Prologue

Before: 5 Years Old

Before: 10 Years Old

Before: 15 Years Old

Before: 18 Years Old

Before: 20 Years Old

Before: 23 Years Old

Now: 25 Years Old

Chapter 1: Joel and Ellie

Chapter 2: Escape

Chapter 3: The Envelope

Chapter 4: Fungus Ain't That Smart

Chapter 5: Kansas City

Chapter 6: The Climb

Chapter 7: Turret

Chapter 8: Strangers

Chapter 9: Spotlight

Chapter 10: Into the Water

Chapter 11: The Suburbs

Chapter 12: Fight and Flight

Chapter 13: Breaking Point

Chapter 14: One Month Later

WARNINGS:

Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Character Death, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 2

---

She had been a surprise baby. You were shocked to say the least. At fifteen, the idea that your geriatric (to you, at least) parents were still having sex - while you were sleeping right next door - gave you so much cringe you went around the house shivering and pulling a yucky face anytime your parents touched each other. And after being an only child for almost sixteen years, the idea that your parents’ attention was about to be split between you and a new baby did give you pause.

But the moment you saw her, all that disappeared. She was the most perfect little baby you had ever seen. They named her Allison, Allie for short. That first time you laid eyes on her, you were a goner. You loved you baby sister so much, your mother had to pry Allie off your hands every single day. You couldn’t get enough of her. You enrolled in the nearest college so that you could stay at home and see her every day, despite getting into Ivy League schools. You were besotted with your baby sister. She looked for you when you were out, squealed when you got home. You used to make good money babysitting in your neighborhood. All that stopped when Allie was born. You couldn’t possibly look after another child when she was home, waiting for you.

You had been the favorite in the neighborhood. The reliable one of all the other children on the street. You were the one who didn’t drink, who got good grades, who didn’t go on joyrides with the boys, and was great with kids, despite not having any siblings for most of your life. There was no risk of you partying, or getting drunk, or talking on the phone, or bringing boys over while babysitting. You were the responsible one. Needless to say, people were disappointed when you stopped babysitting.

Your parents were not as well off as the rest of the people on the street, despite the area being a rather upper-middle class one. They had inherited the house from your maternal grandmother. You father was a janitor at one of the private schools, and your mother worked as a tailor at one of the clothing warehouses. You were taught since infancy to eat what you were given to eat, to wear what you were given to wear, and you don’t complain. Be thankful for what we have, your parents used to tell you. We are not like the other people on the street, never forget where we came from.

So when others followed the trend, wearing whatever was ‘in’ at the time, you wore whatever you already have, or most of the time, whatever your mother had sewn for you. Others got the latest gadgets for their birthdays; you were happy to get books. Others had a good amount of money every week as an allowance, you ate what your mother packed for you for lunch and babysat and tutored for extra money.

When others received a brand new car on their 16th birthday, you had bought your secondhand car with the money you saved, realizing that your parents needed the money they would have spent on your first car for the new baby, when others your age would have splurged on nonsensical things. You got into a good program in college, all set to pave your way to a bright and successful future. You became that girl that people point out to their children as a good role model. Look at Addison, she’s a good girl. Be like Addison.

Of course, this didn’t gel well with the girls your age on the street. Some of them got sick and tired of people singing you praises, everyone became a bad role model when compared to you, not that it was your fault. You were simply living the way you were raised. Even when you got with your first boyfriend, it was with the role model boy, the jock with good grades and great manners. The moms kept comparing the rebellious boys their daughters dated to Jimmy. Why can’t you find someone like Jimmy? He’s such a well-mannered boy. Not like those boys you kept bringing home. If you were more like Addison, maybe you could get a boy like that too.

Most of the girls didn’t blame you for this, they knew you weren’t malicious or anything, you were simply being you. But some did begin to hate you in secret, hating you for being the model daughter every mother on the street wished they had, namely your best friend growing up, your next door neighbor Tanya. She slowly cut you out of her life, preferring to hang out with the cool kids instead. But her mom, Mrs Anders, was always kind to you, and remained so to this day.

