching. She's—" He broke off as you moaned, your body beginning to tremble again. "She's close. Another one."

Joel leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "Let go, baby. Let Jack take care of you. You can do it."

Your orgasm build, slow and deep, and when it finally broke; it's was a rolling, shuddering wave that pulled a desperate sob from your chest. 

He didn't stop, his tongue gentling through the aftershocks, drawing out every last tremor until you're limp, your body sagging into the chair.

"Good, yeah, that's real good," Jack pulled back, wiping his chin with his hand while looking at the fluids you released. "She did well." 

You breathed out, already feeling your cunt spasm again, in need of another release. 

Jack checked your fever and your blood pressure again, letting out a soft breath, turning to face Joel. His voice was low and gentle, unhurried. "It's still not stabilizing the way I'd like. Her heart rate's come down which is good. But her blood pressure's still sitting high, and her temperature's not dropping."

Joel's grip on your hand tightened. "God dammit. What else can we do?" He asked. "You said oral would help." 

Jack nodded slowly. "It did help. It brought her some relief. But the pollen is trapped in her pelvic tissue now. To fully clear it, she needs a stronger parasympathetic response. I think at this point, oral alone won't reach that deep."

He paused, thinking. 

"There's another option," he said, looking at Joel first, then down at you. "It's a bit more...involved. But I think it would work. I've read it in the reports."

Joel's brows furrowed. "Just tell me."

"Dual stimulation. It could trigger a more complete autonomic response. Simultaneous penetration of the vaginal and anal canals would increase overall parasympathetic activation, potentially clearing the pollen from deeper tissue through intensified contractions and fluid release."

He held up a hand, reassuring. "I know it sounds like a lot. But i've read enough of them in the reports."

Joel looked at you, then back at Jack. His voice was rough but not angry. "You mean, hell—both of us? At the same time?"

"If you're comfortable with that," Jack said, his tone still gentle, almost apologetic. "I wouldn't suggest it if I thought there was another way. But she's still suffering, Joel. I can see it in her eyes. And I don't want her fever to spike again."

Joel stared at the floor for a long moment, then looked at you. Your skin was still flushed, your eyes glassy with need, begging him to do something. You squeezed his hand weakly, a small sound escaping your throat. 

He let out a breath. "Fine. If it'll help her. But I swear to god above, Abbott, if she stays like this. Then—"

"Joel… I hear you," Jack murmured, hands half‑raised in a calming gesture. "I'm not…I'm not thrilled about this either. But I won't let anything happen to her. I promise you that."

He then knelt between your legs again, his hands resting lightly on your thighs. "I need to check if she's ready," he said. "The pollen causes natural relaxation, but I want to be sure there's no discomfort."

He pressed a thumb gently against your perineum, then traced it along the rim of your anus. 

The touch was featherlight, exploratory but uour body responded without a thought: a shiver, a soft gasp. 

Jack looked up at Joel, his expression calm.

"She's already relaxed. No prep needed." He nodded. 

Jack shifted his gaze to you. His hand remained where it was, a grounding pressure against your most intimate space. He spoke slowly, his voice a soothing murmur.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to tell you exactly what we're thinking, and you can take your time. There's no rush."

He paused, waiting for your eyes to meet his.

"Joel will be with you the way he always is—inside you, slow and gentle. And I'll be behind you, entering you here," he said, his thumb pressing just slightly inward, "in your bottom. We'll move together, very slowly, matching each other's pace. It'll feel full—intense—but it won't hurt if you're relaxed, and you are. The pollen will release, your fever will come down, and your heart will settle."

He watched your face, his eyes patient and warm.

Joel leaned down, brushing his lips against your nose. "It's your call, babygirl. I'm right here."

Your breathing hitched. The heat inside you coiled tighter, desperate. You looked up at Joel, then at Jack—his dark eyes patient, his hand steady on your body. 

You nodded, needy. 

"Yes," you whispered. "Please. I need something." 

Jack's lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. "That's good. That's real good." He withdrew his hand slowly and looked at Joel. 

Joel's jaw tightened. He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, slow and deliberate. Then he looked over his shoulder at Jack, and to the couch in the room. "This couch work for you? She'll be more comfortable there—pillows, somethin' to brace against."

Jack nodded, already moving. "I'll get it set up."

-

Jack cleared the sofa with efficient movements: tossing aside a pillow, spreading a clean blanket over the cushions, positioning two more pillows against the armrest. 

His hands moved with practiced precision, but there was a slight tremor in his fingers as he smoothed the fabric. 

He was trying to stay professional. It was cute, in a way; this man who had stitched up Joel's wounds and patched up Jackson's sick, now preparing a makeshift bed for something more intimate.

And you wouldn't lie if it didn't excite you. 

While Jack worked, Joel stayed with you. He cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs tracing the line of your cheekbones. 

"Hey," he murmured, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. "Look at me."

You did. His eyes so soft. Tender. The same eyes that had watched over you during patrol, that had softened when you begged him to take you to the forbidden parameter just to see those stupid, wild rabbits and play with them. 

"It's gonna be alright," he said. "You trust me?"

"Always," you breathed.

"Trust Jack?"

You glanced towards the sofa, where Jack was adjusting the last pillow. He caught your gaze and offered a small, reassuring smile—the same smile he gave before setting a broken bone, before delivering difficult news. 

Professional. Always kind and gentle. 

"Yes," you said. "I trust him."

Joel leaned in and kissed you then. Slow, thorought, a kiss that promised you stability. His lips moved against yours with a gentle pressure, his tongue brushing the seam of your mouth, tasting you. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other found the small of your back, pulling you just slightly closer.

When he broke the kiss, you were breathless. He rested his forehead against yours.

"Good girl," he whispered. "You're doing so good. Now let's get you comfortable."

Without warning, Joel slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you off of the exam chair as if you weighed nothing. 

You gasped, your arms instinctively winding around his neck.

Jack had positioned himself on the far end of the sofa, sitting sideways, his legs spread, a condom wrapper discarded on the side table. 

He was already hard—you could see the outline of his cock straining against his jeans, and when he shifted, the fabric pulled tight. 

"Come here," Jack said, his voice a low murmur. He patted the cushion besides him. "There we go."

Joel lowered you gently onto the sofa, your knees sinking into the plush cushion. You were facing him, your hands braced on his broad shoulders, while he sat down too. 

And behind you, you could feel the heat of Jack's body.

"Alright," Joel said, his hands sliding from your shoulders down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps. "He's gonna take care of you from behind. And I'll be right here." He tapped your chin, making you look at him. "Right in front of you. You need to stop, you tap my arm twice. You need a breath, you say my name. You hear?"

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good girl."

He touched you gently, his hands guiding your hips, your knees, until your back was closer to Jack and you were still facing Joel. He then  positioned you on your knees, the cushion soft beneath you, your thighs spread just enough to accommodate what was coming.

Jack's breath caught. 

His eyes roamed over you; the curve of your ass, your pretty waist, and your back. 

"You're in control," Jack said, and his voice was strained but still carrying that professional cadence, the doctor's calm. "I'm gonna put on a condom, then you can take it at your own pace." 

You heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Then the slick sound of him rolling it on. You looked over your shoulder, watching him position himself—knees spread, cock standing up from his body, the condom sheathing him in a thin layer of latex. 

His cock was thick, smaller than Joels, standing full and erect from a nest of dark and grey curls. His head was already a dark plum shade, slick with pre-cum bubbling on top, indicating that he was already hard all the while he examined you earlier.  

"Whenever you're ready, sweetheart." Jack said, and there was a raw edge to his voice now, the professional slip giving way to something hungrier. "Lower yourself onto me."

You reached behind you, fingers brushing his thigh. He flinched—a tiny jolt, involuntary. You saw his cock twitch, the head bobbing slightly.

"Please," you whispered. 

Jack's jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. He forced himself to nod, keeping his hands on his own knees. "It's okey. I'm right here." 

You braced one hand on the back of the sofa, the other reaching down to guide him. Your fingers found the head of his cock, slick with latex. 

You positioned it against your entrance—the tight ring of muscle that had just been stretched—and pushed back.

"There she goes." Joel murmured. 

The pressure was intense. 

A fullness that bordered on overwhelming. 

You felt every ridge, every inch as you sank onto him, your body yielding slowly, grudgingly. Jack's breath hissed through his teeth, a sharp, bitten-off sound. His knuckles were white where he gripped his own thighs, the tendons in his forearms standing out with the effort of staying still.

Joel breathed out, holding onto your waist as he guided you gently down. 

"Good," Jack managed, his voice strangled. "That's…that's perfect. You're doing so well." 

He was fully sheathed inside you then—your ass stretched around his cock, the sensation so deep it seemed to reach into your belly. You felt full, split open, but not in pain. Just…finally filled the way you needed it. 

In front of you, Joel watched your face with an intensity that made your stomach flip. His hand left your waist and stroked your thigh, a slow, grounding rhythm, his thumb tracing the crease where your leg met your hip. "You're my good girl." He whispered. 

His own cock was hard, straining against his jeans, but he made no move to touch himself. 

All his focus was on you.

"You got her?" Joel asked Jack, his voice low and gravelly.

"Yeah," Jack said, and his hands finally moved, settling on your hips. Not to guide you, not to push—just to steady. His palms were warm through the thin gown. "She's fully seated. Go ahead, Joel."

Joel's eyes never left yours. His cock thick and flushed, already slick with precum and your release from earlier. 

He shifted closer, his knees bracketing yours on the cushion, his cock pressing against your wet, waiting entrance. He didn't push in immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your lips—soft, lingering.

"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "Breathe for me. Deep and slow. I can feel you clenching already—you're so ready, baby." 

"Yes," you breathed.

He pushed in.

The sensation was indescribable—Joel's cock filling your cunt from the front, Jack's cock stretching your ass from behind. 

They were separated by only a thin wall of flesh, and you could feel every movement of each man through the other. Joel's thickness pressed against Jack's length, a constant, intimate pressure that made you gasp.

Joel groaned low in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "There we go, honey. There we go. You feel so perfect around me." 

Behind you, Jack's grip tightened on your hips. "Jesus christ."

"I know," Joel said. "I know."

Joel stopped there, buried full, and let out a low breath against your neck. Then he looked down.

Your cunt was stretched wide around his shaft, the lips pulled apart, pink and slick with your own wetness. Below that, Jack's cock stuffed deep in your ass, making the whole patch of skin between your legs look swollen, used, full. 

He watched the way his own cock disappeared into you, how the flesh clung to him like it didn't want to let go. 

He then pressed a palm flat against your belly, rubbed slow circles just above where he's buried to calm you down.

They stayed still for a long moment—both of them buried inside you, your body stretched and full and trembling. Joel's breath was warm against your cheek. Jack's chest pressed against your back, his heart hammering against your shoulder blades.

"We're gonna move when you're ready. Slow and deep. Get your body to get used to it." Jack said behind you, gripping your waist. 

Joel huffed as a nod, giving your cheek a kiss before his hand touched your mound, spreading you to watch himself. 

Then they began to move. Small, shallow thrusts. 

At first, it's barely more than a pulse—a subtle shift of both cocks deep inside you, rocking in place. Your pussy flutters around the first, a gentle squeeze that welcomes the tiny motion. Your ass clenches around the second, holding him tight as he budges fractionally in and out.

You gasped, burying your head into his neck. 

"Shh, it's okey." he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You can take it, babygirl." 

His lips found your cheek, soft and lingering. He pulled you back just enough to meet your eyes—half-lidded, glassy, still lost in the haze of pleasure. His thumb traced over your cheekbone, wiping a smear of drool from the corner of your mouth.

"So damn beautiful, aren't you?"

Behind you, Jack's breathing was heavy, controlled. He was pumping inside you, careful not to be fast, his hands resting on your hips with a gentleness that belied the tension in his shoulders. 

Over your shoulder, his gaze met Joel's.

A silent conversation passed between them. A nod. 

A confirmation. We're good. She's good. Keep going.

"She is doing good," Jack murmured. 

Joel nodded, his hand sliding down your side, fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip. "Best girl," he said, low and warm. "Yeah, baby?"

A sound tore out of you then. 

Loud, ragged, utterly needy. It rose from somewhere deep in your chest—a whine that had no shape, no words, just pure, aching want. 

Jack smiled. "Is she drooling again?"

Joel pulled back just enough to look at your face. Your lips were parted, slack, a glistening string of saliva stretching from your lower lip to your chin. 

Your eyes were all hazy, unfocused, your breath coming in shuddering gasps.

"Mmhmm," Joel hummed. "Look at you, baby. All drooling to your chin. Messy thing." 

Jack couldn't help but chuckle, his cock twitching inside you. His hand came up from behind then. His finger in latex, pressed against your lips without hesitation. The touch was light though, asking permission, even now.

Your mouth opened, and you took him in.

You closed your mouth around him and sucked, hard, hollowing your cheeks, pulling him deeper. A deep, shuddering satisfaction rolled through your chest. 

Your eyes fluttered closed. This was what you needed. Something to suck on. Something to anchor you. 

Jack's hissed out. "There you go. That helps, huh?" 

Joel's hand slid down your belly, past the slick, glistening mess of your thighs, until his thumb found your clit. It was swollen, angry red, twice its normal size and pushing out from its hood like a small, desperate pearl. The barest brush of his calloused thumb made your whole body jolt, a shockwave of sensation that ripped through you.

"Easy, Joel." Jack murmurs, his voice a low. "Her clitoris is sensitive right now. If you apply too much direct pressure, she might get overwhelmed. Try lighter, circular motions, just around the hood. Let her build."

Joel nodded, his eyes analysing your face as he touched the little nub gently. Slow, deliberate circles, barely any pressure.

Your back bowed, arching into Jack's chest, your mouth clamping down on his finger, sucking for dear life. 

The orgasm that ripped through you was sudden, violent but perfect. It started in your clit, that single point of pressure and radiated outwards in hot, electric waves. Your cunt clenched around Joel's cock, your ass tightening around Jack's. 

A broken cry escaped around the latex in your mouth.

"That's it," Jack groaned, pushing his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling your throat convulse around the tip. "Just like that, sweetheart. You got it."

Joel's smile was soft, his eyes wet with something profound. He kept his thumb moving in slow, steady circles, drawing out every last tremor of your climax. 

"You're doing so good for us, baby. Flushin' all that pollen out, huh?"

You nodded as best you could, gasping, drool pooling around Jack's knuckles. 

They held still then, pausing their thrusts and letting your body catch up, letting the aftershocks of your releasre ripple through you.

Jack's free hand moved to your wrist. 

His thumb pressed into the delicate skin, feeling the rapid thrum of your pulse. He counted silently. Then he moved his hand to the side of your neck, feeling the beat there, strong and wild. He pressed his palm to your forehead, then your cheek.

"Fever's going down," he said, the doctor's cadence threading back through the ragged lust in his voice. "Pulse is still a touch elevated. One more good one should flush the last of it out of her system completely."

He pulled his wet finger from your mouth with a 

slick pop. A string of saliva connected his glove to your lower lip, stretching thin, then breaking. 

Your mouth stayed open, seeking, needy so Joel planted open mouthed kisses on the corner of your lips. 

"S'so much, Joel," you whined, the words slurred and breathless. Your voice cracked. "S'too much. Can't—can't take—"

"I know, babygirl." Joel leaned in and pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips stayed there, warm and steady. "I know. But you can. You're almost there. One more. Just one more for us."

"Gonna be a good girl for me?" He asked. "For Doctor Abbott, too?" 

Joel glanced over at Jack, catching the faint flush rising in his cheeks. Jack swallowed dropping his gaze, and that tiny, embarrassed gesture pulled a low chuckle out of Joel.

You whined, nodding your head quickly. Your head lulled back, dropping to Jack's neck and looking up at him. 

"Are you?" he murmured, looking at you, the words slipping out before he could stop them—quiet, direct, and meant only for you.

Joel’s brows lifted, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. 

Your eyes went wide at his question. You nodded before you even realized you were doing it, breath catching as you stayed pressed against him.

Then, before you could turn around, Joel started thrusting upwards again. Slow, deep, deliberate. 

Each stroke was a long drag against your walls, a languid exploration of the slick, hot grip of your cunt. 

Jack started matching him, finding the counterpoint rhythm—sliding deeper as Joel pulled back, filling the space Joel left. His eyes were still on you, steady, nodding against the thrusts and counting them. 

The fullness was overwhelming, the stretch a perfect pressure that occupied every empty inch inside you.

A whine broke from your mouth. Your head stayed on Jacks shoulder, while your eyes landed on Joels face again.

He grunted, speeding his hips, calloused hands on your thighs moving you to the rhythm he built. 

"Someone's close," Jack said, his voice low.

"She is," Joel agreed breathless, hair falling damp to his forehead. "My sweet girl."

You moaned—sweet, broken, the sound rising from your chest like a prayer. Your head fell still Jack's shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed. Sweat glistened on your skin, beaded on your collarbone, trickled between your breasts.

Jack's hands slid up your damp stomach then.

They were slow, exploratory, tracing the lines of your ribs, the soft swell of your belly. 

His palms cupped your breasts, lifting them slightly, feeling their weight. His thumbs found your nipples—hard pebbles against the cool latex of his gloves. He rolled them gently, watching your face for reaction.

"These are also very sensitive," he observed. The clinical observation was a thin veneer over the raw truth—he just wanted his hands on you. And he started to become bold enough to do so. 

His thumbs circled and circled, pressed and pressed while pinched ever so lightly.

You whimpered, your hips bucking upward, grinding against Joel's thrusts.

"They are," Jack repeated, more to himself. "Good. That's good."

Joel watched your face, his pace quickening. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and a vein stood out on his neck. 

"Look at me, darlin'. C'mon. Let me see those eyes." 

You forced your lids open. Joel's gaze was locked on yours—dark, tender, burning.

"There you go," He growled. "Look at my babygirl...enjoying herself on two cocks, yea?"

Your cheeks flushed red at his words, closing your eyes again. 

The slick, wet sounds of your bodies filled the room. Jack's fingers stayed on your nipples, rolling, tugging, pinching in rhythm with the thrusts.

"Hey, look at me." Jack said behind you, firm. 

You did, looking into his eyes lazily. 

"You're close. I need you to focus on us, is that clear?" He asked, eyes searching for any discomfort in your face. 

Your eyes went wide at the sudden firmness in his voice. You nodded quickly, breath catching as you tried to steady your focus on him like he asked.

Joel let out a low, hum. “Yeah,” he said, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. “Listen to him.”

