hales

You had fallen asleep curled on your side in a tight ball beneath them with your cheek pressed hard into the cushion instead of the pillow that had slipped halfway off the edge. The shirt you were wearing was his. He knew it by the frayed edges at the sleeves, the ones he had always picked at when he was thinking–removing the stray threads until they unspooled. 

The sight of you in it undid every ache that had been riding him since the last chute.

He was exhausted, his body spent from a full week of travel and competition that hadn’t let up once. Arena dust sat thick under his fingernails, and a deep bruise along his ribs had been spreading with every mile of the drive home. His wrist was throbbing steadily inside the brace he had put on before leaving the arena, and the long hours behind the wheel had settled into the muscles of his lower back until they screamed for a mattress to lay down on.

But looking at you made it all recede, even as he toed off his boots and crossed the living room toward the couch. 

A mug waited on the coffee table beside your phone–tea that had gone cold hours ago–and three messages from him still glowed unanswered on the screen when he tapped it awake.

Headed home.

Running a little late, lot’s of traffic tonight, think there’s an accident.

Don’t wait up, Sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.

Rhett lowered his head, a tired smile pulling faintly at one corner of his mouth.

“You never listen to me,” He murmured, lifting his hat off his head and setting it carefully beside the mug. Even through the pain he crouched beside the couch, as the floorboards under his boots giving a loud, familiar creak. He sucked in a sharp breath and held still, his eyes snapping at you for any sign that he disturbed your sleep. But you only shifted deeper into the cushion, your face turning further into the plushness of it.

Up close he could see the faint crease pressed into your cheek from the pressure, and the soft furrow that lingered between your brows, like some part of you had kept worrying about him long after sleep had taken you.

Rhett let out a quiet sigh and reached for you slowly, curling his dirt-dusted fingers so the backs of his knuckles could brush along the cool skin of your temple. He eased your hair away from your face so he could see you better–so he could take in the sight he had missed the most this week. His skin was rough, calloused in spots where callouses shouldn’t have been, but his touch was painfully gentle–the way it always was with you.

“Hey, darlin’,” He whispered, watching as your eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice, even though they remained closed. Rhett dragged his knuckles slowly across your forehead, before bringing his hand down to cup the side of your face–his large palm dwarfing the size of it. You tilted into the warmth without waking–as if you were a sunflower and he was the sun–nuzzling closer like you had been waiting for this contact. He could feel his heart seize at that moment, stopping in the caverns of his chest at the way you responded to him regardless of your alertness.

He had spent the last seven days getting thrown around under bright arena lights, sleeping on narrow motel beds that never held enough heat, eating alone with the television running just to fill the silence. Every night without fail he would call you from a parking lot or those cheap rooms, pretending the sound of your voice was enough to make the distance bearable for him, but it had never been. Because nothing compared to walking into this house and finding you waiting for him like this–even if it was against his wishes.

“Should be in bed,” He said, though there wasn’t any real scolding in the comment. You made a quiet sound, a small hum, and your outstretched hand shifted until your fingers brushed his bicep beneath the soft cotton of his button-up. As if you were testing to see if what you were feeling was real, your touch slid down the length of his arm, closing loosely around the hard plastic of his wrist brace–though your fingers couldn’t touch.

“Rhett?” Your voice was thick with sleep, and he could hear the confusion lacing the edges of it, and his throat tightened at the relief he could sense beneath it.

“Yeah, baby,” He answered, stroking the soft skin under your eye with his thumb, “It’s me.” He confirmed. Your eyes opened only halfway, peeking out through your lashes, and for a long moment you just looked at him, completely dazed, as though you needed to make sure you weren’t still dreaming. Then your mouth curved into a small smile.

“You’re home.” He nodded once, his hair falling out of it’s slicked back form while doing so.

“I’m home.” You hummed at that, as your eyes slipped shut again, but your fingers began to absentmindedly rub along the thick plastic of the brace, like you were trying to keep yourself from falling back to sleep.

“Took you forever.” You murmured.

“I know…”

“I tried to stay awake…Wanted to see you…” The words came out drowsily and soft as you made futile attempts to fight against the exhaustion that was plaguing you. Rhett smirked and leaned in, pressing his chapped lips to your forehead. He stayed there long enough to breathe you in–the faint scent of your honey shampoo and all the other hair products you piled on after a shower, mixing with the spicy, pine and woody cologne that he owned, all of it mixed with the unmistakable warmth of home, of comfort, of love.

“You’re seein’ me now,” He replied, easing back just enough to look down at you, noticing that your eyes were still closed.

“Barely.” You muttered, and a soft laugh escaped him.