You had great parents who raised you well, the perfect baby sister, the perfect boyfriend, your bright and shining future all laid out in front of you. Your life was perfect.

That day, the first time you were left alone with Allie, as you were getting into bed, you received the phone call that changed your life forever. It was your 18th birthday, 12 years ago. It was also your parents’ 20th anniversary. You remembered waving goodbye to them as they left the house after the whole family had celebrated your birthday, driving to a seaside resort in the next town for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary, just the two of them. That was the last time you saw your parents alive.

All you remembered from that night was clutching on to a sleeping Allie as you stood outside the room in the morgue, telling the doctors and cops that yes, they were your parents. Yes, you were 18. Yes, you will take custody of your sister.

The next few months were a blur of funerals, soothing a crying Allie, crying yourself to sleep, lawyers, appointments with CPS, adopting Allie officially, reading of the will, everything that made you realize being 18 was nowhere near old enough to be able to handle all these. You were overwhelmed. But you had to do this. You didn’t have any family, not anymore. Allie was all you had; you were all she had. You needed to step up. You needed to take care of her.

Allie became everything. Your parents were not rich. All you had to your name by the time everything was settled was the house you had grown up in, your car, and a few thousand dollars you had saved up. You decided there and then, your parents meagre savings should go to Allie – start a college fund for her. You needed to get a job. Raising Allie on your own was not going to be easy. Your parents made sure you were never without despite their tight financial situation, and you would make sure Allie would never want for anything too, even if it killed you.

You dropped out of college, got a full time job at the furniture store near your house, the pay was alright, it ensured that you and Allie had insurance, and it had daycare facilities for Allie while you worked. You got part time jobs here and there, tutoring, editing students’ work for their theses and assignments for extra cash. You broke up with Jimmy, feeling that you were not being fair to him, you hardly had any time for him; you needed to focus on Allie.

Your social life was almost non-existent, aside from the occasional coffee with your old friends, where Allie was always tagging along. They didn’t like that, they wanted to talk adult things, and having a child with you killed the mood, so slowly but surely, they forgot to invite you for these get togethers. You were all work and no play. You counted pennies every month, the house, the bills, Allie, your priority. You could do without. You wore your mother’s clothes, while making sure Allie was always well dressed, you bought secondhand things for yourself, while Allie always had brand new. When Allie started school, things got a little better. You got a seniority-based promotion, Mrs Anders next door offered to watch Allie after school, no charge. She was lonely, and Allie loved her. Tanya had graduated and gotten a job in the city, coming home late at night, so it really was no problem to watch Allie for a few hours in the evenings.

When your friends graduated from college, you had to watch as one by one, they moved away from your town, off to a successful career somewhere, while you were still there, raising your baby sister, working a job where you were reminded, more than once, that you would never ever be at their level. When Tanya eventually got a job where you worked, she was making five times your salary at entry level, a cushy office job that didn’t require her to get her hands dirty at all, thanks to the college degree she had, while you were still working on the floor, wearing a bright colored vest and the company shirt daily. The first time she saw you, she gave you a hug, look at you in your little vest, she said. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I thought you would be doing your master’s or PhD by now. You swallowed her insults and smiled. She continued being friendly with you throughout the years but couldn’t resist the veiled attacks on the fact that you were nowhere near successful as everyone thought you would be.

As the years went by, her bullying got worse. But you couldn’t say anything. She kept talking about what an inconvenience it was for her that Allie was staying at her house after school, all the groceries she had to buy to feed Allie. Wouldn’t it be bad if that arrangement were to stop? You couldn’t afford for Allie to lose that care, so you started packing lunch for Allie, made sure she didn’t eat anything at Mrs Ander’s house, although Mrs Anders, who suspected her daughter’s influence in your decision, told you not to worry about it.