The pressure was building again—impossible, overwhelming. You were close, just like Jack said. Your thighs trembled. Your belly tightened. A hot coil wound in your core, drawing tighter with every stroke.

"C'mon," Joel urged, his voice dropping to a growl. "Give it to me, sweetheart. Let go. I'll catch you."

Jack's hips slapped against your ass, faster now, deeper. "Cum for us, sweetheart." he whispered against your ear. "Release it all. One more time."

And you did.

A hot gush came out of you—not a trickle, not a spasm, but a flood. It poured from your cunt, soaking Joel's cock, your thighs, his lap, the blanket beneath you. 

A broken cry tore from your throat, raw and desperate, as you squirted hard, the release feeling like the fever finally leaving your body. 

Your vision went white.

"Fuck," Jack groaned. He pulled out in one slick motion, the condom still snug on his cock. He ripped it off, stroking himself twice, three times, and spilled into the latex with a raw, shuddering groan that seemed to come from deep in his chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Joel's arms were around you instantly. 

He dragged you flush against his sweaty chest, your weight settling on top of him as he fell back against the couch cushions. 

He was still inside you, buried deep, and he didn't stop. He thrusted up into you—four powerful, driving strokes, each one hitting that perfect, swollen spot.

"One more, sweetheart. C'mon. One more for me." He whispered into your ear. 

You squirted again—a weaker gush, a final release that flooded his belly and pooled beneath you. You cried out, burying your face into his neck. 

Joel let out a guttural grunt, his hips stuttering as he came, hot and thick, pumping into you with a desperate, possessive rhythm. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place.

Your body went limp, boneless, slack against Joel's chest. Your face burrowed into the hollow of his throat, into the damp, salty warmth of his skin. 

His heartbeat thudded against your cheek, strong and steady.

The world finally went soft, and your body relaxed. 

Jack on the other hand, moved with quiet efficiency besides you. His hands were gentle as he pressed two fingers to the hollow of your throat, counting the steady thrum of your pulse. 

He lifted one of your eyelids gently, checking your pupil response. A small flashlight flickered in his hand—when had he grabbed it? You had no idea. He pressed his palm to your forehead, your cheek, the side of your neck.

"She's asleep," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Completely out. Pulse is seventy-two. Pupils reactive. Skin temperature normal. Pollen's probably fully out. She's going to be just fine."

Joel's arm tightened around you, a possessive, protective reflex. 

He pressed a long kiss to the crown of your head, breathing you in. His hand came up to stroke your hair, smoothing the damp strands away from your face.

"God damn," he said to the ceiling, his voice a worn-out rasp. "That was wild."

He turned his head. Jack was on his feet, pulling his jeans up his hips, fastening his belt. Reaching for his flannel shirt. His movements were precise, unhurried, but there was a tremor in his hands that betrayed the cost of control.

"Thank you," Joel said. "No more bunnies for this Honeygirl." 

Jack paused mid-motion, chuckling, his hand on the collar of his shirt. He looked at Joel, then at your sleeping form, tucked into the curve of Joel's throat. Your lips were parted, your breath even and deep. 

He gave a single nod.

All that needed to be said, understood perfectly between them.

He finished buttoning his shirt and padded quietly into the kitchen. The faucet ran. A glass clinked. He was already preparing water for when you woke up, already thinking ahead.

Joel held you closer, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. 

He pressed another kiss to your hair, then let his eyes close, just for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing, the proof that you were safe.

The way i googled the weirdest things guys...i've literally learned so much about the body LMFAO. if anybody sees my history they would think i've gone crazy. Also this is definitely not an excuse to write medical kink no no🫣

I hope this met some expectations, i'm still very very new to writing Jack abbott so please bear with me!!!

THEN

You're on the lip of the ledge curled tight, the window open, letting the smoke out. You use a small cup as an ashtray and it's full.  

Frankie went back to Texas today. 

You heard it from Santi over breakfast. He mentioned it along with other innocuous facts like the girl from the party that he met is weird, that he's thinking of doing a backpacking trip to South America, that he's going to miss you when you're gone to Seattle for school.

You had to sit there at the table with your heart breaking, forcing your face to remain neutral. 

And now your throat burns and your eyes are swollen. You pull your knees to your chest, inhaling deeply from the cigarette before holding in the smoke. You hold it so long in your chest it feels like a punishment, the curling wisps exhaling from you in a rush. 

"Since when do you smoke?" 

Hilary stands at your door, eyes kohl-rimmed, tank top low. You scowl.

"What? Like you don't do it all the time?"

Hilary isn't put off by your vitriol. To her you'll always be an amusing little puppy, nothing to fear; all bark no bite. 

"What is your deal? You've been a bitch all week." 

It's been five days since Frankie broke your heart. Five days of his silence, of your sobs. Five days of not understanding how he could claim to like you and then turn around and fuck someone else. 

And now he's gone. 

You think of Frankie entering the plane, all shoulders and muscled arms. You think of Christy who probably drove him to the airport. You think of him settling in, eyes closed as he returns to a life you'll never know. 

"Leave me alone," you say turning back to the window. You stamp out your cigarette in the cup, the ash bitter on your tongue. 

You hear the pad of Hillary's footsteps over the carpeted floor, her voice nearing you. 

"Are you nervous about leaving for school or something?" 

In two weeks time you'll be in Seattle going to school and forgetting everything about this summer. You can’t wait.

"No." 

"Is it Frankie?" She steps even nearer, voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Did he... try anything?"

You go rigid, eyes burning. "Of course not."

He just broke my heart. 

"I didn't think so. He's always been really respectful." Now she's at your feet, looking to your face in concern. "I just noticed he hasn't been here since that night he brought those flo-"

You jump down from the ledge, eyes burning in fury. Why is she trying to act like a big sister now? She's always pushed you to the side, ignored you. And now, what? She thinks that she's going to offer some great life lessons?

"I don't ever want to hear the name Frankie again." 

This stuns her into taking a step back, eyes surveying your face. She even gives a soft, disbelieving huff. 

"What? I thought he was, like, your best friend." 

"Well, you thought wrong. Just fuck off, would you? Pretty sure there's a bedpan that needs washing." 

It comes out so much uglier than you were expecting, but you don't even flinch. This bitterness inside of you wants to splay out its tendrils and infect everyone. 

Hilary goes red in the face, mouth curling into a snarl. 

"I can't wait until you're gone," she throws over her shoulder as she exits the bedroom. "Do us all a favor and never come back."

Then she's gone, rushing from the room and slamming the door to hers. 

Fuming, you stride down the hallway preparing to exit the house. Maybe you'll go for a walk. 

But your mom is just entering in from the back door. She's wearing her nursing scrubs and about twelve hours of crumbly looking mascara. She carries a brown paper grocery bag in one arm. You can see several vodka bottles peeking out the top. 

"Hello honey. Can you start the ov-"

"I'm heading out," you mumble, slipping on your speakers. Maybe Santi is at home and will want a visit. 

"Wait, I brought home dinner," your mom insists, kicking off her nursing shoes; ugly white loafers.

"I'm not hungry." 

"You will sit down and eat this dinner. I'm not made of money," she snarks, placing the bag onto the counter. 

"Could've fooled me," you bite back. "How many vodka bottles did you get?" 

She goes completely stiff, not unlike your reaction earlier in the bedroom. You've gone too far. You wait for a harsh reprimand, a slap across the face. But what comes next is so much worse. 

She just lowers her head, face crumpling. A single tear rolls down her left cheek, disappearing into the starched collar of her nurse's uniform. 

"Just go." She says quietly. "Just leave."

Those worlds will run through your head for the rest of your life. In the face of adversity, uncertainty, you will always just leave. 

Your mom is confused to see Hilary arriving from the airport, squinting up at your sister when she steps through the door with her suitcase.

"Why are you here?"

"Good to see you too Mom," Hilary replies, un-phased. She kisses the top of your mom's head before rolling the suitcase down the hall. "I'm unpacking."

You follow her down to the old bedroom. You made her bed up with fresh sheets, plumped her pillows to try to make it look cheery.

You stand at the doorway, shoulder pressed against it. It is like old times with you uncertain if you should enter.

"This is weird," she says, looking your way as she unpacks into the dresser she'd used since she was a teenager.

"What's weird?"

"Us being here at the same time again."

You can't help but nod at that. It does feel strange being back here. Like being slingshotted through time.

"Yeah."

You think about what she'd said in the truck earlier. About people never changing. It hurts to hear it. You don't want it to be true.

"I'm really glad you're here," you eventually tell her with wet eyes.

She doesn't face you but her voice is thick when she replies.

"Me too."

THEN

The day you leave for Seattle is a morose one. Your mom isn't sober enough to take you to the airport and Hilary had to work.

Santi is already gone abroad for training and so it’s just you, your second hand suitcase and a backpack taking the bus to the airport where you sit with your dog eared copy of ''Dandelion Wine" and watch the happy couples. 

A serious looking man is reading a magazine while his girlfriend rests her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. Another couple is stealing kissing and blushing, the rings on their fingers making it obvious they're heading to some tropical honeymoon. An elderly man and woman smile as they start playing cards on a food court table. 

Every sight makes you sick with both revulsion and jealousy. It makes you think about how Frankie doesn't have your school apartment address. How he won't be able to send you letters. Not that he would. 

If he had written you a letter, you would have mailed back black bits of charred paper to his return address. Curled bits of parchment with his chicken scratch on it. 

But not before you read it. 

Not before you pored over it like you did with his letters the years before. Only now you would be scouring each line for an explanation of his behavior. How a man you were in love with could suddenly change overnight. 

You think about your mom passed out on the couch that morning. The crumpled envelope full of a few twenties she gave you the night before, her voice slurred as she told you to be safe.  You think of the cloying humidity and the sharp pain and bad memories that linger back in Florida and you have to force your stomach to stop it's rocking. 

When your plane eventually touches down in the Seattle airport hours later you instinctively you know you're never going back home. Not if you can help it. You're going to step off the plane into a new life. 

And you're never looking back. 

Rosalita doesn't have to come by as often during the day with the two of you there. But she stays most nights and her steady presence in the home seems to calm you all enough that you can get some sleep. 

Rosalita doesn't bother trying to get your mom to walk anymore though. She makes sure she's got the right medication, that her lips aren't too chapped and that she's comfortable.  

"Right now it's all about comfort," she tells you both quietly over tea one evening. "No more worrying about calories or smoking. Now’s the time to say yes." 

Having Hilary at home is such a relief. You've had two weeks of her brash attitude and constant chatter to fill your brain to the brim. There's no room left for Frankie. No room to think about his perfect mouth or the way you melted into his arms.

You take on extra projects for your job, work late into the night, until your eyes are blurry and your fingers cramped. You appreciate the distraction. 

But even through that, memories of Frankie's mouth won't leave you. The murmured hush of 'baby' in your ears. And the memories that keep flooding back with every day you stay here. 

You want to leave.

Want to run.

Want to forget. 

Santi comes over to visit with Hilary, the two of them standing on the back porch sharing a covert cigarette while you wash the dishes. You watch the two of them laugh lowly, shoulders shaking. It feels good to see. There's not a ton of good these days. It feels like there may not be much good ever again. 

Later that afternoon you lay on your side, looking to Hilary resting on the couch opposite you. She looks younger, more peaceful without that habitual scowl she wears. For the first time in forever you consider that there's a reason she wears a scowl. 

You got to leave, she didn't.

A Frasier re-run plays in the background, the gentle laugh track rousing your sister from her nap. She yawns, mascara smudged under her eyes. She was up late with your mother last night. You could hear them talking low and quiet in her bedroom. You envy how easily she does this. How unaffected she appears. She's always been the stronger one. 

"I used to be able to sleep on this couch all night," she says blinking over at you. "Now I think I've thrown out my fucking back."

The two of you exchange quiet chuckles and you remember giggling late into the night on the evenings she felt like indulging you with stories about her teenage adventures. You had clung to those stories in fascination, dreaming of the day you would be able to go to the mall and wear low rise jeans. 

Now you're both older, lines around your eyes and fatigue in both your bodies. And it feels less intimidating to ask her questions. 

"How come Justin didn't come back with you?"

She looks away from you, lashes fluttering. You shift, body tired from the position. But you don't rush her. You just wait until she inevitably raises her eyes to you. 

"We broke up right before I decided to come back." 

"Why?"

"He was too..."'she trails off, one hand aloft. She's searching for the right description. "Nice."

A beat. 

"He's... Too nice?"

She nods again, looking nauseated. "Yeah. I mean, I have these ideas, right? Pick up and move to a new country, start a new life, and he just... Went with it." She frowns. "No arguing, no complaining." 

"... Right." 

"Plus he was just there all the time. Wanting to hang out. Wanting to hold my hand and be all mushy." 

"It sounds like he just cares about you." 

She gives you a rueful look. One that communicates everything. She doesn’t trust it. That stops you short as you realize your sister has only known the transactional relationship. The thought of being given love so freely doesn't compute for her. 

"He just loves you, Hil." 

"Whatever. It’s over now." 

She waves the idea away. The conversation is closed, her body language clear.  

A light rain has started tapping on the roof. One that will bring more humidity and short fuses. You think in the face of this you might as well keep talking. To ask the hard questions. 

"Hil, did you ever resent me leaving here? For barely coming home when we were younger?"

She stretches her back, speaking around a yawn.  "No. Not really." 

"How is that possible? I barely came around."

You watch her settle again, eyes half open. She tilts her head your way.

"The same reason I didn't let you drink or shoplift at the mall with me." 

"Because I was your annoying little sister?"

"I mean, yeah, you were," she grins before sobering. "It's because I knew that you were meant for better things. I knew your future wasn't here in the same town we grew up in. And I knew if you started doing all the shit I did, you wouldn't be able to leave." 

She settles on her back.

"If you'd stayed, I would have felt like I failed as your sister," she continues. "You needed space to breathe. To become your own person." She beams over at you and you can see her eyes are damp. "And look at you. You did. Your own apartment, a job you're good at. No booze or drugs or criminal record ruining your life." 

You say nothing; the only sound in the room is the wet blink you give. 

"I like to think I'm part of the reason you're so successful."

If she was anyone else you would tackle her with a hug. But you know she would want nothing less. You want to thank her but know how she feels about that as well. So you’re quiet, coiled in gratitude.

"But I forced you to stay here with Mom," you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay even. 

She rolls her eyes, arms going behind her neck. "You couldn't force me to do anything and you know it."

That draws a small little giggle from you. She gets a strange look on her face. A mixture of embarrassment and amusement. 

"You know, I actually liked living here with Mom."

"What?"

"I liked having someone in the house when I got home. I actually missed this house if you can believe it." 

You can't. This house is everything you've tried to forget.

"I liked how the sun felt on the porch in the morning. How I knew everyone in town. I didn't mind my life. I liked being useful, I guess." 

"You did a lot for her." 

"Happy to do it." 

"How were you not resentful for it? After what she put us through as kids?"

Hilary goes quiet, mouth pressed together in a tight line. 

"Because when I needed bail money, she was there. When I needed a place to stay she let me move back in. She talked to me when I was down, made me meals when I was too depressed to get out of bed." Hilary sniffs. "Yeah, she drank too much. But we all have our vices, you know?" 

You're quiet, taking this information in. You wish you'd had this conversation with her years ago. 

"No, she wasn't a perfect mom to us as kids. Not by a long shot. But she also tried to make up for it." Hilary yawns again. "I guess I don't want to judge her for who she used to be. I just want to accept her for who she became." 

She's a complicated person, your sister. A living contradiction. Loving, withdrawn, cold and warm. You find yourself captivated by her straightforward sincerity.

"I wish I could have seen more of that side to her," you admit. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long." 

"But you're here now," she tells you. 

Yeah. You're here now. 

Back in your childhood home with your sister and mother. Back on the couch you used to watch Saturday morning cartoons on. 

You think of your childhood together. Of Hilary and her popularity. Of the summer bonfires and days in the water.  Of Hilary protecting you in her own, strange way.  For some reason something sticks out to you as you dance through time, a comment Hilary made around the bonfire that one summer. The time she told you to stay away from Travis without much reasoning. 

"Why did you dislike Travis so much?" You say after a pause. "I mean, I know he was an asshole but..."

You're surprised when your sister's face goes pink. She ducks her head slightly, pulling her sweatshirt up over her chin. She mumbles something that you can't hear and you ask her to repeat herself. 

"Because I slept with him,” Hilary says louder with a groan. 

Your eyes blow wide. "You did not."

"Sure did," Hilary says, lowering her hands from her face. "Why do you think I told you to stay away from him? He was sleeping with anyone and everyone. Thank God I was smart enough to use a condom." 

Your stomach drops as you think of that party, of you backed up against the tree and Travis's filthy words at your ear. At the discomfort you felt being so close to him and the way he told you he wanted you for so long. 

"We were, like, fifteen. We'd all been drinking and Travis saw an opportunity," she explains with a sobering look. "Only happened once but it was enough. Worst sex of my life." 

"Wow." 

"Is not like I was the only one!” Hilary defends, clearly embarrassed. “He and Christy had a whole hook up thing going on for years." 

"Excuse me? Christy could barely stand him." 

"In public," Hilary says with a smirk. "But trust me; it was common knowledge in my friend circles. They were fucking all the time." 

You stare into space and parse through the interactions between Christy and Travis, unable to see any link, any proof. But your sister wouldn't lie. 

The two of you go quiet, the rain still heard through the partly cracked window. After a few minutes you can hear your sister begin to snore. She's asleep and soon you follow. 

THEN

Your college graduation party is fairly muted compared to the parties you used to attend back in Florida, but it's still riotous enough to go late and involve your entire dorm floor in on the festivities. 

The furniture has been moved, your roommates have bought plenty of booze and someone keeps playing shitty Eminem beats while people get drunker and drunker.  Some guys from nearby dorms are here as well, all rules about co-ed mingling in the dorms after 11pm forgotten.

It's graduation after all. 

Grady from your Intro to Business class is here, nursing a warm beer and catching your eyes every so often. He's got light brown hair that falls into his dark blue eyes. He wears cargo pants and an oversized rock T-shirt from some band you've never heard of. He's handsome in a classical way and pretty clever. 

You've been busy at school, keeping your head down. You're social, you love to laugh and smile. Things you find easier to do now that you're not back in Florida. You feel like a different person here, someone who doesn't carry baggage of an alcoholic mom and an absent father. You get to just be you; a woman with goals. 