“Well it would help if you would open your eyes, but I can tell you’re too tired for that…So let’s get you to bed, sleepin’ beauty.” He stood carefully, gathering the quilts tighter around you so nothing would fall as he was walking, tucking the fabric in until you were fully cocooned. Once he was satisfied with his work he slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, then lifted you off the couch slowly, making sure he wasn’t triggering the ache that was still pulsing in his back. Even with him keeping all his injuries in mind, his muscles and bruises still protested, but he ignored every one of them as he drew you close, feeling the heat of your body soaking straight through the fabric that separated the two of you.

Immediately, you curled into him, your cheek pressing against the hard muscle of his chest as you nuzzled closer into him, and without thought, Rhett’s arms tightened around you.

“Did you win?” You asked, the words muffling against the fabric of his shirt.

“Stayed on.” He answered as he began to walk.

“Wasn’t my question.” You shot back, and a small smirk tugged at his mouth at the quiet jab.

“Yeah…Yeah I won.” He said, glancing down to caught the soft smile that touched your lips.

“Knew you would.” 

The certainty in your voice made his heart clench. You had never doubted him–not once, not through any of the long sessions of training or the hard falls that you had beared witness to. You had watched him win enough buckles that he made most of these circuits look easy from the outside. But that never stopped the worry in you. The wrist brace along was proof enough that the work he put in took its toll, and you couldn’t yet see what was waiting for you under his clothes. But that would be tomorrow’s problem–you would nurse him back to health when he allowed you. Tonight you just wanted him–his presence, his body, his arms, everything.

Rhett carried you down the hallway with careful steps–mindful of how narrow it was–keeping you tucked securely against him so you didn’t accidentally knock against the walls. The navigation of the dark house was only amplified by the soft creak of the floorboard under your combined weights, and halfway to the bedroom your fingers found the greasy strands of his hair, tangling into them.

“Missed you,” You murmured, and Rhett’s jaw flexed at that, as he tilted his face down to rub his chin against the top of your head.

“Missed you too…So damn much.” 

There were things he had never learned to say easily, even after five years of being together. He could take a hard fall without making a sound. He could carry every expectation his family stacked on his shoulders without complaint. Tenderness, though, still sometimes caught behind his teeth like it was too fragile to risk letting out those feelings. But with you half-asleep and warm in his arms, the words came easier.

“Hated wakin’ up without you,” He said quietly, “And I definitely hated comin’ back to an empty motel room.” Your hand slipped from his hair and smoothed slowly down the side of his neck, resting your fingertips over the steady thunder of his pulse.

“You don’t have to now.” Rhett closed his eyes for a brief second and let out a long breath.

“No…I don’t.”

He crossed the threshold into the bedroom, angling carefully around the hefty basket that was stacked high with neatly folded laundry and the sharp edge of the dresser. When he reached the bed he pulled the covers back with one hand without ever letting you go, before lowering you onto the plushness softness of the sheets, putting in more care than he used for almost anything else in his life. But the second his arms started to ease away you made a small, protesting sound.

“I’m right here baby.” He promised, as he began to unravel you from the quilts, tossing them haphazardly on the floor, before crouching down to pull off your socks one at a time. HIs thumb rubbed slowly over the faint indentations each elastic had left around your ankles, kissing the marks, and nuzzling against them, feeling the way your muscles jumped at that. When he was finished he drew the duvet up to your chin and tucked you in, smoothing it around you.

Your eyes opened again the moment he was levelled with you, and he watched concern pull across your face–your brows drawing together, and your mouth parting slightly on a breath. You hadn’t seen the bruise blooming along his jaw when he had been crouched beside the couch, but now that you were in a room that had enough light–from the moon that peeked through the curtains–you were able to identify the purple shadow that stood out beneath the stubble. Your hand came out from under the covers and your fingertips traced the edge of it, watching as Rhett’s eyes closed at the contact and feeling him leaning into the touch even though the sharp pinch of pain made him flinch.

“You’re hurt,” You whispered, your voice cracking a little on the discovery. You wondered how this happened, but deep down inside you didn’t really want to know, especially when you weren’t there when it happened. He looked at you through his lashes, his blue eyes catching the light.

“Just sore…It’s nothin’ to worry about.” He replied, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm before easing back. If the exhaustion hadn’t already settled so deep in your bone you might’ve sat up and followed him–wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him back down so you could hold him. But as it was right now, the attempt died before it even started and you only managed another soft whine.

“Come back…” Rhett let out a short huff of a laugh and shook his head at you.

“Baby, I need a shower.” You mirrored him in those moments, shaking your head against the pillow.

“Tomorrow.” His brows lifted at that.

“Y/N, I smell like a stockyard and I’m covered in dirt.” You only shrugged at him.

“Don’t care, we can change the sheets tomorrow and I don’t mind if you smell bad.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

“You will in about five minutes.” He mumbled, as you shifted under the covers to make room before opening them up toward him, quietly inviting him in the space you made.