About two years after Tanya joined the company, Jimmy started working there too, in the HR department. He was still single. You were still in deep ‘Allie first’ mode, so you politely rejected his suggestions that you two got back together. Tanya pounced, made her move on him. He didn’t reciprocate, but she was relentless. Her bullying got worse, convinced that he rejected her because he was still hung up on you. He eventually moved on and accepted that you and he would only be friends. He dated here and there but refused Tanya’s attempts to date him. He eventually began dating someone from college, a nice lady who was always nice to you whenever you ran into them in town. Tanya blamed you for him escaping her grasps. Cue the endless complaints about you from her friends posing as customers, although Jimmy, knowing you well, had always managed to back you up, she had no evidence anyways.

Life went on like that for you for years. You endured it all, not caring that people called you a pushover, a failure, so long as Allie was dressed, schooled and fed, a roof over her head.

And then one day, four months ago, Allie left for school, and never got there.

You received a call from your neighbor who was walking his dog and found Allie in the drains by the road. His dog brought his attention to Allie, who couldn’t be seen from the roadside. She had been hit by a car. She lost consciousness and drowned in three inches of water. The paramedics got her heart to start working again, and she had never woken up since then.

The police launched an investigation, classified it as a hit and run. There was a CCTV that should have caught the incident, but the recording mysteriously went missing, adding salt to the already substantial wound.

She had extensive head injuries; her brain activity was choppy. She could only breathe with the aid of a machine, but until her brain injuries resolved itself, there was no telling if she would be able to breathe on her own again. You didn’t leave her bedside, your heart in your mouth, begging her to wake up. She didn’t respond at all, no squeezing your finger, no movements. You sat there, day in, day out, made sure to move her so her muscles didn’t atrophy, read her stories, talked to her as if she could hear you.

You took paid time off work, only going back to work after a month or so. But Allie’s condition fluctuated, and you had to leave work in a panic more times than you cared to count. About two months after the accident, the company let you go. They had turned a blind eye at first, you were a loyal and much valued employee. Everyone knew your situation and looked the other way. But someone – who wished to remain anonymous - was unhappy with your absence and lodged an official complaint against you, and when that happened, there was nothing anyone could do, this time, even Jimmy couldn’t back you up.

In the space of two weeks since you lost your job, Allie’s medical bill had cost you all your savings and her college fund, not that they were substantial in the first place. Without a job, no bank would loan you money. But Allie was improving. Her brain function got steadier. Doctors were optimistic that she would wake up. You were over the moon, trying to figure out how you could scrounge up the money for her bills, anything, as long as she got better. You were desperate. You had to make a decision, so, about a month ago, you put your house up for sale. It was snapped up in no time, you were forced to take the first offer due to the time sensitivity, and they could pay cash. Now, you had less than six weeks to move out. Mrs Anders had assured you that you and Allie would have a place at her house until you got sorted when the time comes to move out. A move Tanya didn’t appreciate but couldn’t do anything about.

You had left her room to get a cup of coffee from the pantry. When you came back, two men and a woman you had never met was standing by Allie’s bed. The man in the hospital gown told you how Allie had saved his life – twice in the past three weeks.

As you listened, your mind kept going on and on about how this could be a scam. You couldn’t believe the number of scammers who managed to get in your head, telling you of things they could do for Allie for a small fee. You were, luckily, able to chase them away, but the fear of being scammed was fresh in you, you kept waiting for ways this man could lie to you, influence you somehow, and let’s be honest, his story didn’t make any sense.

So, you asked him and his friends to leave. He begged you to let him speak to Allie, but you were not having it. He seemed shocked when you told him she had been in a coma for four months and left without any fight.

But something about him made you feel bad. He seemed so desperate just to say thank you to an unconscious girl, he actually looked like he was about to cry. But you were not going to let a strange man you had never met go near your unconscious, underage sister.