You haven't dated anyone since the Frankie debacle, and you don't want you. Despite how everything went down, the thought of inviting another man into your life that way seems too intimidating. 

And that's worked for you, but now? It's your graduation and you realize as you look around at your friends that you haven't had much of a life outside of your studies and these four walls. 

Maybe that's why you smile when Grady offers to stay behind when the rest of the party files out. When your roommates have gone to their separate bedrooms and the two of you remain in the kitchen cleaning out cups.

"I can't believe I waited until our last day to tell you this, but I've had a crush on you for years," he admits, blush going to his cheeks. 

"Well I'm glad you told me, even if it is our last day," you tease. 

"Guess we better make tonight count then, huh?"

He says it in a sweet way, eyes searching yours. It's not said with brash confidence, something you find utterly repulsive in the other men you've met here. With Grady it's just a sweet earnestness, a hope that you feel the same way he does. 

"Yeah," you say, rinsing a sudsy cup before holding it his way. "We better." 

He takes the cup, drying it with a goofy grin on his face. You're about to say something to him when the dorm phone rings. 

It's nearly two in the morning, definitely too late for phone calls. 

"Want me to answer it?" Grady asks wiping his hands and heading over to lift the receiver when you give him a nod, your soapy hands working on more of the dishes. You hear the dorm phone being lifted from the cradle.

"Hello?" 

You continue washing the cups, glancing over your shoulder when there's a long stretch of quiet. 

"Hello?" Grady says again, a little bit louder. "Is anyone there?"

He pauses, looking at you with a quirked brow, shaking his head. "Nothing." 

"Just hang up," you reply, shrugging with a yawn, wiping the soap from your hands. "And then let's go to bed." 

He nods, replacing the phone to its cradle and coming your way. He kisses you softly on the mouth, too soft. But you let him; you tilt your head and welcome his tongue behind your teeth. 

You invite him into your bed, you watch as he slithers down your body, kissing your inner thighs and murmuring about how beautiful you are. But you can't enjoy it because your body still craves the touch of a man you left behind in your memories. The scent of his sweat, the way he groaned your name. 

The life you were supposed to lead with him. Letters and phone calls and long distance love. This graduation would have marked the end of your distance. The star of your reunion. Instead, it's just a bitter reminder of the tie that has been severed. 

Grady doesn't notice your reticence until his mouth latches over your sex and you let out a hiccupping sob. He stops abruptly, and despite you covering your face and insisting that you want to continue he begins dressing again, murmuring that it's late and he better get back to his dorm. 

At the sound of your door closing you roll onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest. Tears slide down your cheeks as you imagine the life you'll never lead with a man you'll never have. 

"Blue Heron is out." 

You glance up from your laptop, brows tight. You've just finished a meeting, your eyes sore from staring at your laptop. 

"Huh? Why?" 

Hilary holds up her phone, the screen cracked. "I just looked and the place is pretty much condemned." 

You stand, crossing the room to take the phone from her. You scroll, reading quickly. 

Blue Heron Campground Condemned Following Structural Safety Concerns Blue Heron campground has officially been closed after local inspectors condemned several of the property’s main facilities due to severe floor instability and structural deterioration.

"Fuck."

You two sisters share a look, a silent frustration and devastation mixed into one stare. 

It's a helpless feeling; the one thing the two of you thought you could control is slipping through your fingers. Much like your mother in the next room. This was the one thing you thought you could do for her.

"Yeah." She finally nods grimly. "Fuck." 

There's a sudden commotion from the kitchen. What sounds like Rosalita gasping and the two of you take off running towards the sound. 

You hear a deep voice as you prepare to round the wall, heart dropping to your feet. 

"I'm sorry, Ros-"

"No no, it’s fine; you just surprised me, Mister Frankie." 

You slam back against the wall, hiding from the duo as Hilary shoots you a confused look. Still, she silently passes by you, walking into the kitchen. 

"Hey Morales." 

"Hey, Hil. Glad to see you back." 

"Yeah, couldn't stay away from the muggy weather and gators, I guess." 

Frankie chuckles gently, but you feel like it sounds forced. Like he doesn't actually want to be here, but he can't stay away. 

"What did you bring?" You hear Hillary cross the kitchen floor. "Triple fudge brownies?"

"Yeah, I thought you guys might want them."

"That's sweet of you." There's the chatter of dishes being pulled down from the cupboard. 

You wait for Frankie to excuse himself, but the silence between them lingers a beat. You wonder if he's waiting for you to appear. 

"You want one, Rosalita?" Hilary asks. 

"No. I'm fine, thank you. I am just going to the store." 

The door opens and closes and you wait, ears straining to see if Frankie exited along with Rosalita. Hilary finally speaks again, voice gentle. 

"How about you Morales? You want one?" 

"Uh... Sure." 

Fuck.  

You cover your face with your hands, knowing that if you walk off you'll make noise, but not wanting to enter into the kitchen either. You feel stuck. 

There's the clink of cutlery on plates, quiet chewing. 

"So were you in the neighborhood carrying brownies?"

A pause. 

"I wanted to how everyone is doing." 

The subtext isn't subtle. He probably wants to know where the two of you stand after that day you fell into him, kissing him as if you had longed for the press of his lips for years. Maybe, if you’re honest with yourself, a part of you had been.

"We're doing okay," Hilary answers lightly "I mean, Mom can't really leave bed much. I don’t think she has much time left." 

Frankie makes a soft, clicking noise against his teeth. It's authentic, sad and slow. 

"But, you know, it's nice all of us being under one roof again. Feels like old times when you and Santi used to drop by and annoy the shit out of me." 

The two chuckle before lapsing into a comfortable silence. 

"And your sister? How’s she?" 

There's your answer. Your pulse tics in your neck as you think about him sitting there, beautiful and sad, asking about you.

"She's having a tough go, I think," Hillary admits. "I'm used to being in the house, being with Mom. She's more... Sensitive than I am."

You wonder if she thinks you've ducked back down the hall, or perhaps she wants you to hear this. 

"She's a lot tougher than people think," Frankie tells her. For a moment you wish you could see his face. 

"You're probably right," Hilary says. You hear the gentle scrape of forks against plates again. "I mean, you would know. You knew her best." 

"I thought I did," Frankie says. His words are soft around the edges, hesitant. "Not so sure I ever did though." 

"Trust me, you did." 

This gives you pause. You didn't think Hillary really observed much about you and Frankie. But now you're starting to wonder. 

"Thanks so much for bringing these," Hilary says. "I haven't had them in ages."

"Yeah, your mom usually goes crazy for them. Would it... Could I say goodbye to her?" 

"Of course," Hilary says. "She's kind of in and out of consciousness but I think she'd appreciate it."'

They move too quickly for you to back away in time without giving yourself away. When his tall frame comes into view from around the corner he pauses, eyes widening when he sees you there pressed against the wall. 

"Pip..." His voice is husky and soft, eyes stuck on your face. 

Just the sight of him has your face hot with shame. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You recall his plump lips against yours, the scent of his skin, the sensation of being held in his lap as if cherished. 

Hilary is behind Frankie now, giving you a curious look. But you say nothing. Instead you lower your gaze to the ground and remain silent. 

Frankie swallows lightly, eyes on the ground as he passes you. Your eyes shutter when he moves by you in the narrow hallway, warm arm grazing yours. 

Then it's too much. His body, his nearness, your mother in the next room. It's all too much and you rush into your childhood bedroom, heart in your throat. 

Even with the door closed you can still hear Frankie's footsteps leading to your mother's room, can still hear the dark timber of his voice. Despite it being muffled through the walls, it's still a rich sound.

You think you can hear your mother's faint rasping voice, then the sound of gentle laughter. You're surprised by this. You don't know how much time passes but eventually you glance up to see Hilary cracking the door open, brows raised. 

"He's gone." 

"Okay."

She has that look of a person keeping something contained. Like she wants to voice something but it's carefully side stepping it. She adopts a more casual pose. 

"Santi just sent a text asking if we want to go play pool. You wanna go?"

"Rosalita is leaving soon." 

"Oh, shit, that's right." Hilary fishes her phone from her back pocket, preparing to compose a text. "I'll tell him we can't make it." 

You shake your head and push yourself off the mattress. You move to her, forcing your voice to sound steady. 

"Not a chance. Go get your ass to the pool hall. I'll stay here with Mom." 

She hesitates, in decision clear in her overly-plucked brows. 

"You sure?" 

She knows you feel more and more uneasy being at home alone with your mother. Terrified that something terrible will happen when you're alone. 

"Yes," You say firmly. "I'll be okay." 

THEN

You're twenty six when Santi's 30th comes around. His birthdays are always a cause for celebration and this year his party is being held at the beach. It's a BBQ and bonfire back home. He begged you to fly home to attend. He wants you to meet his army friends he served with not so long ago. Will, Benny, Tom. 

You are three and a half years into your first real job and you love it. But you've taken no vacation time and no sick days in those two years. Diane from HR had commented on this only a week before, her instructions to 'book some time off ' still in your head

"Is Travis coming?" You ask lightly, phone held tightly to your ear. 

"Nah, I don't really see him anymore." 

"And Frankie?" 

You hold your breath as Santi replies. 

"He's working." 

The last you heard through the grapevine, Frankie was overseas flying helicopters, so if he's working you know you're safe to go. 

You try not to sound too relieved when you agree to attend. Santi is delighted, giving you the details before you hear girlish giggling in the background. 

You didn't ask for details on Frankie, even though you thought about him. You worried for him, imagining his handsome face contorted, ears covered in oversized headphones. He wouldn't still wear your hat of course. 

But in your fantasies he did. 

Knowing you'd get to avoid his big, beautiful eyes and sweet dimple, you flew back home with only the faintest twist in your stomach. 

You're mom is working part time now. The mortgage paid off which means she has plenty of time to drink. You observe she's already three sheets when you arrive as she stumbles towards you, arms extended. 

"There she is," she slurs, the gin wafting over your cheek. "My little girl."

When she pulls back to look at you with bleary eyes you notice the red spider webs under the skin of her cheeks and along the end of her nose. 

"You're here."

You glance over to see Hilary holding a bowl of cereal, munching away. She gives you a small nod. Hilary lives with your mom from time to time when her relationships fail or she's not working. Right now it's both. 

"You coming to the BBQ?"

"Yep." 

"You get him a gift?"

"My presence is his present." 

You laugh, telling her that you'll put her name on your card. You got him an engraved flask. She hesitates before thanking you. 

Later that night when your mom is passed out on the couch, you and your sister take sweating jars of sweet tea onto the porch.

"You seeing anyone?" She asks, a lit cigarette hung loosely at the corner of her mouth. 

"There's this guy I started seeing recently, Greg," you tell her with a shrug. Ice clatters in the mason jar as you take a sip of your drink. 

"He nice?"

"Very." You feel yourself grow shy. "He's a really great guy." 

She surveys your face for a long while, a calm smile on her face. Like she's proud of you for picking a good one, unlike the string of losers she brings home. 

And even though you'll never voice this thought out loud, you can't help but think that Greg is nothing like Frankie. Not as tall, not as handsome, voice not as deep. His hair doesn't have that natural tousled look. Doesn't curl under one ear. He doesn't have pouty lips and big hands. 

But he is kind. He doesn't take you to parties and fuck other women. He doesn't act like he loves you and then toss you aside. 

You tell yourself he won't hurt you like Frankie did. That Greg is safe. 

You're okay.

Hilary is soon gone to the pool hall in a plume of cigarette smoke and heavy eyeliner. She promised she wouldn't be too late but you told her to be. She's earned it. Rosalita has left for the night, giving you a gentle hug and promising she'll be back tomorrow. 

So now it's you and Mom.

Since your mother stopped leaving her bed, you can admit that like a coward, you haven't ventured into her bedroom very much. You don't say it out loud but you're petrified of finding her rigid corpse there one morning. Her concave chest and milky eyes in a waxen face. 

So you usually stand at the doorway, always with a task. Does she want water? Crackers? New blankets? 

These tasks keep you busy, focused. You can't let your mind drift to dark places if you're over-scheduled. So tonight you do the same.  You stand at the doorway of her bedroom, peering in. She looks distantly into the room, eyes unfocused. You wonder what she’s thinking about.

"Hey Mom. Want a brownie?"

She looks your way and cracks a huge smile, which, if she wasn't so thin, would look less ghoulish. 

"Yes." 

You bring out the lap tray and the plated brownie, sitting it in front of her.

"My favorite ones!" She exclaims.

You rise up the back of her bed, pushing pillows until she's comfortably seated up. 

She weakly jabs at the brownie, lifting the fork shakily to her mouth before abandoning the plan all together. She drops the fork with a clatter onto the plate and picks the brownie up in between two trembling fingers. You watch as she pops a few crumbs onto her tongue. 

The bliss that crosses her face makes you want to call Frankie and thank him personally

"It's so good," she murmurs. 

You nod; charmed by the sweet way she smiles at you. As if life is just so simple when you have a brownie to eat.

"Frankie dropped them off earlier," you say quietly, just for the pleasure of saying his name to someone else. 

Her eyes are small and confused. "Frankie?" 

You shuffle more onto the bed, one leg crooked as you lean back on your palms. 

"Francisco Morales. He came to see you earlier."

She takes another bite of brownie. "Is he still in the front yard?"

"Huh? No. Why would he be?"

"He carried you home. You twisted your ankle." 

For a long moment you just stare at her, one brow arched before a memory hits you acutely. 

You were eleven at the time, playing baseball with the three boys. Santi's arm was in a sling from a bike accident the week before so he was designated pitcher. Travis was the one at bat and he hit the far ball. Frankie was nearer to them, you were deep in the outfield. 

In your eagerness to prove your athletic prowess to the older boys, you backed up rapidly not paying attention to your surroundings. 

When your foot landed wrong in an unseen gopher hole and you went toppling back, felt the sharp twist of your ankle. You yelped so loudly you think the neighbor heard you. You were crying, face warm from the sun and sticky from your tears. The throbbing your ankle was overwhelming. 

And suddenly Frankie's strong arms were crooked under your knees and back, pulling you into his arms. You're face landed in the slope of his neck and inhaled his old spice deodorant and fresh sweat scent.  

"Hold on," he told you breathlessly. "I've got you, Pip."

The pain was insurmountable. No wonder you barely remembered it, your mind must have pushed it out. But you do remember wrapping your arms around his neck and crying gently into his throat. 

You barely remember him rushing you home, the way he panted against your ear as he raced through the neighborhood, or the way Santi was shouting after him about getting you ice. Travis hadn't bothered coming along, not that you were disappointed. If anything you were thankful for it. 

But you do remember the terrified look on your mother's face that day when she saw Frankie carrying you home. The way she ran his way, the scent of vodka. You'd been in too much pain to be embarrassed about it. 

It's funny that this is a memory that sticks out in your mother's mind. 

"Did he find the mop?"

You peer at her, torn from the memory as she looks up at you. Her eyes look too big for her face. You try to register what she's asking you. 

"What mop?"

She sighs, frustrated with your confusion. Her mouth goes a little slack before she smacks her lips together and motions to the brownie. "I'm done with this." 

You remove the brownie and the tray placing both on the dresser before returning to her side of the bed. 

You watch her eyes go soft around the edges, her chin trembling slightly. 

"You know I would do it differently," she says in an ardent tone of voice. 

"What would you do different, mom?" 

"I would do so much differently. No more booze. No more Florida and paying off a mortgage for a home your dad wanted." 

You watch her wince before placing a shaky hand over her swollen belly.

"Do we have more medicine? It hurts." 

"Of course."

You rise, shaking a morphine tablet out of its container and placing it on her dry tongue. You urge some water into her, watching in relief as her throat bobs. She’s still fairly coherent, still looking at you with interest. It emboldens you as you take your seat at the edge of her bed again.

"Mom, why did you stay here after dad left?"

"Your friends were here. Family. It was bad enough your father left; I didn't need you and your sister..." Suddenly she's gone from that, mind moving through time as you sit there staring at her. "Is your boyfriend coming by again?"

"Who?”

"Francisco." 

"He's not my boyfriend, Mom. He never was." 

"Of course he was," your mom says with a light laugh. "He was always here with your cousin. I remember how you looked at each other." 

Your pulse is pounding in your temple, confusion and heartache combined. Your mom was so often home and sober. When would she have ever noticed? 

"Are you going to marry him? I remember one phone call..." she trails off, voice slurring.

You watch her eyes start to shutter. She's groggy now, the medication taking hold. 

"Mom, what are you talking about?" 

But she's fading too quickly to answer you, eyelids heavy as she struggles to listen to you. And you realize that this could be the last time you speak to her. The last time to tell her everything you've had pent up. 

You think of the acidic words on your tongue that have been there since you returned. All the ugly things you've wanted to say to her about her alcoholism, about how she wasn't there enough. 

But it all seems so... Unnecessary. 

You think of the long hours she worked. The loneliness of being a single mom to two girls. You think of the things she must have had to see at her job and still come home with a smile and sometimes, muffins. 

You think about how she always encouraged your education, and while she couldn't afford to send you anywhere, it was her cutting out scholarships from the paper. It was her giving you the last of her booze money before you left. 

You realize you've looked at so much with the expectation of disappointment. Of being pushed aside. Your mom. Hilary. Greg. Frankie. 

And now? Now it just feels so much better to let it go. To accept that your mom could have done better, but she could have done a lot worse. 

So when you take her gnarled hand in yours, thumb tracing over bony knuckles, there isn't any ire left in you. Only a heart swollen with compassion. 

"I wasn't fair to you these last few years," you say gently. "I blamed you for a lot. Some of it deserved, but some of it just carried anger I should have let go a long time ago. " 

Her heavy lidded eyes tell you she wants to apologize. That she wants to explain but she's so tired so you just smile gently at her, brushing her hair back from her face. 

“I need you to know that I forgive you, Mom. More than that, I love you." 

She doesn't reply, but her shuttering eyes are wet. Her wrinkled lips are trying to form words, but they can't. But that's okay because you don't need any. 

"I love you, mom," you repeat, feeling the words deep in your soul. 

You mean them. 

You continue to hold her hand long after, watching as her face turns placid, chest rising slowly. She's asleep. Before you tuck her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, you think you see the faintest whisper of a smile accompany the single tear that slides down her cheek. 

THEN

The afternoon of Santi's birthday party you put on your best sundress, put a ribbon in your hair and dab color to your lips. You spritz some perfume to your neck and wrists, looking at yourself in the cheap mirror you had as a child.

You look good. 

You snap a photo of yourself, sending it off to Greg with a giggle, your thumbnail wedged between your front teeth. 