“C’mere and I’ll prove you wrong.” There was no demand in your voice–only that soft, teasing affection that always managed to cut every argument out from him–and he gave in with a gruff sigh.

“Alright…It’s your funeral.” He stated, as he worked his belt open and unbuttoned his jeans, letting both of them fall into a careless heap he already knew you would give him hell for in the morning. The buttons of his shirt took longer as he undid them with one hand, before shrugging it off his shoulders to let it join the rest of the clothes. Once he was down to just his boxers he climbed carefully onto the mattress beside you, feeling your body moving in close immediately, dragging the duvet over the both of you. Rhett stretched his arm out so you could fully settle against him, as your leg slipped between his while you tucked your head beneath his chin. His body loosened the second your full weight rested against him, closing both arms around you–surrounding your body and covering you completely–sliding one hand up under your shirt until his palm pressed against the small of your back. 

Your fingers began tracing slow, idle patterns across his chest while you breathed him in deeply, letting his scent fill your lungs.

“You don’t smell like a stockyard…You smell sweaty.” You corrected him quietly, pressing your nose against the dark lines of the bull-rider tattoo over his heart and inhaling again on purpose, “Love that smell.” He hummed low in his throat and shook his head once.

“I think you’re so tired that your sense of smell has gone off its rocker.” You glared up at him, a small smirk curving your mouth, before leaning in to press a soft kiss right at the base of his throat, tasting the saltiness of his skin.

“Maybe…But right now…I like it a lot.” Rhett sighed, clenching his arms around your body to embrace you even further.

“I told you not to wait up for me…If you hadn’t you wouldn’t have been so tired, and you wouldn’t be waking up smellin’ like a farm.” He said, and you hummed again.

“I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you got home.” You replied softly, feeling Rhett’s breathing halt for a moment beneath your head, as your eyes began to close again, feeling the heaviness of sleep washing over your body and invading your mind. You could feel Rhett’s hand slowly sliding upward, coming to cradle the back of your head. He gently tipped your face upward towards his and kissed your forehead, then the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then finally your lips. He kept it tender, and unhurried–touches that asked for nothing but made him feel like he was reuniting with you in a far more intimate way, like he wanted to complete it.

“Steve?” you called, and because he was reading and you knew it wrapped him up, it took him a minute to respond. You tapped the pads of your fingers on the vanity around the bathroom sink while you waited for him to finish the sentence (or, more likely, paragraph since it took longer than just a few moments).

“Yes, babe?” he asked. You heard the bedframe creak a little as he very obviously got up to come talk to you.

“What day is it?” you asked.

You heard his shuffling footsteps over the bedroom carpet, and then the quiet slaps as he crossed the wood laminate of the hall.

“Uh, Tuesday,” he said, peering around the doorjamb of the bathroom, one hand wrapped around it, just his arm and face visible as he popped his head in.

“No, I mean一the date.”

You kept your eyes on yourself even as Steve stepped fully into the bathroom, because you were clearly distressed about something, eyes darting all over your own face in the mirror.

“The 6th,” he said, moving behind you, studying you in the mirror as his hands moved to hold your shoulders. “Are you ok? What’s wrong? You’re dripping water everywhere.”

It was one of your pet peeves一the bathroom being sloppy and waterlogged一and he’d learned to wipe up after himself whenever he shaved. So you allowing the aftermath of your face-washing to spatter the sink with water was… well, not concerning but strange.

“I’m, um,” you said, almost wondering if you were just overreacting, if you shouldn’t say anything and make Steve worry too. But all you could think about was that night a handful of weeks ago when you’d acted out your brilliant idea to pretend not to know each other and pretend to meet each other and pretend to cheat on each other and you’d come out with the brilliant question “Does your wife let you fuck her without a condom?” and even though Steve had said no and you were Steve’s wife, you still let him fuck you without a condom.

You didn’t think it could happen this fast. Didn’t think it would一what?一take? Jesus Christ.

“Babe,” Steve said, rubbing at your shoulders now, his brow knitted together just like yours, and now he was concerned, because you were something, and you weren’t telling him what. “Babe, what is it?”

“I’m一I was supposed to get my period last week,” you said.

His hands stopped moving.

“Ok,” Steve said. “Ok, well一you’ve一been late before. Work’s been really stressing you out lately, right?”

“Not this much,” you said. “I’ve never been this late. Not a whole week. If it happens it’s just a couple days.” You looked up at him in the mirror.

And you could see there, somewhere behind the fear and the nerves, was a spark of joy. Steve had always wanted a family一a big one一but you weren’t sure that you had the finances or the organization to figure out the finances you weren’t sure you had. But the choice may have been made for you.

“Do you have a test?” he asked.