The next morning, Allie coded. The doctors came in and told you that her organs were beginning to fail. You should prepare yourself for any possibilities. You wouldn’t hear it. Allie was strong. She will get through this. You needed her to get through this.

You went outside to get some air. You sat on a bench, watching people walk in and out of the hospital, trying hard to make sense of what was going on. This could not be it. You could not give in to this. You worked hard to make sure Allie had a good life, a life that should not end at 14. You were deep in thought, when a man stood in front of you, asking you if he could talk to you.

It was him. The man from the ward.

---

Joel couldn’t sleep. Again. He needed to make sense of it all. If Allie had been in a coma for four months, how was it that he had been seeing her everywhere? So now, he fully accepted that he didn’t actually see her, not physically, at least. But there was no doubt in his mind that she was there, she saved his life. And he found her, but he didn’t get the chance to thank Allie, you didn’t want him there, and he had to respect that.

He knew what it looked like. A grown man spouting bullshit about a comatose girl saving his life. A grown man who went into her room and stood near her bed. Heck, if someone were to do that with Sarah, he would go mental. He couldn’t blame you. even he had a hard time believing what he was saying.

But he couldn’t let it go. He needed to understand why Allie came to him, in whatever form she did, why she saved his life. There must be a reason.

When he went out for his walk that day, he saw you sitting alone outside, a blank look on your face. And thankfully, you didn’t react badly when he approached you.

He introduced himself, offering a hand for you to shake, which you politely took. You didn’t offer your name, so he sat himself down at the other end of the bench and addressed you as Ms Williams.

He told you everything, again, in case you missed it the first time, of the injuries he had, how he should be dead. But miraculously, he survived, all because ‘Allie’ was there. Told you about the attempted murder. Again, ‘Allie’ warned him. And he survived. Even if he had conjured her in his head, she was his guardian angel, his savior, what happened was nothing short of a miracle, at least in his mind.

“Ms Williams, I am not trying to scare you, or do anything inappropriate to you or your sister. I just need to understand what is going on. Maybe I did imagine her. But she was there, if that makes any sense at all. I would be dead, twice over, if she hadn’t been there. All I want, is to say thank you to her, and repay her, in any way I can. I have a daughter. She’s three. She still has a father because of Allie. Please, I just need five minutes. You could be there, if you are worried. I just… I need this. For my own peace of mind. Please.”

You listened, and suddenly all became calm and clear to you. Head injury. He was concussed and saw things. And now he strongly believed that Allie had helped him, the poor nutjob. It made sense now. He was seeing things. The cuckoo lad, he really believed this. You drew a deep breath and gave it a thought. Allie was a kind kid. It made sense that she would help someone in need, even if the man who needed help was bonkers and was literally seeing things. But, what the heck. The guy looked wrecked with guilt and unease. So he wanted to speak to her for a few minutes… was that so bad? Better that than have him bother you and Allie the rest of your stay here… just a few minutes… why not? But no way were you leaving her alone with him.

So you got up and waited for him to follow you. He seemed relieved and gave you a thankful smile. Damn. Cuckoo lad was handsome, you thought. Shame he’s a cuckoo. His equally handsome brother followed behind. This Joel guy was walking a bit slowly, he was still recovering, it seemed. He made idle chit chat with you, talking about the weather and cafeteria food, you didn’t really pay attention, your mind still haunted with Allie’s worsening condition, despite her improvements these past few weeks.

Until he said one little thing.

“She told me how she hated that her name started with an A. I have to say, Ellie with an E does suit her better.”

He laughed softly, as if reminiscing about the time he spent with her.

You kept quiet, but that little tidbit caught your attention.

She had always labelled her books with Ellie. She hated that her name was spelled with an A.

How would he have known that?

You walked into her room, and stood at a corner, trying to give him some privacy while still being there to make sure he didn’t do anything funny. His brother stayed by the door.