"Ready to go?" 

Hilary is wearing a jean skirt and a black tank that shows off her cleavage. Her body has always been incredible and you feel slightly insecure as the two of you drive over to the beach with a cooler in your trunk. 

The sand is gritty under your feet as you hold your sandals loosely crooked on your second and third fingers. 

The crowd is in the distance, lots of laughter and the scent of hamburgers drifting your way. 

"Hope the guys aren't gross," your sister mutters. "I'm just glad Travis won't be here." 

"Me too." 

Travis moved out west a few years ago with his girlfriend. No one mourned the loss of him.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust when you think about the party at his place. You can't seem to forget his groping hands, the way he wouldn't stop, the things he said. And that always leads you to remembering Frankie's furious face. The anger that radiated off of him.

You're thankful that you won't see either of them today.

At least that's what you're thinking until you approach and see a familiar head of dark curls partially hidden under a green hat. 

For a minute you don't even register that it's him. His back is facing you, and it's even broader than last time. He's filled out, his body that of a man in his early thirties, not his mid twenties. He's wearing a grey T-shirt and when he lifts the beer bottle to his mouth you see it flex, the gold of his skin creamy in the fading sunlight. 

"Hil! Pip! There you are," Santi says with a wave, excusing himself from the crowd around the BBQ. 

You see Frankie's shoulders flinch, like he's been hit in the side. And when he turns slowly and finally looks at you, really looks at you, you see the years of silence and resentment locked away until this moment, now set free. 

You think it must match your hardened gaze because your teeth clench, your face forcing itself into a smile as your cousin comes to wrap you and your sister in a hug. 

"Lemme get you a burger!"

"Here, take this first," you say handing him the wrapped gift. He smiles even broader, becomes even more handsome if that's possible.

"You didn't have to do that." 

"Of course I did!" 

"She just put my name on the card," Hilary snarks behind you. "Me showing up is your gift."

"Do they accept returns?" 

Hilary grins widely. "Fuck you, you brat. Get me a burger." 

You laugh with them, watching out the corner of your eyes is Frankie slinks away to the opposite side of the BBQ, ensuring that the two of you won't collide.

Santi wraps an arm around your sister, leading her to the burgers and some friends she clearly recognizes from around town. All of a sudden it feels like old parties, with you standing awkwardly while your sister goes off being Miss Popular.

"If you want a beer I think you should know the ones on top are really warm. This once is nice and cold." 

A beautiful south Asian woman appears, a beer in one hand extended your way. She's stunning with long legs and dark hair loosely braided down her back. 

"Oh, I don't really like beer." You don't usually enjoy any alcohol. But you can't tell people the real reason why. "I'm designated driver," you add.

"Oh. Smart," she says, cracking the beer and taking a sip. She motions in the direction of the group. "We just took a cab here." 

She remains there at your elbow, her big dark eyes gazing at you with obvious interest. 

"Any chance there's a Pepsi?" You ask, trying to break the silence. 

She nods, speaking as she digs into the ice chest, fingers rattling the quickly melting ice. 

"You’re Pip, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Inaya," she says as she grins widely, you're not surprised to see she has the most beautiful smile. 

"It's so nice to finally meet you," she says brightly, passing you the drink. "Santi has told me so much about you." 

This must be Santi's latest conquest, you think. She looks the type - beautiful and delicate looking. 

"That's sweet of him, considering we grew up together and he has tons of dirt on me." You laugh, taking the can. "If you want, I can share the stories I have on him. Just ask." 

She giggles, and her laugh is melodic. 

"Actually, do you have any on Frankie?" She says as she covertly points his way. "I need some good stories to torment him with. He's always so tight lipped about his past." 

You follow her pointed finger to see Frankie chuckling with a blonde man, dark eyes crinkled under the rim of his cap. It's a new one bearing the logo of some lumber yard. 

With a devastating swoop of your stomach, you realize that she's not with Santi. She's here with Frankie. 

"I was surprised to see him," you mutter, trying not to breathe too heavily. 

"He got home a day early," she gives another tinkling laugh, which you now find grating. "And I'm so glad because I was way too nervous to come alone. This is my first time meeting all his friends. Aside from Santi. He's your cousin, right?" 

"Yep." 

You don't know if she's privy to what happened between you and Frankie. And if she is, Santi's birthday is not the place to discuss it. 

"So," she prompts, running her hands for her hair in a way that's completely unforced. "Any stories I can torture Frankie with?"

You smile weakly. The heat of the day feels oppressive, the stench of the barbecue overpowering. The nearby shrieks people and low murmur of sunbathers are already giving you a headache. 

"None worth telling," you insist. "He was always the good kid.”

Almost as if he can hear your kind, Frankie's 's attention drifts amongst the partygoers. You stand rooted to the spot as his eyes make their way to you, the surprise registering there as he watches you and his girlfriend talking. 

You're convinced that familiar scent of Old Spice and fresh sweat is carried on the breeze to you. It makes your palms grow damp. 

You excuse yourself, going to stand with another group of women you don't recognize. They're loud and funny and they welcome you into the conversation without thought. 

It's an hour later when your stomach grumbles and you decide is time for a burger. You saunter up to the picnic table, eyes on the topping and variety of chips. You swipe your arm over your forehead, brushing hair out of your eyes.

Music is playing faintly, the sight of the water quite calming. Hilary is laughing with a group, and for a moment the day feels almost relaxing.

But as you go to reach for a burger bun it's like something in the air shifts behind you, the hair on the back of your neck prickling.  

You know without even looking over your shoulder that it’s Frankie.

He moves to stand beside you, his hand going for a paper plate. 

After a few moments of breathing deeply, eyes lifting to sneak a glance at him. 

Up this close you see the new lines to his face. The cheeks that have filled out, the light scruff that covers his chin and above his top lip. He's a new person. A man, no longer the boy you remember. 

But still there is that same hair tucked under a cap, still those watchful eyes that slant your way now. Ever calculating, ever observing. 

"Didn't know you'd be here," he mumbles. 

You don't answer him; you just look back at your plate squirt the mustard over your bun. 

"Didn't think you'd fly back for it," he adds before clearing his throat. 

"Sure," you reply, voice tight.  

You watch his large hand go to grab a burger bun from the center of the table, momentarily hypnotized by the deep shores of his knuckles, the width of his fingers. 

You toss some potato salad onto the plate, trying to quell the frantic tempo of your heart. 

"Your girlfriend seems nice." 

His hand stops mid hover over a plate of onions. At least he has the good grace to look embarrassed, pink crawling up his neck and splotching his tanned cheeks. 

"She's not really my girlfriend..." He trails off, voice hushed. "We just... Hang out together sometimes."

Hang out. He means fuck. 

Something about his intentional ambiguity takes you right back to that night at the party. To the night he betrayed you. When he said one thing and then did another. Here he is again, leading a girl on for his own selfish gain.  

It makes your insides flame with fury. Years of repressed anger and emotional avoidance all culminate in a maelstrom behind your ribs. 

"Guess some things never change,” you say with a vicious snarl his way. 

He blinks slowly, dumbly. "Huh?" 

The reaction makes you even more infuriated.

“You’ve just always been good at making girls think they mean more to you than they actually do," you clarify. 

Now his brows drag down, mouth in a frown. His eyes bounce back between your own, true confusion clouding his expression. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

You hear your name being called. Santi is waving over at you from the portable BBQ.  A group of handsome but serious men stand around him, beers in their hands. You think you recognize them from the photo Santi showed you: his army buddies. 

You turn back to Frankie, noting that his glare hasn't left your face. 

"It means whatever you want it to, Frankie," you say with a disgusted scoff. "Just keep me out of it." 

You turn, walking over to Santi and the group of guys. All the while you feel Frankie's eyes on your back. The way you know he's still glaring at you.

You introduce yourself, being as charming as possible. Benny, Will and Tom. Women who are as gentle as they are intimidating. And when you finally turn several moments later you see Frankie and Inaya hand in hand, moving across the beach to his truck. 

When they drive off you expect to feel a sick sort of satisfaction, but instead all you're left with is a hollowness in your chest and tears that burn along your waterline.

The scent of oil and coffee hangs in the air, wafting over the busy restaurant. Denny's, a former haunt for you and your cousin. 

"Are you excited about going back to South America?" You ask, leaning back in the cracked red faux-leather booth. 

Santi sits across from you, curled over a steaming mug of black coffee. 

"Being home for a bit was fun, but I feel ready to get back into things again." 

He leans back in the booth, arms stretched wide. He looks so relaxed, so happy. It gladdens you to see your normally stressed cousin looking so restored. 

You know his job is hard combating drug cartels. That he puts on the careless playboy act because his real life has real stakes. 

"I must admit it's been nice having you around this summer," you say, perusing the menu. "I think I would've stayed inside all this time without you forcing me to be social." 

He grins. "The guys love you. Benny says if you need anything when I'm gone he's got you. Frankie too." 

Your jaw shifts. "Mhmm." 

Santi must note your quiet displeasure because he shifts focus. 

"Auntie seems to be..." Santi trails off, briefly worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "I'm glad I got to see her this summer." 

"I'm glad too." 

"How are you doing with it?"

"Surviving," you offer, finger scraping against the plastic menu, tone light.  

Santi removes his arms from the back of the booth and tilts your way, voice low. 

"C'mon, Pip. Be real." 

The server comes to deliver your breakfasts of pancakes, eggs, bacon. All your favorites that you share with gusto. 

"I have no idea how I'm feeling," you say with a weak laugh as you mix sugar into your coffee. "I just kind of wake up go through the motions and then go to sleep and do it all over again the next day." 

Seeing your increasing solemnity, you watch as your cousins broad smile turns muted. "How is Hilary doing?" 

"She's good... I mean, I think." You pat some butter onto your toast. "I mean, she broke up with Justin." 

"Yeah she told me." 

"She tell you why?"

"Sounded like it just ran its course." 

You fold your hands on the table. 

"She broke up with him because he was too nice." 

"No shit?" Santi almost laughs. "Damn, she's crazy sometimes." 

"Tell me about it."

You're amused when you see syrup slip down your cousin's chin. 

"You eat like you're on the run." 

"Who says I'm not?" He winks at you.

Your pancakes are barely touched, your mouth dry. You can't stop thinking about what Hilary said about Travis fucking everyone.  

"Can I ask you something?"

 "Go ahead." 

"Did you... Did Travis ever talk to you about Christy?"

"Travis? Damn, I haven't thought about him in years. Why would he be talking about Christy?" 

You shrug. "No reason." 

Santiago takes a bite of his bacon, making an upset groaning noise. 

"She was at pool the other night and I swear I was going to claw my eyes out." He shakes his head, left cheek full. "No one likes to talk about Christy as much as Christy does. Why do you ask?" 

"No reason," you lie. "Hilary and I were talking about old times last night and I guess she's stuck in my brain." 

"Well, she wouldn't leave me the fuck alone," Santi says taking a swig of coffee. "I mean, I slept with her once during a visit back, like, six years ago and she won't let it go." 

You fall quiet and nod, poking at your quickly cooling eggs. Seems like everyone fucked Christy at one point.

"The only one who can't stand her more than me is Frankie," Santi scoffs into his chipped coffee mug. 

You go rigid, jaw feathering. You feel like you're vibrating and not just from the coffee you've been drinking all morning. 

"She was all over us both at the pool hall and he was so annoyed he left early." 

You bite back a scathing retort about how Frankie probably didn't mind it as much as Santi thinks. And yet, a fire heats low in your belly. An ugly, pulsing jealousy. 

"You two seem to be getting on better this visit though," he says. "Not as much bickering." 

"I guess," you mutter to your plate.  

"Anything you want to tell me?" Santi wheedles, tapping his fork against his plate lightly. 

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on, Pip," Santi says with a roll of his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that you're not into each other?" 

The waitress comes by to refill your emptied coffee mugs, giving you a moment to collect yourself. Finally she leaves and you lean over the table, voice a hush. 

"What are you on about?"  

"Frankie asked me for your number. He keeps asking how you are," Santi says. "And you keep getting weird every time I bring him up." 

"I'm not getting weird."  Even as you say it, you can hear the strain in your voice. 

"I'm just saying, maybe it's time to bury the hatchet." 

You say nothing as you shovel a bite of pancake into your downturned mouth. 

You think about Frankie and the couch and the safety you felt wrapped up in his arms. The perfect feeling of calm serenity along with the scorching heat of need when he kissed you. How it felt like no time had passed at all. 

"Or maybe it's time you two finally made a serious go of it," Santi croons with a waggle of his dark brows.

The pancakes go tacky in your mouth, fork almost clattering onto the tabletop. Everything starts going slow, and then your heart hiccups and it begins speeding up at once. 

"... What?" 

"Like a real relationship." 

You watch your cousin take another bite of pancake. The syrup clings to his lower lip and you stare at it in a confused daze before he rubs it away with a napkin. 

"Why the hell would Frankie and I want to be in a real relationship?" 

"Because you've been into him since we were kids," Santi says with a playful cock of his head when your eyes blow wide. 

"It was a crush at best," you say with a withering look his way. Pain exists there in your chest. A low, burning sensation that feels just as acute as it did in your youth.

"I dunno. I was picking up some serious vibes from both of you until that stupid party Travis threw. Then you both got weird." 

You try to raise the mug to your mouth without it shaking but are unsuccessful. Little creamy dots dribble onto the plate next to your breakfast. Santi notices.

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," you snap, letting the mug slam down, spraying more coffee onto the table. "I just don't know where you're getting this crazy information and why you think Frankie and I should give it a shot." 

A woman with two children scowls over at you for disturbing them. An old man with a hat scoffs under his breath. You sink down in the booth, cheeks hot. 

"You don't have to lie to me, Pip." 

You raise your eyes, feeling more vulnerable than you ever have in the presence of your cousin. He's looking at you with eyes soft around the edges. The eyes of someone who observes, who keeps information close. 

And in that moment you realize he's known all along. That it was more than a crush you felt for Frankie, that your feelings weren't always just surface level. 

"I really cared about him," you whisper, tears starting in the corner of your eyes.

"I wasn't blind. I knew, Pip."

Something about the way he says the nickname makes you feel like an awkward teen again. It makes years of resentment bubble forth. 

"Yeah, well, did he tell you that he strung me around all summer and made it seem like he felt the same? That he told me he wanted us to do long distance?"

Santi looks like you've just told him the moon landing was faked. He just stares, mouth slightly dropping. You've never seen his eyes so wide and round before. 

"And did he tell you that hours after telling me that he had feelings for me that I caught him fucking Christy upstairs in Travis' parents' bedroom?" You say, voice finally cracking. "Did he tell you that he broke my fucking heart?" 

The tears are free flowing down your cheeks, the sobs catching in your chest as you try to slow your breathing. 

"Then he has the nerve to hate me all these years? Because I, what? I kissed Travis because I was devastated? What is that in comparison to fucking the girl who made my teenage life miserable?"  

Your chest is heaving, cheeks and neck on fire. You know nearby diners are looking your way, watching the altercation. 

But you can't stop, it just spills out of you, years of pain and hurt and anger. You cover your face, embarrassed and livid in one swoop. 

And you expect Santi to apologize, to insist he had no idea that Frankie had done this to you. But he's not. He's just staring at you with a concerned look. 

"Pip," he finally says. "That's not what happened." 

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Javi and Chucho were gathering materials to repair the fence, and you smiled when your eyes set on Javi for the first time in so many years. Jeans, dress shoes, his back drenched in sweat in that shirt while he was carrying wooden posts.

He couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed for the task.

“Finally found your way back home, Peña?” you said as you approached, making him turn around and smile at you instantly.

 “C'mere, cariño.”

You hugged as you’d done a million times before, yet it seemed like ages had passed since then. Now he felt much broader between your arms. 

You had hoped that your emotions wouldn't engulf you too quickly when you had been mentally preparing yourself to see him again, but your heart already started to shatter, all those years weighing on you. 

When you have a childhood friend, a real childhood friend, the perfect one that you only see in the movies, the worst thing you can imagine is life getting in the way and separating you. 

And well, life really screwed you over.

Seeing him wasn’t a surprise. The surprise actually hit you a couple hours earlier, when you called Chucho first thing in the morning, knowing the fence was often damaged after a storm. You offered to come help him, as always. He thanked you then there was a moment of silence, before he finally said "he's here." 

There was no need to say the name for you to realize who he was talking about.

Javi stroked your back, your bodies pressed against each other. “I’m glad to see you,” he said, his voice huskier than it used to be. You bit your lip before answering, trying not to show too much emotion in your voice.

“Me too, Javi.” 

You missed him. So much. Probably more than he had missed you, but you weren't the one busy hunting down Escobar and then the Cali cartel. 

And after all, you weren’t the one that left practically overnight. Or perhaps he knew long before he was going to leave, but chose to tell you only the day before. For a long time, your brain was torturing you, telling you that you'd never really been that close if Javi left so suddenly, almost like a thief, stealing a part of you and leaving a void in your heart that had never been filled since then. 

You tried to shut that thought down. Javi was the impulsive type. Maybe he really decided to leave at the last minute.

You took a long breath before stepping aside to look at him, and how stupidly gorgeous he was, with that self-assurance only some men in their forties possess. 

You noticed right away that his gaze was different than before. Grave, with a certain sadness he had always carried within him, but deeper.

His expression turned playful though, as you were watching him from head to toe.

“Are you checking me out?”

“You wish! So… you finally kept the mustache,” you said, smiling. Years ago you had suggested he let it grow and back then he had told you it was the worst idea ever, before finally giving it a chance.

“I did. You were right, it’s not that bad,” he replied, his voice as gentle as you used to, his gaze on you as kind and protective as it was. As if he had left only yesterday.

You, on the other hand, were not showing the same warmth. The wound of his departure had never truly healed, and the fact that the phone calls between Colombia and Laredo got rare quickly after he left, then fully stopped, hadn't helped. 

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to call you in the coming weeks, cariño,” he had said. “I’m often out on a mission, between Bogota and Medellín. But don’t worry about me, ok? I’ll be fine.” 

He never called back.

You can’t say you’d been surprised, though. You always saw him as a lone wolf, deep down. The only difference was that when you were children, then teenagers, then young adults, you thought you were allowed behind the walls he built around himself. The only one he let inside.

After he left, you weren’t so sure anymore, and a bitter taste stayed on your tongue since that day.

“Okay, that should do it,” Chucho interrupted you two, shaking his gloved hands, getting rid of the dust. “Come have lunch with us, Niña.”