You grabbed the hand towel to dry your face, though it had mostly drip-dried by now. You covered your face with the towel, rubbing at your cheeks with both hands, your eyes especially. You weren’t crying, but you were emotional about this. You weren’t ready. Steve was. Were you? Was he, really? Were you (collectively) ready for this? You were. Maybe. What if you were but Steve wasn’t? What if Steve was but you weren’t? What if you both were but couldn’t swing it with money? Babies were expensive. Doctors, hospitals, time off work一that all cost you money.

“You’re going a mile a minute,” Steve said, spinning you around to face him, your backside against the sink now.

He always knew. He could read you without even seeing your face.

You lowered the towel. “No, I don’t have a test.” Why would you have a test? This wasn’t something you’d planned for.

“Ok,” Steve said, rubbing your arms again, lower, off your shoulders. “Well一we can’t do anything about it now. It’s late.”

You nodded. He was right. Everything was closed; it was almost 11PM.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around you, hugging you close. You let him, your hands still clinging to the towel pressed to his chest. He kissed your temple, lips tickling the shell of your ear as he kissed you there too. “I’ll go tomorrow morning to get one. Ok?”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. This was something you had wanted to discuss with him, to decide to do, to have doctor’s appointments together and figure out your fertile window and when you were ovulating and tell people you were trying and now all of that was taken away because you’d made a split-second decision to let him come inside of you and you just didn’t think it could happen that fast. You just didn’t think.

“Sweetheart,” Steve said, his voice soft and tender and calling you the name he only used when he knew you needed the gentleness. “This is good. Right? This is great.”

You looked up at him. “Yeah?”

Steve’s expression stayed mostly stoic, but you could tell he was holding himself back from smiling. He wasn’t worried about any of the things you were, probably hadn’t thought of any of them. He was just happy. He was letting himself be happy.

“Yes,” Steve said, lowering his mouth to yours, kissing you, lips lingering. Your fingers dug into his shirt around the towel you still held, and after a moment he stepped back, tossed the towel onto the countertop, turned the light off, and led you to bed.

&&

True to his word, Steve was out and back from the pharmacy before you even opened your eyes. You heard him puttering around in the kitchen, smelled the coffee he was brewing, and when you rolled out of bed and crossed the hall to step into the bathroom, you saw the box on the counter, where he’d thrown the towel the night before.

You stared it down as you brushed your teeth and swished mouthwash, but you were about to burst so you decided you’d put it off for as long as you could. You glanced at the door to make sure it was locked一something you had never worried about before, but right now wanted, because you needed to be alone for this.

You pulled the pregnancy test out of the box and read the instructions three times, standing in the middle of your bathroom, before you just bit the bullet. You reached under the sink for another little paper cup you used for mouthwash, sat on the toilet, and then perched the now filled cup on the edge of the sink with the test in it, angled to the side like a jaunty reminder of how your life might be about to change. You stared at it, then removed it after you’d estimated the time the instructions had told you passed.

You balanced the test on the empty box, washed your hands, and peeked at the test, but there were no results showing yet一it had been like, thirty seconds.

Suddenly, you realized一you didn’t want to be alone for this. You shouldn’t be. It was stupid to be.

“Steve,” you called, a note of panic in your voice because you didn’t want him to miss any part of this (except the peeing in a cup part, that was fine).

This time, he didn’t respond verbally; you just heard his footsteps treading down the hall as you unlocked the bathroom door and opened it just as he arrived.

His eyes landed on you, then flicked to the test, then back to you, but you shook your head一then realized that may not indicate what you wanted it to.

Speaking quickly, you said, “I just did it. We have to wait”一you checked the instructions一“a few minutes.”

“Ok,” Steve said, looking over your shoulder at the test again, before bringing his gaze back to your face. His eyes softened when he looked at you. “Whatever it says, it’s ok. Either way. It’s not good or bad, it just一is what it is.”

You swallowed. “Will you be upset if it’s not?”

“No,” Steve said. “No, absolutely I would not be upset. This一isn’t just about me. I want what you want.”

You nodded. “Ok.” You paused. “I don’t know what I want.”

Steve didn’t hesitate even a second一he pulled you to him, your cheek against his chest, and kissed the top of your head before resting his chin on it as he spoke. “We’ll figure it out together. Everything we do from here on out, we’ll figure out together. Like we always have. Right?”

“Right,” you said, and let him hold you as you counted the seconds and breathed in the scent of him, coffee and sleep and a little touch of the cigarette that he’d probably smoked on the way to the shop that you’d be scolding him to quit if the test turned out the way you hoped it did.

Oh. You hoped it did. That was… a development.

When you got to roughly 200, you pulled away from him and picked up the test, holding it between your chest and his. 

You looked down at the test, saw the lines there. You heard Steve take in a breath, then closed your eyes and tilted your head up, turning your face toward his like he was the sun and you were a flower. And when you opened your eyes, he was glowing just like a summer sky and the smile sneaking onto your lips matched his.