He sat on the chair right next to her bed. He placed his hand next to hers, looking at you, asking you if it’s okay for him to hold her hand for a bit.

You don’t know why, but you nodded. Your instinct told you that you needed to let him do this.

He gently placed her hand in his, just took her entire hand between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. He didn’t move his hand at all, just… held hers.

“Hey Allie, it’s me, the old man.”

That’s a coincidence. This man was what, in his early 30s? around your age. A lot of kids call people your age old, right? She called you Oldie when she found out you turned 30 this year. But… like… that’s normal, right? So… he’s still cuckoo, right?

Joel kept speaking to Allie, his voice low, calming, steady. He thanked her for saving him, he didn’t know why - if she did really save him - she did that for him. But he’s thankful, he will not take his life for granted, he will use this second, third chance he had at life for good, he promised. He wished her well, that she would recover, and when she wakes up, if she could remember him, to come find him. He would love for her to meet his daughter and family.

He squeezed her hand a little and gave it a little pat with his other hand.

He looked at you and said thank you with a smile. You smiled too, nodding your head. He looked relieved.

The monitors suddenly went berserk.

Joel tried to get away from the bed, wanting to allow access for the doctors.

But his hand.

Allie was holding on to his hand.

Doctors and nurses were rushing in. They pried her hand away from his, with much difficulty. You kept asking what was going on? The nurses escorted the three of you out of the room. When they opened the door back up, she had stabilized. Her heart rate skyrocketed, seemingly for no reason. But it was back to normal now, and they will be monitoring her closely.

You heaved a sigh of relief, and went back in. Joel contemplated going in with you, but Tommy suggested they leave. Let Allie rest, let you get yourself sorted. Let’s not bother her, he said. Joel nodded and peeked in to say thank you one more time to you, telling you he would be back to check on her tomorrow, if that was alright with you. You nodded, and with teary eyes, thanked him back, and went back to staring at your beloved little sister, relieved that you hadn’t lost her.

---

The next day, Joel was discharged. He went to the 4th floor to say goodbye, but the nurses told him Allie was in surgery. He wanted to wait, but Sarah called and asked when he would be home. So he went home, and the little girl didn’t let him go all day.

And the day after that, as well as the day after that.

Before he knew it, a week had passed, and when he walked into that room on the 4th floor, the room was empty. He asked the nurses if they had moved Allie. They looked at him with sadness in their eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, but Ms Williams passed away six days ago.”

---

December 20

Joel twiddles his fingers as he waits by a row of empty seats at the baggage claim area of the Austin airport, trying not to pace. He got here too early, been waiting a couple hours for your flight to land. He just couldn’t sit still at home. Already twice cleaned the house top to bottom, fluffed the guest room pillows three times each. 

You. You’re staying with Joel this Christmas. It was a last minute thing; your family, well…they forgot about you. It wasn’t intentional, all accidental. Your parents offered up every and any extra amount of room they have to extended family and in doing so, gave away your old room. Whoops. 

And so Joel got a call from your dad, his best friend. Joel was supposed to spend Christmas with your family anyway, so your dad reached out to Joel to ask if he’d be willing to take you in while you visit Austin for the week. Joel, of course, didn’t hesitate to say yes. He’d do anything for you, the sweet little girl he watched grow up. He’s missed you a lot since you left home. 

Finally, there you are. He’d recognize your smile anywhere. You wave excitedly at Joel, doing your little jog to greet him. Joel takes long steps to meet you halfway, in total disbelief at how grown up you are. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that you were barely tall enough to reach Joel’s waist, and that was standing on your toes. He remembers teaching you to ride a bike and cleaning up your scraped knees with hydrogen peroxide, and after he bandaged you up he’d let you punch him in the arm as hard as you could to make it square. Look at you now - a beautiful woman, all grown up. 

You set your carry-on on the ground and wrap your arms around Joel, squeezing him so fucking tight it steals the oxygen right from his lungs, not that he minds. But the way you kiss his cheek makes his skin burn and his heart pound harder.