Javi’s father was an anchor in your life, always had been, somehow having replaced your shitty, pathologically absent father throughout the years. 

The three of you set the table, then Javi served the food, towel tossed over his shoulder, and you couldn’t help but ogle his forearms, the way his veins were working, how strong he seemed to be. 

Seeing him there, in his father’s kitchen, felt almost surreal, even though his movements were so familiar. 

You'd follow the news of the Medellín then Cali cartels being taken down on TV, but everybody knew it was a hopeless war. You wondered how long he would stay in Laredo before going back to his chase, and it really surprised you when he assured Chucho he was back for good. Time would tell if it was the case, but he clearly seemed emotionally exhausted. Drained. You couldn’t imagine what he had to face during all those years. 

Sometimes Javi looked at you like he didn't quite know how to handle the situation. You didn’t know either, and mostly stayed quiet.

After the meal, Chucho settled on the sofa in front of the TV, and Javi suggested you two having coffee on the porch. 

It was the first time you were alone together since the day he had told you he was leaving, nearly twenty years ago. You hated that the person who knew you best back then was now almost a stranger. You didn’t know anything about his life in Colombia, as he didn’t know anything about yours for the last decade.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” he said, lighting up a cigarette. Then he casually threw his lighter on the table and sat with his ankle crossed over his knee. 

“I guess,” you replied, getting closed off as your defense mechanism, nervously playing with the cup handle, your eyes set on the dark liquid.

“I know the way I left was a mess,” he stated, encouraging you to open up with a soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, we can say that,” you replied, accepting his cigarette and taking a drag.

“You started smoking again?”

“No,” you replied, and you both laughed, slightly easing the tension as a result. Javi brushed his lower lip with his tongue, the way he had used to do when he wasn’t sure about something, took the lighter, tapped it against the table and then finally said, “tell me, cariño.”

“Tell you what?”

He tilted his head to the side, and continued, “come on. Just tell me what’s on your mind. I can face it.” He looked so much like the Javi you had known right now. Direct. Honest. Brave.

You sighed, searching for the right words, not quite sure you were ready to dive into that conversation. Yet being aware that it had to happen at some point anyway, you decided to bite the bullet and be fully honest. 

“I’m angry, Javi,” you dropped. “I’m happy you’re safe, of course, happy you’re back, but I’ve been mad at you since you left, for the way you left, for not staying in touch.” You paused, then added, “I’m angry with you because for years I had lived in fear of getting a call from Chucho with some bad news. I’m angry because I thought we were friends, best friends, and the way you dumped me so suddenly made me realize that maybe I was wrong all those years and we weren’t.”

Javi frowned, lowering his eyes, and then took another cigarette from the pack. He lit it and exhaled the smoke, searching for words.

“I left immediately after telling you because I wasn’t sure I’d do it if I discussed it with you, if I thought about it more. And… I don’t know,” he sighed. “I guess I needed to leave.”

“You’re not exactly helping your case by saying that,” you replied, slightly hurt.

“Probably. I’m sorry.”

“How long have you known? That you were gonna leave.”

“They offered me the job a few weeks before I left. A month, maybe? I kept wondering if I should take it, kept thinking about you…” he stopped talking and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if you’d told me you needed to leave,” you said coldly. “You just had to talk to me. I wouldn’t have been selfish, you should have known it. We were friends.”

Javi’s eyes filled with pain when you used the past tense, and you felt bad for being so harsh but couldn’t help it. You had never imagined what your reunion would be like, damn, you had never really been sure you’d see him again, but you certainly didn’t expect this. It all felt like a waste, and it made you sad.

“What about your eyes?” he asked after a long moment of silence, his voice barely audible, and you frowned in confusion, your gaze locked with his. 

“My eyes? What do you mean?”

“Would they have asked me to stay?”

Your heart jumped in its ribcage. You weren’t ready to show such raw emotions. To be emotional in front of him. Not so fast, not now. 

You looked at the cigarette between your fingers and its burning ashes, and stood up.

 “I need some time, ok? Your return is sudden and part of me thinks that tomorrow, in a week or a month you're gonna leave again.”

“I won’t,” he replied, his brown eyes raised towards you. You shrugged and crushed your cigarette in the ashtray. 

“See you later, Javi,” you said, before leaving him alone on the porch.

Javi

Of course, he noticed your reserve as soon as you looked at him near the fence. Moreover, he expected it. Just like in the morning, when the phone rang, he knew it was you, he felt it by the way his heart tightened. So he went to get his pack of cigarettes from the kitchen when his father answered the phone, to give himself some time. 

When his father hung up Javi came back into the living room. 

“She’s gonna help with the fence,” Chucho confirmed what Javi felt in his gut. “She always helps, Javi, you know? Always the same sweet girl she’s always been.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know, ‘pa.” He knew his father never approved of the way he had left. 

Javi lit a cigarette, thinking about the moment you’d meet again. He knew he hadn’t been fair to you, and that you didn’t deserve it after everything you shared together since you were 5 or 6 years old.  

The truth was, Javi didn’t know how else to handle it. He figured a sudden break was probably best so you wouldn’t worry and wouldn’t think about him too much after some time. Even if deep down, he knew it was dumb. That he was acting like a coward. He always considered himself bad, with the way he expressed his emotions, but that really was the icing on the cake.

When Javi told you he was leaving the next day, your face couldn’t conceal your pain even though you tried to lock up your emotions. In the evening before his departure he hid in the shadows near your father's house. He stayed there, contemplating whether he should talk to you or not. He watched your silhouette pass by your bedroom window. Again and again. 

He convinced himself that visiting you one last time would only make things worse. 

He was afraid to take you in his arms, afraid to kiss you. 

Afraid you’d kiss him back. 

And then, what would he do? 

That spark between you, which had never been discussed or even implied but that he was feeling deep down, couldn’t choose the worst moment to reveal itself. 

Just like that morning when he was getting ready for his wedding, and realised he couldn’t keep lying to himself — Lorraine wasn’t the woman he wanted.

His eyes fixed on your window, he brushed his lip with his thumb, still hesitating.

“Goodbye, cariño,” he murmured in the end and left.

Javi called you a few times once in Colombia. But hearing your voice hurt him, made him miss you, prevented him from concentrating the way he needed to. He told you to not worry about him, then never called again, only getting news about you from Chucho. 

One day he told his father he didn’t want to know more after learning that you were seeing someone, some guy who always tried to go out with you, but whom you'd always turned down. A guy he always referred to as “the prick”. Javi convinced himself you didn't need him anymore, and probably already forgot about him. He threw himself wholeheartedly into his job, and tried to forget about you. 

It didn’t work, but his heart tightened when a few years later he realized he couldn’t recall the sound of your voice anymore. He never imagined your friendship would end like this, not when you solemnly promised to always be in each other's lives, as children. He forced himself to shrug it off, convincing himself that an end of a childhood friendship was one of the most commonplace things in the world.

“Todo Laredo está aquí” (All Laredo is here) Javi told his father when he came back for a few days to attend Danny's wedding. 

But it wasn't true. You weren't there. He had prepared himself to finally see you, had thought about the words he’d tell you. Yet he wasn't ready for your absence there. 

So he acted foolishly and talked to Lorraine. All he got in return was her bitterness.

There was a lone tree in the middle of a meadow, near Chucho’s ranch. 

It became a meeting place for you and Javi when you were kids. You’d go there on your bikes after school and stayed there until the sun began to set. Years later, you kept visiting the place, hanging out in Chucho's truck, that time until the sun rose. It was your place, for the both of you.

“Somewhere only we know,” you called it. 

When you were teenagers, that tree heard all your swearing and laughter, when Javi was lying with his head on your stomach. You always teased him that his head was too heavy and gave you a bellyache, anything to tease him, really, and both of you always laughed loudly. 

As a young adult, you were usually the one with your head resting on his stomach, and sometimes he would brush a wildflower against your skin. You stopped looking at him when he did that, after you locked eyes once, and the depth and intensity of his gaze made you shiver. You were afraid that seeing his face lowered toward you would make you say something stupid. So instead you’d focus on how the leaves were swaying in the wind.

Moments of silence between you were never uncomfortable, neither of you ever felt obliged to fill them, and you were relieved that looking at the tree would never seem suspicious. 

That was the spot where you found Javi, sitting under the lone tree in his wedding suit, smoking a cigarette, during the moment he should have said "I do" to Lorraine. He smiled when he saw you approach, as if he was waiting for you. You went there the second Chucho told you he had changed his mind about the marriage.

You had never really liked Lorraine. Not even now, when you ran into her in town with Randy and their kids, as she came to visit her parents. You hated that she knew a part of Javi you didn't. You couldn't say you were sad they didn't get married but you never expected him to leave her at the altar. 

That day, you asked him why he changed his mind, but his answer had been evasive. You didn’t insist. You just wanted to be there for him.

Now

The tree was the place you went to on Sunday morning, a couple days after Javi came back from Colombia. 

It had been a long time since you'd been there. You stopped going because it made you sad, because it seemed silly to go there as a grown-up, especially when that place didn’t have a reason to be special anymore. 

The white fence surrounding the neighboring field had aged. Its color had faded, and the nails were rusted. In places, the wooden slats were half-loose. It tugged at your heartstrings to see this analogy of time passing.

As you walked toward the tree, you saw Javi sitting there, his back against the trunk, smoking a cigarette, his aviator sunglasses perched on his nose.

"I have something for you," he said when you reached him and handed you a bundle of envelopes tied together with an old-fashioned rubber band.

"What's this?" you asked when you took them.

"The letters I wrote to you when I was in Colombia," he said, exhaling the smoke.

“I… I don’t understand?”

“I never sent them.”

“But… why?”

“I didn’t want you to carry the weight of all this,” he shrugged. “What I was going through, what I was feeling. But I don’t want you to think I forgot about you while I was there. I never did. It’s just… it was hard.”

“Javi..” you sighed. “We were friends, I would have been here for you, no matter what.”

“I hope that one day you will stop using the past tense. I’m back, for good.”

You looked at the pile of envelopes. There were dozens of them.

“You don’t have to read them, if you don’t want to,” he said.

“I know. I will.” 

You spent the night reading them. 

Each letter was dated, handwritten and full of his thoughts as if he were confiding in you about his days and nights, as if he were right in front of you. Telling you about his missions, the shootings, the violence, without naming people. 

He told you about his fears, and you had never sensed him being so vulnerable. So afraid, too. You could feel it in his handwriting, in the way the letters were formed.

Javi wrote about a woman he helped save from hell. It was the only person he named, kind of. 

“H.” 

You thought he must have cared about her a lot. 

He wrote that Chucho had told him you’d been dating the guy he used to call “prick,” when you were teenagers and that’s how you realized he was talking about you with his father. Maybe he had asked him about you, despite what you thought. Despite what you kept repeating in your head, hurting yourself.

Several months later, he wrote “did you marry him?” A single sentence in that letter, as if he could only think about it that day.

He mentioned Randy's wedding too. The one you had chosen not to go, not being ready to see Javi again, to see him leave again.

"I wish you were here," he wrote. For the first time, a mixture of regret and guilt filled your heart for not going.

You pictured Javi in a room, in the dim light of a night, writing these letters. A cigarette in his left hand, or tucked behind his ear. A glass of whiskey on the table beside him.

A few times he ended his letters with “I miss you,” and your heart tightened. All those years, you thought he’d forgotten about you, and you realized how wrong you were. He was still your Javi, always had been, and you felt guilty for being unfair to him. 

Finally, you opened the last letter.

"I'm coming back home tomorrow, and can't wait to see you, cariño. You're gonna give me a hard time, aren't you?"

It made you smile, as tears were streaming down your cheeks. 

You drove straight to Chucho's place, without even waiting for sunrise, for a decent hour, and threw a pebble at Javi's bedroom window, like you'd done so many times before. You weren’t sure he was awake, but a few seconds later he opened the front door, as if he was waiting for you, and walked towards you.

"You're an asshole, Javier Peña, for leaving like that. I fucking missed you," you said before throwing yourself into his arms.

"Don't you dare doing anything like that to me ever again," you half laughed half cried, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He chuckled in your ear, pulling you close. It was the sweetest sound you'd ever heard.

“Let's make up for lost time, cariño.”

Things became familiar again pretty quickly and old habits made their way back in your lives. Drinking beer in Javi’s truck, smoking on Chucho’s porch. Meeting under your tree. 

Both of you changed after Javi left for Colombia and you were still getting to know each other again. Sometimes shyly, sometimes as if you were 15 years old once more. He didn't talk about his job often, and you didn't push him. He seemed tired, and at times, almost broken. He confessed how much working as a DEA agent changed him. Made him tough in a way he wasn't expecting. “I lost myself there,” he said. You hugged him close then, and he held you back even stronger.

Yet you quickly realized that beneath the thicker-than-ever shell he was wearing, your Javi was still there. All those qualities you had always loved about him didn’t disappear, they were just under the surface, ready to emerge after the slightest wave that was a little stronger than the others.

As a teenager, he was reckless. Always defending and stepping up for you, even if you never asked him to.

He’d always been reliable, and the coolest person you knew. He could have been the captain of the football team and had all the girls at his feet, but he never seemed to care. 

Impulsive, too. Sensitive, caring. 

Javi was there for you one night, picking you up when you drank too much, too young to buy your own booze, and he took you home to that empty house your father was increasingly avoiding.

He helped you up the stairs and into the bed, then lay down next to you.

"Who gave you the alcohol?" he asked.

"My friends," you replied, making him sigh.

"They're not your friends, cariño. They left you there alone. What kind of friends do that?”

"I know. You're my only friend."

You cuddled up against him, and he wrapped his arm around you, keeping you safe. You fell asleep, your head on his chest. When you woke up the next morning, he hadn't moved.

Some friends feel like home. They never ask you to be anything else other than yourself. Javi was your home, your warmth, your safety blanket. 

And you wanted to be there for him as much as he was for you.

When his mother passed, you knew what it was like to lose a person who loved you most in the world. You had lost your mother many years ago, and it broke your heart to know what he was going through. How this would change him forever.

As you helped Javi with his tie before leaving for church, his look lost in the mirror, he asked if you would sit next to him there, and you hugged him, told him that, of course, you would be by his side.

During the service, you took his hand in yours. You weren't sure if he realized it until he intertwined his fingers with yours. You caressed his skin with your thumb and didn’t stop for a single moment, even when you felt his body tremble and heard sobs catch in his throat. You squeezed his hand a little harder, so he wouldn't forget you were there for him.

Before Javi left, one of your favorite things was watching movies together, him seated on the couch and you lying down, barefoot on his lap as he was massaging your feet. 

With your friendship returning to its familiar and easy place, the idea of a movie night with pizza, popcorn and beers quickly appeared, so you rented two of your favorite films at the video store.

“Don't you like foot massages anymore, cariño?” Javi asked when you sat up next to him, instead of your usual place.

“I… Yes, I do, of course. Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

In the past, he usually mixed massages with light tickles, and you’d laugh and shake your legs, before putting them back. A billion years ago, when you were teenagers, when you were in love with him but never showed it.

But tonight, his fingers were soft, as if he was getting used to touching you again. Feeling his hands on you quickly gave you goosebumps. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“So… you and that prick. It didn’t work out?” he asked casually.

“No, it didn’t, as well as with the others," you replied.

Silence settled between you, and you weren’t really watching the movie anymore. You wondered if he wasn’t either, still gently massaging your feet, before he let out “why did we never date?” 

Calmly. As if his words weren’t a bomb.

“Because I friendzoned you,” you replied, trying to keep your cool, and his lip curled up into a smile.

“Because you were my friend,” you added.

“Was I?”

“Were you what? My friend?”

“A good friend,” he specified, frowning as if he doubted he had ever been, and you felt guilty. It was probably your fault, after being so rough with him when he came back.

“You were the best friend possible. In your own way.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, turning his head toward you.

“I knew I could come to you with anything, if I needed to,” you answered, then lowered your gaze. You couldn't look at him, let him see what you’d been hiding for so long. 

“But I wasn’t sure you’d always come to me if you needed it. You're a loner. Always have been. I knew you wouldn't stay. You wanted to see the world, and Laredo wasn’t enough for you.”

“Pa told me the same things, not so long ago,” Javi said, raising an eyebrow. Unaware of the storm that was ravaging your heart, making it sway between dark, gigantic waves that were terrifying you. Javi seemed to be caught up in his own storm.

“Of course, he did.”

“Several times I didn’t come to you when I needed it,” he said, and you frowned.

“Because you thought I couldn’t help?”

“Because I was afraid you didn’t want the same thing as me.”

“What are you talking about? What are you doing, Javi?” you asked, sitting down next to him, forcing yourself to face the TV even if you were unable to watch it. 

“We’re not teenagers anymore,” he said. “I don’t wanna spend my life wondering “what if?”

You finally looked at him. He was close, far too close not to see the emotion in your eyes, and his gaze dropped to your mouth when you nervously bit your lip.

“Why has it never worked out with the men you’ve dated?”

“Javi…”

“Tell me, cariño.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Ok. You wanna know why all of my relationships failed?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Because of you.”

“Me?” you answered, still not sure of what was happening. It was so sudden, too sudden, after so many years knowing Javi, and even more years being in love with him. You were looking at him, a beautiful mix of confidence and fragility, and he smiled at you. His eyes and his smile were so soft that your heart melted.

“It was always you. You were the girl I was thinking about, and then the woman I was thinking about.”

You felt as if your mind went blank, hearing him say this, hearing his confession, as if time stopped while your heart, on the other hand, was beating faster than ever.

Your gaze dropped to his plush lips, the ones you'd longed to kiss so many times. Fantasizing about how they would feel against yours or linger on your skin. And each time you pushed the desire away, afraid of it ruining your friendship with Javi. Better to have him just as a friend than not to have him at all. 

And maybe he felt that you were at a crossroads right now.  Maybe he knew that a part of you was still afraid of risking what you had, because he added, “why were you averting your eyes each time I brushed a flower against your skin?” 

You always thought you had managed to fool him, all those years ago, and realized you’d been wrong and underestimated his emotional intelligence.

And you sensed something switch in you, like it was finally time to let go of your fears. 

“Why didn’t you marry Lorraine?” you asked back, and the way Javi looked at you, the way his gaze deepened, gave you the answer you needed, without him saying a word. 

At that moment all your barriers and fears crumbled.

You straddled him, brushed his cheek with your thumb and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, the gesture all at once so familiar and so new. Mind blowing.