“Joel,” you whisper excitedly, hugging him tighter.

Joel lets out a wheezy chuckle. “Hey, kiddo. I missed ya,” he tells you. “S’been too fuckin’ long.” 

“Indeed,” you agree. 

Joel notices the suitcases from your flight begin to come out on the conveyor belt and squeezes your side twice to alert you, “Better go grab your suitcase, hm?”

“Oh, yeah. Duh. Here–” you laugh, pulling away from Joel to bend down. You pick up your carry on and put it in Joel’s arms, and he grunts at the surprising weight. “Hold this. Be right back.”

Joel inspects the boxy bag you placed in his hands. He turns it to the side and behind a mesh screen are two big green eyes, all wide and untrusting. “Uhhh…” Joel murmurs, further inspecting as he raises an eyebrow. It’s a cat - black fur all puffed up, growling at Joel as its eyes dart left and right. The cat hisses at Joel, causing him to nearly drop the carrier. 

You greet Joel once more, this time with your suitcase rolling behind you. “Uh, hey. Who’s this?” Joel asks, suspicion lacing his tone. 

“Gizmo!”

“Huh. Gizmo.” The cat hisses again at Joel, startling him. “You didn’t tell me that Gizmo here would be a guest of mine.” 

“Oh, I know. I’m so sorry, Joel. It was all so last minute - I found out I was staying with you and then I called kitty daycare,” you begin explaining, Joel leading the way out of the airport and to his truck. He takes your suitcase and carries both that and the carrier. “And get this - they told me they wouldn’t allow me to board Gizmo because he was too bad the last time. Can you believe that?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel mumbles, not so surprised.

“I know. It’s bullshit. But don’t worry about Gizmo, Joel. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“M’not really a cat person, you know,” Joel says. “Pretty sure I’m allergic to the bastards, actually.” 

Joel puts your luggage in the backseat of his truck, then opens the door for you to get in the passenger side. “Watch your step,” he warns, giving you his hand as you slide in. Joel closes the door, rounds the front of his truck and joins you, promptly starting the vehicle. The loud engine makes Gizmo cry. 

“So…” Joel begins, turning onto the busy highway. “How’s it all going? How’s work and whatnot?”

“Good,” you answer. “I don’t know. You know - work’s work. You?”

“Yeah, I hear that,” Joel replies. “Work’s work and Tommy’s…Tommy.” His joke earns him a little giggle from you. “What else is new? Got a boyfriend?” You give Joel a look, and he shrugs. “What?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?” you tease, talking over Gizmo’s crying. “No, I do not. What about you, Joel, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Cute. Yeah, I do actually. Your father.” Another giggle. Joel laughs too, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes on the road. You just look so fucking beautiful. 

Gizmo whines some more, and Joel looks both irritated and concerned. “It’s okay, Gizmo,” you coo, reaching back to touch his carrier, though the effort does little to soothe him. Joel’s truck chimes when you unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your torso over the front seat, your ass right next to Joel’s head makes him cough and clear his throat. 

“What the f-”

Thump. You land in the backseat and open Gizmo’s carrier to pet him and calm him. “It’s alright, Giz- oh, Gizmo, did you have an accident?” Joel’s mouth drops as his eyes dart frantically between the road ahead and the rearview mirror to watch you in the backseat. He’s got a bad taste in his mouth about this.  

-

Now at home, Joel listens to the awful sounds of Gizmo wailing and your shrieks as you bathe the cat after his accident. He had to clean the backseat of his truck, but he didn’t tell you that. When you’re done washing Gizmo, you wrap him in one of Joel’s nicer towels, the one he set aside for you. 

It’s evening when you come downstairs, clutching your soggy cat in his towel. You’re already in your pajamas, and Joel’s at the door paying the delivery person for the pizza he took the liberty of ordering. 

“Ooh, is that pizza?”