His gaze on you was dark and intense, and when he placed his hands on your waist perfectly covering your curves as if they were made for him, as if you were his, you shivered. He was exhaling sensuality, overwhelming your five senses, just by looking at you, touching you. Just by existing.

You fully gave up, leaned towards him and pressed your lips to his, which  were as soft as you always imagined. You felt his warmth running through your entire body and a moan escaped your lips muffled by his. Your hands framed his face then moved to the hair at the back of his neck, finally free to feel every inch of him. His tongue brushed your lips, as if tasting them or asking permission to go further, or teasing you, you weren’t really sure, and you took a long breath before parting your lips slightly, inviting him. You moved your hips forward close to his bulge as your tongues mingled and a wave of desire coursed through your body when you felt his cock shift and swell beneath you.

You grinded slowly against him, trying to ease the tension in your core, and Javi groaned.

“Cariño, you’re driving me crazy,” he breathed, kissing you, teasing you with his lips, his tongue, his hands on your waist keeping you pressed against his crotch, then they moved to your asscheeks, cupping them with his large hands, and you trembled. You needed more, needed to feel his bare skin against yours, needed to feel his hands on you without any restraints.

Your forehead pressed against his, you told him to follow you, but as soon as you got up from the sofa you were kissing again, unable to stay away from each other, almost desperate in your movements. 

You walked down the hall glued to each other, his mouth on your neck leaving kisses there before crushing against your lips, his hands roaming your curves, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, waves of desire running through your body. 

Neither of you broke the kiss when your back hit your bedroom door. You searched for the handle, pushed the door open hastily and tugged on Javi’s t-shirt to pull him in. Then you took it off him and let it fall to the floor. Out of breath, you placed your hands on his chest, feeling his pecs and nipples hardening under your touch, and you thought back to the times you saw him in a pair of swim trunks and tried to not fall for him even more, tried to ignore the perfection of his body, his slim waist and broad shoulders. Now he was facing you, shirtless, his body reacting to your hands placed on him. It still seemed unreal.

“I don’t wanna lose you… I can’t lose you,” you admitted, anxiety pulling you under its shadows again, and he circled your wrists with his hands, keeping you against his torso. His gaze full of certainty locked with yours. “You won’t,” he said. “I promise.” 

Javi squeezed your wrists lightly then released them and reached for the first button of your blouse. His eyes were fixed on your skin while he was unbuttoning it, attentive to the way you were reacting to his touch, to your chest rising up and down. He moved down to the next button, then the next, so slowly that time seemed to stand still again, and he was savoring every moment of calm before the storm that you could already sense, as if your bodies longed to deepen your connection, exceed your friendship, amplify it and make it grow.

Javi’s gaze turned obsidian as he parted the two pieces of fabric and his hands slid underneath to pull the blouse off your shoulders, his touch on you so sensual.

Your hands reached behind your back and you unhooked your bra before letting it fall.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, mesmerized by the sight of you. He raised his hands to your breasts and gently caressed your hard nipples with his thumbs, so lightly, like a summer breeze. His Adam's apple bobbed when you shivered under his touch. He seized your waist, pulled you towards him and kissed you again, your bare chests pressed together, then slowly guided you towards the bed. 

When the back of your knees reached it you both lay down on it and your lips met. Your breaths were ragged, your hands on his neck, his caressing your sides. You could feel his hard-on against your hip, wondering what it would be like to finally feel him inside you.

“Baby,” you whimpered, and he stopped for a second, trying to catch his breath against your mouth.

“Say it again,” he grumbled, his dominance making your mind go blank and your knees shake.

“Baby…” you murmured, and he growled. 

“Wanna touch you and kiss you everywhere,” he said between kisses. “Wanna feel you shiver and see your toes curl.” 

He peppered kisses down your neck, your collarbone, to your breasts, taking his time. He took one of your tits in his mouth, lips circled around it and sucked, played with his tongue before moving to the other, then went down to your lower stomach, his soft moustache brushing your skin, his fingers reaching for your zipper. He knelt between your legs to remove your garment, leaving you in your panties and watched the way you were breathing while his fingers were lingering on your skin. The way he was taking his time, touching you slowly and sensually, was so overwhelming that you were relieved to be on the bed because you weren't sure your legs could have supported you. His thumb followed the elastic of your panties, from one hip to the other, and your legs parted a little wider under his touch. You could have sworn you saw his lips tremble before his fingers slid down, brushing your covered folds, feeling the wetness of your underwear.

Javi grasped the sides of your panties and slid them down your legs slowly, then kneeled on the floor by the bed and seized your hips to position you the way he wanted, legs bent and feet at the edge of the bed.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” he said, his dark eyes peering up at you while his tongue traced a line along your folds, making your stomach hollow, your fists clenching the sheets. He placed your thighs on his shoulders, and his tongue licked and lapped, from your cunt to your clit, making a whimpering mess out of you. When his tongue was moving down your hole, his prominent nose was brushing against your clit, the double pressure quickly started to build a ball of warmth in your stomach. He probably felt you shiver under his tongue and hands, and buried his tongue deep inside you, drinking in every last drop of your arousal. You could hear him groan, as he was  making out with your cunt, and your hips rolled toward him, pressing yourself to him and feeling him even more, right where you needed him the most.

Javi slid his hand from your thigh to your entrance, just beneath his tongue, brushed the tip of his fingers there slightly before pushing a digit inside along with his tongue. He caressed your soft spot with his finger curled upwards, and moved his lips towards your bundle of nerves. He circled it and sucked, swirled it under his tongue, then added a second finger in your cunt. You felt yourself drool down to your ass and then the sheets, wet sounds filling the room.

“Javi… I’m gonna come… Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

Your body started to shake, sheets were rustling under your feet, and you came, hands clasping his hair, holding him against you as you were unraveling long and hard, mewling, until the wave subsided completely, leaving you breathless.

Javi placed soft kisses on your inner thighs, giving you time to recover.

“Shit,” you murmured, lowering your gaze to look at him between your legs, his chin glistening with your wetness.

“Wanna taste you, too,” you said as you sat up, reaching the edge of the bed before grasping his jeans and unzipping him, pulling them down to let his cock spring free.

“Fuck… you’re… fuck..” you said, when your eyes landed on his thick cock for the first time. You spread the drops of precum over the tip with your thumb and sucked your digit, eyes fixed on Javi, then leaned forward and licked his shaft, tracing a line to the tip, along a large vein there. Your tongue played with its slit and his precum flowed into your throat. His fist grabbed your hair as he let out “fuck.”

You gave yourself time to get used to his girth, letting saliva run down the shaft until you were able to suck him off a little deeper, bobbing your head up and down. You looked up at him, lips wrapped around his cock, his fingers still in your hair, and he twitched when your eyes met.

“You feel so good, fuck,” he murmured in his husky voice. “I need to feel you,” he pleaded. “I can’t… can’t wait anymore.”

“I need to feel you too,” you replied, your breath caught in your throat when he laid down on you, seized his cock and slid the tip between your folds, coating it with your wetness. He nestled himself at your entrance, pushed in just the tip, and "oh god" escaped your lips. He released his cock, his gaze traveling over your body as his fingers brushed against your skin before gently taking a hold of your wrists and keeping them with one hand above your head.

Javi thrust gently, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he felt your pussy tighten around him.

“I’ve thought about you so many times, lying down in my bed,” you said, letting him open up your pussy to let him in. He smiled, then said, “Yeah? You touched yourself thinking of me?”

“Yeah…” you replied, biting your lip as he pushed in a little further.

“You came, thinking about it?”

“Yeah, fuck… yeah,” you answered, feeling your walls being spread out by his thick tip.

“Me, too…I’ve ruined my sheets so many times thinking about you,” he added, gently kissing your forehead and rolling his hips softly. “Thinking about your neck, the delicate skin right here,” he said, kissing just below your ear. “Thinking about your fingers,” he kept talking, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them so sensually that you felt yourself squeeze him inside you.

“About your skin, how soft I knew you were.” He traced it with his fingertips.

“About your pussy,” he muttered, rolling inside you so slowly and sensually, brushing his crotch against your clit, making you moan.

“I thought about the little moans you’d make, too. I imagined them, but they’re even sweeter than I thought,” he finally said, bottoming out, making you feel unbelievably full.

“I’m right here,” he murmured, his hand on your belly. “Fuck, I’m right here, baby.” 

His cock was rubbing exactly where you needed, in and out, slowly, perfectly. You felt a second wave coming, and it was almost too much, something you had never felt before. You were in love with him, had been for a long time, and the way your bodies were reacting so perfectly, as if they were made for each other, was overwhelming. A dream coming to life.

“I’m gonna come again…” you whined.

“Please, cariño,” he begged. “I wanna feel you come on my cock… You feel so good, baby…”

You pulsed around him, his forehead resting against yours. “Shit, I’m not gonna last. Where do you want it?”

“Inside, inside please.”

“Ok… Ok, fuck, baby… I’m gonna… Oh fuck, I’m…”

His words turned into moans, and you felt him shudder before he covered your walls in long, hot spurts of cum, filling your pussy until you milked him dry, shuttering around him, again and again.

He breathed heavily in the hollow of your neck then kissed it and lay on his side. 

“Come here, baby,” he said, raising his arm.

You snuggled up against him, your hand resting on his chest, the beating of his heart resonating against your temple.

“Wow,” you finally said, and he laughed, pressing you even closer to him.

“Yeah, wow. I always thought it gets better with practice. But it was already so good...”

“Have we been idiots all these years?” you asked.

“Probably. I can’t even remember when I fell for you.”

You sat up when you heard him, looking into his eyes. “Say it again.”

“I fell for you. Hard. A long time ago.”

Your best friend was back and here with you. You didn't want to think that you had wasted all those years. You chose to tell yourself that you had found each other at the right time, and with all the time in the world to get to know each other fully. You lay down next to him, your hand sliding from his stomach to his side. Javi was your home, your warmth, your safety blanket. 

He was your happy place, even more than before.

Soulmates aren’t just lovers, after all. Sometimes they come as friends too.

Javi p masterlist

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@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @ess-evo

npt: tagging those who showed interest in the wip ❤️

New York isn’t a great place to be when you’re caught in the middle of a storm. Even less so when it involves things as delicate as money laundering and a few other matters your father never dared to explain. And you didn’t ask. You already knew. Played the good daughter who keeps out of it, because it was enough to unlock your phone and read the first headline you found.

Senator Enzo Vandspell Discloses Alleged International Corruption Network, Prompting Federal Scrutiny

WASHINGTON — Senator Enzo Vandspell, a prominent advocate for anti-corruption measures in Congress, disclosed on Wednesday a series of documents he says point to the existence of a far-reaching network engaged in money laundering and narcotics trafficking, with alleged connections spanning Latin America, Europe, and the United States.

Speaking at a press conference on Capitol Hill, Vandspell stated that the findings stem from an investigation conducted by his office over the course of more than a year. According to the senator, the materials suggest the involvement of business executives, public officials, and financial intermediaries in schemes utilizing shell companies and offshore accounts to obscure substantial sums of illicit funds.

“This is not an isolated matter,” Vandspell said. “What we are seeing reflects a broader pattern of coordinated activity that has persisted for years, enabled in part by systemic gaps in oversight.”

The documents, portions of which were made available to federal authorities, outline mechanisms including the transfer of funds through jurisdictions with limited financial transparency and the use of inflated contracts tied to public infrastructure projects. Vandspell declined to identify specific individuals or entities during the briefing, citing the sensitivity of the information and the potential for ongoing legal proceedings.

A spokesperson for the Department of Justice confirmed receipt of the materials but declined to comment further, noting that it does not discuss potential or ongoing investigations.

Separately, Vandspell’s office reported an increase in security concerns following the disclosure. In a brief statement, staff confirmed that additional protective measures have been implemented in coordination with federal authorities, both in Washington and at the senator’s private residences. Officials have not released further details regarding the nature of the reported threats.

You should be home right now. No, out of New York entirely. But Celine had spent months working toward her gallery opening, and you couldn’t miss it. Not that anyone here particularly cared who you were. No, they cared who your father was. And anyway, you’d heard Leonardo DiCaprio was around somewhere, so the focus wasn’t exactly on you. Or not entirely.

“Miss Vandspell.”

You turned, already knowing the voice. Louis, one of your bodyguards. “Yes?”

“Your car will be here in ten minutes.”

You nodded, offering him a polite smile before shifting your gaze to the man beside him. The other one. Javier. He didn’t react. Not a single muscle in his face moved.

They worked as a team. Synergy, to keep you safe. You didn’t know where Louis had come from, he had simply appeared one day, ten years ago, when your father introduced him and explained that he would be with you from then on. He was serious, rigid, somewhere in his fifties. He’d escorted you to school, stood watch at every dance, always there, even at a distance. And you knew he was your father’s line straight to you. Everything you did, your father knew, courtesy of Louis. Years of living under quiet surveillance, all in the name of your safety.

Javier was different. He showed up a year and a half ago, right when your father’s investigation kicked off. You didn’t know much about him, and you didn’t ask too much, just the basics. You’d seen him working for your father a handful of times, and then one morning he was in your apartment next to Louis, just like that.

Early forties, maybe. Quiet and serious. He gave nothing away about who he really was. Though you had caught it; small signs of impatience, brief looks of weariness more than once when he had to accompany you in public.

His eyes were onyx black, gleaming within a face that gave away absolutely nothing, again. Pure, unadulterated vacancy. And you know what they say about blank spaces; they’re just waiting for you to fill in the blanks with whatever idea suits you best.

A mysterious man whose name you’d pried out of mutual contacts. You had the highlight reel: retired agent, occasional magnet for controversy, and a reliable asset to your father. Strong hands.

The ambiguity fed you in bursts. You told yourself it was only natural, this is what happens when someone is around for more than twelve hours a day, nearly every day. And at the end of it all, you were just a curious woman.

He gave the distinct impression of a man living under heavy restraint. His shoulders were permanently knotted, his brow perpetually furrowed, and there was always something clenched in his jaw. And on rare occasions, you would catch the sound of a weary exhale; sometimes while he stood just outside your hotel room door. In the profound hush of a still night, it carried as clearly as if he were standing right beside you: a heavy, drawn out breath. Even through the wood of the door, his physical tension was palpable.

You knew he had no wife, no children. That was the very first thing you noticed the day you met; your eyes had instinctively found his hand and noted the absence of a ring. Somehow, it fit. Men who did what he did didn’t exactly build lives that stayed still. Not when their job was tailing someone for hours on end, following them from city to city like a shadow with a gun.

Some days your curiosity barely registered. Other days, it itched at you badly enough to make you want to ask questions; about him, his life, who he’d been before all this. But you always caught yourself before you crossed the line. There wasn’t much point asking a man like him anything personal. He wasn’t the type to answer, anyway.

Now, he stepped forward and opened the gallery door for you.

Another thing that had always been part of your life. You grew up with doors opening before you could reach them, cars waiting with engines running, routes mapped out for you; detours decided without your knowledge. Men in suits surrounding you, steadying you, taking you where you wanted to go and where you didn’t.

Your car door was already open when you stepped outside.

“I need to stop by my apartment—”

“Give my regards to your daddy.”

You stopped short. The scream never made it past your throat. One second you were standing there and the next, your whole body was soaked. Your eyes snapped shut, burning instantly. It hit all at once; your mouth, your nose, the back of your throat.

Gasoline.

“Louis—” you choked, hands flying to your face, smearing it away as panic surged. You grabbed the man beside you, fingers digging into his shoulders as he forced you forward.

“Get in the car. Inside. Head down,” he barked. It wasn’t Louis. Javier.

He shoved you toward the car, already moving faster than your mind could catch up. Louis’s voice rang somewhere in the distance: “Go, go!”

Javier pushed you into the backseat, one hand shielding your head as he forced you down. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing you in as he shoved you sideways.

“Vandspell. Now,” he ordered the driver.

You almost argued; told him no, that you had to, that you wanted to go to your apartment, but the words never quite made it out.

Your eyes burned. Your throat, too. It didn’t matter how many times you swallowed or how hard you scrubbed at your face with gasoline-soaked hands, it only made it worse.

“Stay still.”

His hand closed around your jaw, firm enough to keep you in place. You obeyed and a second later, Javier was carefully wiping your face with a towel.

“Who was it?” you asked as he moved the cloth over your eyes, more gently this time. “What did he look like?”

“Louis has him. Don’t worry about that.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice came out sharp. You didn’t feel particularly inclined to be polite. Not now. Not like this.

“A man,” Javier said. “Wearing a balaclava.”

“Where’s Louis?”

It was the second time you’d asked, and the second time Javier ignored you. The first had been in the car, while he drove in absolute silence down the highway, refusing to tell you where the hell you were going, too. The second was now, as he pulled your suitcase from the trunk and started toward the cabin.

“Javier, you have to tell me if he’s okay.”

He stopped just before the short steps leading up to the porch and turned to face you.

“He’s fine. Louis is fine.”

“Is he coming with us?”

“I don’t know.” He turned back around and kept walking. Up the stairs, through the front door; though he didn’t actually step inside. He stayed planted in the doorway and jerked his chin once. “Get in.”

You tightened your grip on your bag strap and hurried after him. Your hair was still messy from the rushed shower you’d taken back at your father’s house, barely towel dried, and your throat still burned faintly from the gasoline you’d swallowed earlier.

Five hours away from Manhattan, your father kept a cabin hidden among the dense timber of the Adirondack Mountains. It was a lush, cold, and hostile wilderness during the winter months, and through all three hundred and sixty five nights of the year. The jagged peaks were hidden from view, masked by the thick treeline surrounding you, and while the mist was thin for now, you knew it would only thicken as the night went on.

You’d been here once before, when you were around ten. Your father had tucked you and your mother away here for a week. You remembered board games, hot chocolate, and men stationed outside with weapons slung over their shoulders. Men who spoke into bulky cellphones or radios that had looked ancient to you back then. Now you understood why; the signal out here was complete shit. Practically nonexistent.

"Drop it, don't touch that," Javier’s voice materialized behind you a split second before he snatched the phone from your hand.

“What are you doing?” You turned to face him.

The two of you stood in the living room, where the windows stretched floor to ceiling, though the gray light outside still left the cabin dim. Javier crossed the room and switched on one of the lamps beside the couch before slipping your phone into his pocket.

Then he stepped toward you.

“You’re not to contact anyone while we’re here. You understand me?”

“How exactly would I do that?” You crossed your arms. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no signal.”

Javier turned away and headed toward the small open kitchen a few feet off the living room.