“Sure is. Plain cheese and pepperoni. Sit down, I’ll serve ya,” Joel says. “What would you like?”

“Cheese. Please and thank you.”

You smile as you sit down on Joel’s couch, scratching Gizmo’s damp little head as he purrs happily in your arms. With hands full with plates and cans of pop, Joel makes a disgusted sort of face as you kiss Gizmo’s nose. “Here,” he says, handing you a plate. Gizmo hops off of your lap. 

“Thank you.” You take a can of pop from Joel as well, cracking it open as Joel sits right next to you. He turns the TV on, Die Hard already a quarter through on whatever channel his TV was set to. It’ll do. 

You and Joel eat pizza together, talking here and there until the conversation fades away and only pizza crust remains on your plates, which are haphazardly set on the coffee table in front of you. At some point, you’ve slid closer to Joel, now pressed against his side with your head resting on his shoulder, dozing off to sleep. He smiles warmly, you poor thing. All worn out after a long day of travel. He doesn’t mind being your pillow.

Scrrraatchk, skrecht. Joel hears the odd, rhythmic noise of…something. “Hey, hon–” Joel wiggles his shoulder. “What’s that noise?”

“Mm?”

“That sound, it’s–” Out of the corner of his eye, Joel catches Gizmo scratching on his leather recliner - his favorite recliner ever. La-Z-Boy just doesn't make them like they used to. “Oh, god bless it. The fuckin’ cat’s scratchin’ on my chair.”

“Oh, shit. Psst,” you whisper, patting the couch to get Gizmo’s attention, who gives you and Joel that deer in the headlights look. “Knock it off. You know better than that, baby,” you scold in the sweetest, most indulgent tone. Joel rolls his eyes. This is getting old already. “Sorry, Joel. He’s just nervous, trying to make himself feel at home.” 

“Mm,” Joel grumbles. “You know, this is exactly why people get their cats declawed. You never considered that for Heathcliff there?”

“No,” you deadpan. “It’s inhumane.” 

Joel raises his hands in surrender, then eyes Gizmo as he walks around the perimeter of the living room, stopping to sniff and bat at Joel’s Christmas tree. “Watch him,” he warns, voice dripping with irritation. 

You smack his arm. “Oh, relax, old man. He’s not gonna do anything. Pretty tree, though.” 

“Thanks. Decorated it myself.” 

“I can tell. It’s missing ornaments in the back,” you tease. Joel rolls his eyes, though unoffended. “Still. It’s nice to be around a Christmas tree. I don’t have one this year.” 

“You don’t?”

“Mm-mm. Gizmo’s too naughty.” 

Joel turns to look at you, baffled by your cognitive dissonance. He just shakes his head, and you go right back to almost-snuggling him. 

Gizmo loses interest in Joel’s Christmas tree and continues making his rounds, checking out the window and pawing at the blinds, which makes Joel cringe. Before Joel can say anything you shiver, tucking yourself closer into his side. “You cold, kiddo?”

“A little. But I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit.” Joel nudges you away from him so he can get up, then pulls a blanket from a basket on the floor. It’s one of those fleece tie blankets, with the repeated logo of the Dallas Cowboys patterned on one side, plain navy on the other. You made this blanket for him, actually. Years and years ago. It’s his favorite - used to be soft at one point, but it’s all scratchy and worn now, well-loved by Joel. He drapes it over his lap and holds one end up, inviting you to get cozy underneath it. But before you do, Gizmo jumps on Joel’s lap. “Awwwh,” you murmur, smiling warmly at your cat. “He stole the blanket.” 

“Yeah, but s’alright. We’ll jus’ move him,” Joel says, reaching for Gizmo. 

“No, no, he’s fine,” you insist, petting Gizmo’s back. “I think he likes you.” 

“Oh, great,” Joel says sarcastically. Gizmo curls up happily on Joel’s lap, kneading the blanket right over Joel’s crotch, which is an uncomfortable sensation. Joel winces and grunts when Gizmo paws his balls. “Watch it, you little shit.” 