“Why don’t you go take a proper shower instead? There’s more stuff for you in the red suitcase. Erica packed it.”

Erica. Your father’s housekeeper.

“You’re still not going to tell me what’s happening?” You followed after him, catching his shoulder with your hand and forcing him to look at you. “You seriously expect to drag me all the way out here, say ten words total and think that’s enough?”

“What else do you need to know?” he asked evenly. “A lunatic doused you in gasoline with a lighter in his hand. He was trying to hurt you.”

“What about my family? Are they safe back there? I told him he should’ve gotten out of New York—”

“They’re not after him.” He moved closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “They’re after you. They want to stop him from exposing whatever he found, and right now, you’re the only leverage they’ve got. You understand?”

“Yes, I do. I’m not stupid.” Your voice sharpened. “They wanted to use me as a threat. Fine. But if that’s the case, why try to kill me on the first shot? Wouldn’t it make more sense to send a warning first?”

Javier’s jaw tightened as he took a step back. Your eyes swept over his face in a flash.

“So now you’re critiquing their methods?” he asked.

“I’m just saying. If they wanted to hurt me, going for it on the first try without even making a threat first feels pretty sloppy,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Why’d they do that?”

He gave a faint shake of his head, lips pressing into a thin line. Then he tipped his chin up just slightly.

“Listen, why don’t you go get settled in? I’ll check the property and finish unloading the car.”

“You’re letting me go to my room alone?”

Javier’s eyes flicked toward yours. “For a minute. You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m sure you can survive without me for a couple of minutes.”

You hummed softly and took a step back, uncrossing your arms.

“Alright. If I need you, I’ll call,” you said, turning around. “Unless, of course, they gag me first.”

Behind you, you heard him scoff.

From your bedroom window, you could watch night settling in for good. The view from where you stood was limited, but beautiful all the same; a long stretch of trees, and beyond them, just the faintest glimpse of water catching what little light remained. The mountains in the distance were barely visible now, their peaks rising behind the dark canopy of green.

The window was cracked open just enough for cool air to slip inside, fresh against your skin and enough to leave goosebumps trailing down your arms. Your body still held onto the heat from the shower.

You could still smell gasoline, though at this point you figured the scent had burned itself into your nose. You’d scrubbed yourself down with soap over and over again, brushed your teeth at least three times after getting out, then sprayed perfume through your hair before blow-drying it. Thank God Erica had packed one in the red suitcase.

Javier had knocked on the bathroom door ten minutes ago and walked away after you told him everything was fine. No intruder hiding in the shower with you, thankfully.

Now, as you adjusted your clean clothes against your skin and your stomach growled in protest, you glanced down at the watch on your wrist. Eight thirty at night.

You found Javier crouched in front of the fireplace when you came downstairs.

“I’m starving. Is there anything in the fridge?”

You knew he’d stopped at a gas station in the middle of some tiny town on the drive out here. You hadn’t seen what he bought or how much of it, only that he’d walked out carrying a massive box, shoved it into the trunk without explanation, then gone back inside for more.

“Yeah. Check the counter too,” he said.

You turned on your heel and headed where he’d pointed. The cardboard box sat open on the counter: ground coffee, black tea, three different kinds of cookies, protein bars, several packs of pasta, salt, sugar, rye bread, every canned thing imaginable including beans, chickpeas, soups, giant jars of sauce, bags upon bags of beef jerky and mixed nuts, plus fruit like apples and oranges and a decent amount of vegetables. Off to the side sat two massive gallons of mineral water.

“How long are we staying here?” you asked as you moved toward the fridge.

When you opened it, you found trays of meat and four sandwiches wrapped tightly in plastic.

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded closer now; he was walking into the kitchen.

“That’s a lot of food.”

“Better too much than not enough, right?”

Without answering, you reached in and grabbed one of the sandwiches. It was huge. A sticker across the top listed the ingredients.

“Says it was made today. Think that’s actually true?”

You glanced over at him. Javier stepped closer and tilted his head slightly.

“If it’s not rotten, give it a shot.”

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You weren’t in the mood to argue about food, and you definitely weren’t in the mood to cook for yourself.

“Want to eat with me?” you asked, leaning toward the fridge again. “Louis always eats with me.”

“I know. I stand by the door while he does, remember?” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “Nobody’s doing that for me now.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said, pulling out another sandwich. “I think you can survive sitting down to eat with me.”

A minute after you dropped into one of the dining chairs, rain began tapping softly against the cabin roof. Outside, the fog had swallowed almost everything whole, turning the world beyond the windows into a blur of silver and black. Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction except for the moonlight; full tonight, huge and bright enough that its pale glow burst through the mist like scattered frost.

Javier (much against his better judgment, you suspected) sat across from you at the other end of the table, holding his brisket and vegetable sandwich with a faint frown as he took a bite.

Carefully, you peeled the lettuce from yours and set it on the wrapper. It smelled incredible; your mouth watered instantly. You took a bite and closed your eyes for a second at the taste.

“Oh my God, this is so good.”

Javier let out a quiet huff of laughter. It was brief and soft. “No lettuce?”

You waited until you swallowed. “Lettuce is the first thing that goes bad. Tomatoes too, but lettuce dies first.”

“It looked fresh enough.”

“I’m not risking it.”

He tilted his head slightly and took another bite.

Between you sat two glasses of water and an open bag of chips. Your gaze drifted through the glass in front of him, catching the warped image of his hand beneath the waterline; fingers distorted as they curled tightly, for some reason, around the handle of the butter knife resting beside his wrapper.

Your eyes traveled upward, past his watch, past the smooth skin of his forearm dusted with fine dark hair.

“Do you have a girl?”

The question came out so bluntly, stripped clean of the usual social cushioning, that he stopped chewing.

Honestly, it surprised you too.

The hand holding your sandwich lowered to the table little by little.

Javier looked at you with an unreadable expression, though you caught the slightest tightening near the corners of his eyes.

“That’s… none of your business.”

“So that’s a no?” Heat crawled into your cheeks. “A man like you—hard to believe you spend all your time alone when you’re not standing behind me.”

His jaw flexed as he chewed. One, two, three, four… five times before swallowing.

“Are you bored?”

You smiled faintly. “I’m asking a question. It’s been a long day, and we’re running out of things to talk about.”

Javier exhaled quietly and glanced toward the kitchen counter behind you.

“I move around too much for that. This kind of job doesn’t exactly leave room for domestic bliss.” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Now finish your sandwich and get some sleep.”

“You’re redirecting,” you pointed out with a small, knowing smile. “Is she in New York? Or back wherever you came from?”

That finally pulled his full attention back to you.

“You’re too curious for your own good, you know that?” he said. “Dangerous habit, sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”

“Maybe I am bored,” you teased, lifting one shoulder lightly. Your gaze wandered over the breadth of his shoulders before returning to his face. “Besides, you’ve spent an entire year following me around and learning every detail of my routine. I think I’m entitled to a few answers. Unless the truth’s just painfully boring.”

A crooked, amused smile tugged at his mouth.

“I don’t think you’re entitled to anything.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

“And boring isn’t the word I’d use anyway,” he added.

“Then what is the word?” You tilted your head, hair spilling over your shoulder. “Complicated? Or are you just rusty? I saw the way you looked at that girl at the gala last month — the one who tried to give you her number. Were you about to frisk her?”

Javier leaned forward, eyes narrowing, though there was a flicker of reluctant amusement buried beneath the irritation.

“Maybe she was a security risk.”

You smiled. “She was five two in four inch heels. The only thing she threatened was your peace of mind.” A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Admit it. You’re out of practice.”

A dry sound escaped him, and halfway to a laugh he swallowed it down behind a frown.

“Why don’t we try eating in silence instead, huh? Maybe you’re just hungry. And tired.”

You let the sandwich fall onto its wrapper.

“Don’t do that.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I’m not.” You lifted your chin slightly. “I’m used to Louis acting like that because he’s been doing it for a decade, but you’re not Louis.” Your voice stayed even. “And I’m not tired.”

“How?” he asked, and you noticed the defensive edge had left his voice, settling into something quieter. “It’s been a long day. Longer than most. You should be exhausted.”

“I don’t sleep much, and you know that.” You reached for your glass of water. “Besides, it’s too quiet out here.”

You took another bite of your sandwich and ignored the way he kept watching you. His fingers tapped once against the wooden table.

“Well, you’re strangely calm considering what happened today. How are you feeling? Really.”

You swallowed your food. In the privacy of your own head, you thought about the smell of gasoline; the slick, half-thick texture of it soaked into your skin and clothes.

“I’m okay. I mean, my throat still burns a little, and I’ll probably smell gasoline in my sleep for the next week, but I’m okay.”

Javier’s jaw tightened. He looked down at his hands.

“Most people would be scared.”

“Maybe I’ve spent too much time around men like you and my father,” you said with a faint smile. “Eventually you learn how to compartmentalize. Or maybe I just haven’t processed how close it actually was because you were there.” You tilted your head slightly. “Give it a few days. Maybe the shock will catch up to me then.”

“Huh.” His eyes lifted back to yours. “You’re tougher than you look.”

Your ego swelled at that despite yourself.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I figured that out a while ago.” One corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “That, combined with your invasive questions, makes it pretty hard to see you as some porcelain doll.”

Your fingers curled tighter around your glass, though you didn’t lift it. You kept your eyes fixed on him.

“Is that really what you think I am? A porcelain doll?”

Javier pressed his lips together and stayed perfectly still. His gaze didn’t leave yours.

He didn’t answer.

“You’re wrong,” you continued, leaning a little farther over the table. “Porcelain’s fragile. It cracks the second things get bad. I’ve spent my whole life in houses where the walls have ears and every move is planned before it happens. What other choice did I have?”

“I don’t think you’re made of porcelain,” he said quietly. “Not even close. That’s what I meant. But I've heard people talk about you when I first started working for your dad. That's all.”

You blinked once. “Then what do you think I am?”

You caught the way his eyes almost smiled, completely at odds with the rest of his expression. He was thinking something.

But what?

He lifted his chin slightly and tilted his head.

"You're more like… like the glass they use in those high-rise buildings in the city," he said, holding your eyes. "You know, looks delicate from the street, like you could put a fist through it if you tried. But it's reinforced. It's built to take the pressure of the wind and the heat without cracking." A faint smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not fragile. You’re just used to being handled with gloves.”

The honesty in his voice made you go still. So did the smugness.

Javier looked calm, but the feeling was there in the smallest details; in the flicker of his expression, the confidence sitting quietly beneath every word.

“And what happens if you take the gloves off? Can you do that for me?”

He froze. His dark eyes locked onto your face and moved over it with maddening slowness, never losing intensity. The surprise wasn’t invisible this time. He started studying you with a heaviness that felt almost physical, like being touched.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His gaze dropped briefly to your hand resting on the table before returning to your eyes. His pupils had blown wide.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said.

Every trace of professionalism had vanished from his voice.

“Don’t I?”

“Of course not.”

“And how exactly would you know that?” you asked with a smile. “I wasn’t being very subtle, was I?”

Javier tilted his head, studying you a little more carefully now.

“Vandspell,” he said slowly, “what exactly are you trying to say?”

Oh, he could not ask you that while looking at you like that.

You’d spent a year and a half with him at your back, following you everywhere. Of course you’d noticed the way he looked at you sometimes; rare, but obvious when it happened. And maybe it was the aftershock finally kicking in, or maybe today had knocked something loose inside your head, because suddenly you felt very, very capable of saying exactly what you wanted.

What was he going to do? Run?

And honestly, Javier didn’t strike you as the type of man who’d go tattling to your father about your behavior. No; he seemed much more like the type who’d join in.

So, fuck it.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you said. “I’m curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“You.”

His brows lifted. “Me?”

You nodded.

“What useful thing could you possibly want to know about me?”

“Oh, a few things.”

You leaned farther onto the table. He swallowed.

“You know, I looked into you a little when my father first hired you.” You tilted your head. “Almost everything I found was about your professional life. That was disappointing.”

“My professional life disappointed you?”

“No. Not being able to find out anything about your personal life disappointed me.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “What could you possibly want to know about me? Let me ask again.”

“Do you have a girl?”

Javier hid the beginning of a smirk behind his hand. “No. I already told you that.”

“So nobody’s waiting for you back in the city?” you pressed, keeping your voice casual even as your heartbeat picked up against your ribs. “No one complaining about your hours or how impossible you are to deal with when you're tired after work?”

“No.” His eyes stayed fixed on yours. “No one’s waiting.”

“Good.” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” You refused to look away. “I’m glad there’s nobody else. Is that so wrong?”

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh and shook his head, looking down at his sandwich.

“What?” you asked lightly. “I’m just curious.”

He leaned forward just slightly. Like standing one step from the edge of something steep.

“No. You aren’t.” His tone flattened again. “You’re bored. We’re trapped in a cabin with no TV, no signal, and you’ve spent your whole life being the center of attention. Now it’s just me, so you’re fishing for a reaction.” His eyes narrowed faintly. “You’re poking at me to see if the hired help has a pulse.” A pause. “Why don’t you save these games for your boyfriend?”

That made you smile.

“You can’t stand Wes.”

Javier lifted his brows and tipped his head to the side.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” you continued. “The eye rolls every time he opens his mouth. Those exhausted sighs you let out whenever you’re stuck standing next to us.” Your smile widened slightly. “You’re really not that good at pretending.”

“Oh yeah?” he said dryly. “Do tell.”

“Well, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” you said. “If you get to spend almost two years watching me, then I get to spend almost two years watching you too.” You tilted your head slightly. “What’s it like? Spending hours every day just… waiting for me to finish dinner or for some meeting to finally end?”

“It’s part of the paycheck. You get used to it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Since you’re so curious, let’s flip it around. What exactly do you think you’re doing right now?” His eyes stayed pinned to yours. “Because I know for a fact you’re not this talkative in the city. Half the time you barely say two words to me in the car.”

You swallowed once.

“Maybe it’s the lack of an audience.”

“I don’t buy it.”

You shrugged and picked your sandwich back up, taking a small bite. Across from you, he kept watching.

“You’re not wrong, by the way,” he said after a moment. “About Wes.”

He shifted slightly, resting an arm along the back of the chair beside him. His eyes drifted toward the window to your left, the shadow of a grimace crossing his face.

“I find him incredibly childish,” he admitted, shaking his head. “The way he talks, the way he carries himself… I honestly thought you would’ve realized that by now. I figured someone as observant as you would’ve gotten tired of the performance months ago.”

You smiled, feeling a strange little victory in his honesty “He can be immature, but he’s not a bad guy.”

“It’s exhausting to watch, especially when I’m the one making sure his complete lack of situational awareness doesn’t get you both killed.” His jaw tightened. “Like at that party last week. The way he practically tried to drag you into that car? He was wasted.”

Your eyes flickered at the memory.

Yeah. Wes had been an idiot. He’d tried to get behind the wheel of his Lambo while drunk out of his mind and high on molly, then nearly thrown a tantrum when you told him you were going home alone. Javier had pulled you away by the arm before you even had the chance to argue.

“You’re a lot of things,” Javier continued, “but you’re not stupid. So yeah, it’s frustrating watching you settle for someone who doesn’t even know which direction the wind’s blowing.”

“A lot of things?” you repeated with a smile, brows pulling together slightly. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head once. “Nothing. You’re persistent. Extremely persistent.” He nodded toward your sandwich. “Come on, eat. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Let’s finish dinner so I can get back to doing my job.”

“Your job is watching me, Javier,” you reminded him softly. “And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. So watch me all you want.”

Surrounded by darkness, pure cold air, and a room you didn’t fully recognize, your hand flew to your chest as your eyes snapped open wide with panic. A bolt of lightning had struck somewhere nearby, violent enough to rattle the windowpanes, but even then, you couldn’t tell whether it was the thunder that had dragged you awake, or the nightmare still clawing at the inside of your head.

Outside, the rain fell in a heavy torrent, its frantic galloping against the roof mimicking the rhythm in your chest. You grabbed your phone to check the time: 3:00 AM. No, 3:31. And for a fleeting second, your mind drifted back to the legends whispered by schoolmates years and years ago. They said that at 3:33 AM, the veil thins, and creatures lurking in the cracks of the day emerge; it was the hour when the impossible and unusual became reality.

The room felt cavernous, its high corners swallowing the light and casting long jagged shadows. And the door stood half open, revealing nothing but pitch black hallway beyond it.

You pushed the blankets aside and lowered your feet onto the floor. Freezing.

Phone clutched tightly in your hand, you stepped into the hallway and pushed the flashlight over it, casting a pale beam over every step as you followed it toward the staircase.

“Javier?”

BOOM.

Another crack of thunder jolted through the house, making you jump in place. Your head whipped around instantly… Had the floor creaked behind you?

Your heart raced at a frantic pace as you rushed down the stairs, ignoring the thudding in your chest and the biting chill crawling up your legs.

Below, the living room flickered to life every few seconds, caught in the pale erratic flashes of lightning. The fireplace offered a pulsing warm glow that bled across the rug and the couch across from it, and on the coffee table sat a pack of cigarettes and a handgun. But Javier was nowhere to be seen.

You scanned the room, searching for a flashlight or anything useful, but found nothing. You spun on your heel and—

"Shit!"

Just as another bolt of lightning tore through the sky, bathing the room in a ghostly white glare, Javier appeared right in front of you.

Drenched to the bone, with wet hair plastered to his forehead, he stood there holding a heavy flashlight and a set of keys.

"You... you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled, recoiling a step. You knit your brows together. "What happened?"

"The power’s out," he rasped.

"I know that."

"The storm must've taken out a line down the road. Go to the fireplace; I’ve got the fire going. It’s the only place that’ll stay warm."

He brushed past you and stopped by the couch. He reached down, took the weapon, and tucked it out of sight.

"Sit," he commanded.

Without a word, you obeyed; the cold was becoming unbearable and exhaustion weighed heavy on your eyelids. You walked over and sank into the soft cushions of the couch. You were wearing only an oversized t-shirt that left your thighs exposed to the air; instinctively, you pulled the hem of the fabric down with one hand to cover yourself.

He vanished from your sight then, and you flicked off your phone’s flashlight, tossing the device onto the coffee table like the useless piece of hardware it had become. Before you, the fire roared, flames dancing restlessly from side to side. The warmth helped, but barely.

“Here.”

At the sound of his voice, you turned your head toward him. Javier stood behind the couch.

Without a word, he draped a thick heavy blanket over your shoulders. His fingers were still wet and freezing, and they lingered briefly against the back of your neck; the touch made you shiver. A second later, he pulled away and moved around the couch, sinking onto the opposite end with enough distance between you to feel intentional. He barely moved after that.

Water continued dripping from his clothes, leaving dark stains across the upholstery as the storm raged outside.

“You’re soaked,” you said quietly, your eyes trailing over him. “Why were you even outside?”

“Checking the power lines.”

His gaze never left the fire.

You frowned, watching the fabric of his shirt cling to his skin like a second layer of cold.

“Why don’t you change?”

“Don’t have anything here.” His jaw tightened faintly. “Louis is bringing the rest of the stuff tomorrow. Clothes included.”

“I’m sorry.”

In the ensuing silence, the reality of the situation felt heavier than the wool on your shoulders. The entire trip had been so rushed that neither of you had stopped to consider that a storm of this magnitude could leave you trapped and empty handed.

What if Louis couldn't reach you tomorrow?

As was his custom, your father would surely send more than one man. Javier, Louis, maybe Renzo, and likely Nora, who usually accompanied you on matters like this. But if the downpour persisted and the roads became impassable, there was no telling if they’d make it.

"So you're just going to stay like that? Drenched?"

“Yes.”

“You could dry off, you know,” you insisted, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “It’s not a big deal if you take the clothes off. But if you stay wet, you’re definitely gonna get sick.” You nodded toward the hallway. “There are towels in the closet.”

Javier seemed to process your words with a pause. For a moment, the only sound was the wind lashing against the windowpanes and the rumble of the sky.

His fingers brushed the edge of his sodden cuff, hesitating.

"Your hair is dripping," you added, as the final blow to his resistance.

A quiet sigh slipped out of him and he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing the flashlight from the coffee table, he disappeared down the hallway without another word, as his silhouette was swallowed by darkness and the sound of his footsteps echoed across the wooden floorboards.

You took advantage of his absence to burrow deeper into the heavy blanket. Tucking your legs onto the couch, you leaned back, sinking into the cushions until only your eyes peered over the edge of the wool. The fire’s heat was finally taking hold, numbing your limbs and stilling the tremors in your body.

A moment later, Javier returned.

The jacket, shirt and jeans were gone. He walked with his torso completely bare, revealing a landscape of muscle and warm-toned skin. He wore only a towel wrapped low, clinging precariously to the line of his hips.

You fell silent, a sudden knot tightening in your throat. Your eyes betrayed you, tracing the breadth of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, where traces of dampness still glistened. Your gaze drifted downward involuntarily, following the thin line of hair below his navel that disappeared beneath the waist of the towel.

A heat flared within you that had nothing to do with the hearth. You quickly averted your eyes toward the fire, hoping the dancing shadows on your cheeks would mask the unmistakable creep of a blush.

"Better," he said.

Javier sat back down, and the contrast was nearly unbearable. You remained motionless, your gaze fixed on the fire, though your eyes weren't truly seeing the flames. Internally, your mind was a chaotic mess of self-reproach; you thought this had to be some cruel joke, immediate karma for trying to toy with him during dinner. You had enjoyed every charged look and every double entendre, wanting to see if you could crack that stone mask he always wore. You wanted to provoke him, yes—but now that he was right there, half naked, the situation had spiraled out of your control.

A persistent tingle stirred in your lower abdomen, a pang of anticipation that you tried to ignore by pressing your legs together under the blanket. Your heart, ever the traitor, thrashed against your ribs with an erratic rhythm; you weren't worried about him hearing it, though, the thunder provided the perfect cover.

Javier let out a long exhale and leaned back against the cushions, stretching one arm across the top of the couch. His fingers came to rest mere inches from your back.

“You’re still shaking,” he observed. “You still cold?”

You turned your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. He wasn't looking at you; his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but his jaw was set tight.

"Yeah," you admitted in a whisper, clutching the edges of the blanket tighter against your chest. "I'm still a little cold."

You dared to turn fully to catch his profile. He remained there, letting the hearth’s warmth lick across his skin. He looked like a statue carved from only shadows and orange light.

"And you?" you asked. "Aren't you cold? You're almost... well, you aren't wearing much."

"A little. Did you get any sleep?"

"Just a bit," you confessed. "You?"

"No."

"Why?"

“Got a lot on my mind,” he muttered. And this time, he didn’t avoid your gaze.

He looked at you directly, with an intensity that made you feel strangely small and hyperaware of every inch of yourself all at once.

That tingle in your stomach flared again.

"A lot? Like what?"

Instead of an answer, a faint, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He remained silent, turning back toward the fire and running a finger over his mustache.

Oh, playing the mysterious type, are we?

Two could play that game.

Without a word, you let the blanket slide from your shoulders, allowing the chill of the room to bite at your skin. You rose from the couch and crossed to the fireplace, and felt his gaze searing into your back; you knew exactly how the hem of your shirt rode up with every step. You knew you were showing just the right amount of skin, and that as you leaned over to reach for the poker, your tights and ass were perfectly framed by the glow of the embers.

You gripped the iron tool and shifted the logs, moving with an unnecessary focus and tending to the fire while the heat enveloped you. When you finished, you set the poker back in its stand and turned around with excruciating patience.

You found him exactly as you expected: staring. His gaze was so heavy, so raw, it felt as though it could physically pin you against the wall. You didn't flinch. You held his stare and began to trace your own waist through the thin fabric of the shirt. You moved your fingers with a gentle touch, stroking upward, dragging the hem higher inch by inch, and stopped only when your fingers reached your naked waist, letting the garment hang dangerously high.

You stood still, waiting for him to make a move. But Javier didn't stop you, nor did he look away. Instead, he shifted his hips slightly forward on the couch, and you noted, with a silent surge of triumph, the way his breathing began to quicken.

"Do you want me to keep going... or do you want me to stop?" you asked.

He remained incredibly still. “How the hell am I supposed to look your daddy in the eye when I cash my paycheck?”

You offered a lopsided smile, feeling the power of the moment firmly in your grasp. You began to close the distance between you, step by step. When you were directly in front of him, you leaned down, resting your arms on the back of the couch just behind his head, trapping him within your space.

“Oh, come on,” you whispered, tilting closer. “You really wanna pretend you care?”

Your lips hovered dangerously near his.

“You’ll put on that good-man act,” you murmured. “Smile nice and polite while your eyes give absolutely nothing away.” Your gaze flicked briefly toward his mouth. “Such a good man. Always protecting me.”

Javier let out a low growl, and his hand clamped firmly around your wrist.

With a sudden, violent yank, he pulled you down onto him. You gasped as you collided with the heat of his bare chest, and your hands instinctively grasped his shoulders before sliding down over the hard ridges of his pectorals.

He wasted no time, hauling you up until you were straddling him, your bare thighs gripping his waist. One of his hands surged upward, locking his fingers around your jaw. He squeezed just enough to force your head back, and tilted your face toward his as he hauled you closer. His breath fanned across your lips.

"Does anyone know about this?" he rasped. "That you wanna go behind your daddy’s back and your rich little boyfriend just to get fucked by your bodyguard?"

Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you thought it might shatter them. "No."

Javier’s eyes darkened, turning into two pits of black ink. "Tell me, how does that boy like to fuck you? I bet he’s so wasted half the time he can’t even get his dick hard enough to do the job. What a waste."

He dragged his thumb across your lower lip, pressing down and stretching your mouth open.

"He likes it on his back," you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned into his touch. "Or doggy style, if he’s feeling adventurous."

You moved your mouth closer to his, so close your lips brushed his; his thumb was still hooked over your bottom lip.

"And what about you?" you challenged, your eyes locked onto his. "How would you fuck me?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing the soft skin of your ear. "I’m not really good with words, sweetheart."

In response, your hand traveled slowly up the expanse of his bare chest. "Then show me."

You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze before reaching for the hem of your shirt, and dragged the fabric upward and over your head, tossing it into the shadows. Javier fell into silence; his eyes tracked your movement, dropping to your bare breasts and devouring the sight of you in the amber firelight. Beneath you, you felt him surge; thick and rock hard, straining against the thin towel directly against you.

You reached up, cupping his face with one hand, and your thumb grazed his cheekbone. Slowly, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was deceptively tender. You parted your lips for him, your tongue sliding in to taste him.

As you deepened the kiss, your other hand wound into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling firmly to tilt his head back. You caught his lower lip between your teeth and gave a playful tug.

He let out a growl, so animalistic and raw that vibrated from his chest straight into you. His hands slammed onto your backside and his fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your glutes. He jerked your hips forward, grinding you ruthlessly against his throbbing erection; the thin barrier of the towel did nothing to hide the fact that he was ready to snap.

And then, he broke the kiss.

"You have no idea what you’ve started," he rasped.

Javier didn’t wait for an answer. He attacked your neck, his teeth grazing your skin and his tongue swirling over the spot where your pulse was jumping. One of his hands slid from your hip, traveling up your ribcage until he captured your breast, squeezing it and flicking your nipple over and over with his thumb, watching as it peaked under his touch.

His other hand didn't stay still; he reached down between your bodies, his fingers hooking under the edge of your panties and shoving them aside. When he found you, he let out a whimper; Javier buried two fingers inside you with a sudden thrust, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it with such a soft and heavy pressure that your back arched as soon as you felt him.

"Yes, fuck" you whimpered, your head falling back as the friction made you shiver.

He just watched you unravel, moving his fingers and letting them get wet. There was a triumphant smirk ghosting his lips.

A moment later, he withdrew his fingers; glistening and wet, he brought them to his mouth, tasting you without breaking eye contact. It was so filthy; no one had ever looked at you this way. Or at least, it had never felt this natural and raw before.

He gripped your waist again, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back.

"Not here," he gritted out. "Get on the rug. Lay down in front of the fire."

Obediently, you slid off his lap as Javier stood with you. You turned away, dropping to all fours on the rug and crawling toward the hearth. Every muscle in your back and hips flexed under the orange glow, your skin prickling as the intense heat of the flames washed over you and your body moved with a deliberate sway of your hips, feeling his eyes burning a hole in your spine, before settling onto your backside in the center of the rug.

Standing right over you, he reached for the knot of the towel at his waist and jerked it free, tossing it carelessly onto the couch.

There he was, fully exposed in the flickering light. He was massive; his cock thick, angry and fully erect, pulsing with every thud of his heart. A single glistening bead of pre-cum clung to the tip, reflecting the fire. It watered your mouth. A second later, he wrapped a large hand around the base of his shaft, grazing the dark curls of hair at his groin, and began to slowly pump himself.

The sight of him doing that just for you made your breath hitch. The payoff to every thought you’d had about this hard quiet man over the past year couldn’t be sweeter.

Without breaking eye contact, you hooked your fingers into the lace of your panties and dragged them down your legs, kicking them aside. You lay back on the rug, spreading your legs wide until you were completely open to him.

The heat of the fire was nothing compared to the ache between your thighs. You slid your hand down and your fingers disappeared into your own wetness. You began to stroke yourself, circling your clit with a slick pressure while watching him stroke himself right above you.

"Look at you," Javier rasped. His hand moved faster now. "Open like a gift for me. Soaked and desperate."

You let out a broken moan, arching your back as your fingers worked harder, slicking your folds with your own cream. "Don't make me wait."

He stopped mid-stroke, his chest heaving as he stared down at the way you were touching yourself. His face was full of pure delicious lust.

Javier dropped to his knees between your thighs a second later, the heat from the hearth making his shoulders glisten like oil. But he didn't rush; he started by dragging his fingertips along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasing the edges of your wetness until you were squirming beneath him. Then, he pressed his palm flat against your mound, grinding in a slow circle that forced a jagged breath from your lungs.

He slid two thick fingers into you, pushing deep until he hit hilt, and started a slow soft pump; in and out, stretching you, letting you feel the sheer size of him through his hands. Then, he hooked his fingers upward, findind that one delicious spot that always made your toes curl.

In the privacy of your own company, you’d driven yourself to the edge with this exact motion more times than you could count. Half the time, Javier had been right on the other side of the door, completely unaware; you knew how to stay quiet. But your fingers were nothing like his. Not in the way they moved, not in their size, and definitely not because this time, it was him doing it. It was enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

The sound was so filthy, so wet.

"You hear that?" he muttered. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby, aren't you?"

You threw your head back, your cheeks burning with a feverish flush. Every time he curled his fingers, a hot jolt shot through your spine. When you opened your eyes for a fleeting second, all you could see was the orange roar of the fire, blurring into a haze of pleasure.

Suddenly, he leaned down, burying his face between your legs. When his tongue lashed against your clit, you let out a strangled sob, your fingers instinctively diving into his thick hair, clutching him against you. He was destroying you, his mouth working with punishing hunger that pushed you right to the edge of unraveling.

You began to toss your head, your hips bucking uselessly as you tried to find friction. You were so close.

But then, he pulled away abruptly. His fingers vanished, his mouth left your skin, and the sudden cold made you whimper in protest.

"What do you want?" he gritted out through clenched teeth. His chest was heaving, his face was inches from yours.

You ran a trembling hand through your hair, staring up at him with blown out pupils as your breasts were rising and falling frantically.

Javier reached down, his large hand sliding under your hip to give your ass a stinging slap that made you jump.

"I just asked you a question," he growled. "What do you want?"

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows; your hair was a mess around your shoulders.

"I want you to fuck me," you breathed. "So fucking hard and deep, Javier. Can you do that for me?"

A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his face. Slowly, he nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a promise of total ruin.

"Yeah," he rasped, reaching for his cock. "I can do that."

Javier gripped his shaft and guided the head to your entrance, which was already dripping and swollen. He didn't ease in; with a low grunt, he lunged forward, burying his entire length inside you in one deep soul shattering thrust.

The air left your lungs in a wheeze. You were stretched to the absolute limit, your internal muscles spasming around him as he bottomed out. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep, as his forehead rested against yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he choked out.

You smiled, suddenly cock-drunk. And he began to hammer into you with a raw intensity, his hips hitting yours with a slap so loud it echoed over the crackling fire and your heartbeat. He reached down and yanked one of your knees upward, pinning it against your chest so he could drive even deeper.

"Yes, please," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the rug. "Please, don't stop... oh god, don't stop."

He leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss for a moment before his attention shifted to your neck, his teeth sinking into the delicate cord of your throat. You screamed into him, your own teeth catching his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks as the pleasure became too much to bear. It felt like your nervous system was short-circuiting, every nerve ending screaming under the friction of him filling you.

Javier let out a loud, pained moan and his pace became frantic. He reached up, and his large hand wrapped around your throat; not to choke, but to pin you, to claim you. He forced you to look at him.

"Mirame a los ojos," he rasped. "Mira como estás. You think that rich boy could ever make you cry like this? You think he knows how to break you open?"

He slammed into you again, harder this time, harder and harder, his thumb stroking your jaw while his fingers tightened slightly on your neck. Your breath was completely destroyed, coming in tiny pathetic hitches.

"You’re mine tonight," he growled. "Mine. Just my cock stretching you out until you can't think of anyone else. Say it. Tell me who's fucking you. Say it."

"You," you gasped, your vision blurring as you neared the ledge. "You are... Javier... please…"

He let out another groan, his muscles coiling like a spring as he prepared to lose the last of his control.

The sound was absolute filth and you loved it. You could feel yourself overflowing, your own heat and cream coating his shaft and dripping down the curve of your ass, slicking the insides of your thighs until every thrust felt like sliding through hot velvet.

Javier let out a ragged uneven breath. He reached down, hooking his forearms under your pits and hauling your upper body off the rug until you were arched toward him.

"Look at you," he commanded. "Look how well you're taking me."

You forced your eyes open, glancing down through a haze of sweat and pleasure to see the primal sight of his thick cock disappearing into you and pulling out glistening with your nectar, over and over.

"See how sweet you are for me?" he growled. "How you take every inch like you were made for it?"

Before you could even gasp, he shifted his grip; his hand buried deep into the hair at the nape of your neck and jerking your head back. He crashed his mouth against yours in a desperate kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you as your breasts crushed into his damp chest, and hooked your legs high around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back.

"Please... yes, right there, Javi," you sobbed into his mouth, your internal muscles clenching around him. "I'm so close... I’m right there."

"I know, baby," he gritted out.

He was losing it too; the measured man was gone, replaced by a one driven by pure lust. His skin was scorching, slick with sweat that acted like a lubricant between your bodies, and for the first time all night, you were no longer cold.

His movements became desperate. "Don't you move," he hissed. "Take all of it. Take it, take it, you're such a fucking good girl."

The climax hit you hard and soft at the same time; your entire body spasmed, your back arching off the rug in a messy line as the first wave of the orgasm tore through you. Debilitating, high-pitched whimpers escaped your throat and got lost in the roar of the fire. You were unraveling, every muscle in your cunt clenching around him in a desperate pulse that seemed to have no end.

Javier didn't let up; his movements became erratic and frantic as he felt you shattering beneath him. His fingers dug into your waist with bruising force, his knuckles white as he anchored himself inside of you; you reached for him blindly, your hands roaming over his sweat slicked shoulders, his heaving chest, his jaw.

You pulled him down, kissing him, your teeth catching his lip and drawing a metallic tang of blood. And as you finally broke apart for air, a thin, silver thread of saliva lingered between your mouths.

He let out a broken moan, his face contorting into a pained beautiful expression that looked almost like he was weeping. He pressed his forehead hard against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to stay upright.

"Come inside me," you choked out, your voice a wrecked whisper against his lips. "Come inside me, Javi... please…"

With three more violent thrusts, his entire frame went rigid. A low sob erupted from his lungs as he finally surrendered, and you felt the scorching heat of him flooding you, wave after wave of his release pumping deep into your womb, filling the space he’d spent the last minutes claiming.

He went still then, buried to the hilt, his weight collapsing forward as he trembled against you, savoring the dying echoes of the friction and the absolute chaos of the storm outside.

Slowly, he let his forehead fall against yours, and your hands slid up his broad shoulders until they curled around the back of his neck.

You smiled softly. “Where’s the serious man who wouldn’t even look me in the eye during the drive?” you teased. “You look different now.”

Javier lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. His hand brushed gently along your cheek before he gave a faint shake of his head.

“He’s gone. You buried him the second you took that shirt off. I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, but God help me… I’d do it all over again just to hear you fall apart like that one more time.”

His words felt like a victory; they sent a thrill through your stomach.

“Well,” you murmured, your fingers tracing lightly along the back of his neck, “it’s just gonna be you and me until tomorrow.”