“Be nice,” you scold, swatting Joel in the arm.

“Uh-huh.”

You and Joel finish the movie and start another, all with Gizmo sleeping happily on Joel’s lap. At some point, you’ve curled yourself up and are now sleeping on your side, feet pressed against Joel’s thigh. “Alright. Time for you to fuck off.” Joel pushes Gizmo off his lap, earning a disgruntled meow from the cat. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, shooing him away before pulling the fleece blanket over your sleeping form. “If it were up to me, you’d be sleepin’ in the garage. So don’t you wake her,” he warns, wagging a finger in Gizmo’s direction. “Asshole.” 

December 21

A bit of golden light peeks through Joel’s curtain, gently waking him up. He yawns and checks his digital alarm clock, though he can barely make out the time. Meh. It’s sunrise, whenever that is. 

You’re probably still sleeping, Joel guesses, so he’ll grab the first shower. If you’re anything like when you were younger - and you are - if Joel doesn’t shower first, he’ll never get any hot water. He doesn't understand your unique inability to ever shower under 45 minutes, but he can work around it. 

Groaning, springs squeaking with his shifting weight, Joel gets out of bed. He takes lazy, heavy steps toward the bathroom, hair sticking up in six different directions with bags under his deep brown eyes. He turns on the water and lets it warm up for a moment, grunting as he tugs his boxers down his thighs, erection slapping against his tummy. He’s hard as a fucking rock - morning wood. 

You. You shouldn’t be in his head, but you are. Joel dreamed of you all last night, doing all sorts of filthy things with you, to you. It’s probably nothing - you’re a pretty girl, and Joel’s not gotten laid in however long. Biology. Inappropriate. Wrong. But biology, nonetheless. 

Joel steps into the tub, facing the showerhead. He wets his hair, water trickling down his broad, freckled shoulders. He first scrubs his hair using some 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, tangling his fingers in the sudsy strands, then rinses and finger-combs his hair back. Next, he grabs a bar of soap and lathers it in a rag, washing over the broad planes of his chest, his soft tummy, all down his legs, then rinses and wrings out the rag. 

His left hand on the wall, right hand palms his cock. Joel wraps his fingers around himself, sliding his hand all the way down, squeezing the base of his shaft. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, dragging his hand back up. 

Joel fucks his fist with abandon, and in his head, he’s picturing you. “Oh goddamn, kiddo,” he moans, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes are all big and wide with your mouth full of his cock, drooling down his shaft and onto his balls. Or you’re on top of him, hands on his chest as you fuck yourself on his cock. He’s behind you, big hands gripping your waist as he pounds against your ass, leaning over you to lick and taste the skin between your shoulder blades. 

With his eyes closed as he pumps his cock, what Joel doesn’t see is Gizmo. Gizmo, wedged between the shower curtain and the liner, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, tail swinging wildly back and forth. His pupils are big as droplets of water roll down the clear liner. 

Joel’s dick is red and throbbing, his cheeks are flushed pink as he approaches orgasm. “Fu- oh,” he pants, quickly reaching for his damp washrag. He bites the fabric to quiet his noises of pleasure. His brow knits together, the wrinkles on his face handsomely defined as he grimaces when his cock begins to throb. He’s about to fall over the edge when it’s all ruined - a sharp pain in his ass cheek, dragging down his flesh. “AHHH!” Joel screams in both shock and agony, looking for the source of his pain. 

Of fucking course - Gizmo. Gizmo, with his little, fuzzy arm raised high, claws poking through the shower liner and right into Joel’s ass. He’s squirming, stuck like that of course, go figure. “Get the fuck out of here you fuck-” Joel yells, violently shaking the shower curtain. Gizmo sprints out of the shower and around the bathroom in circles, anxiously pawing for any way out. “God fuckin’ - SHIT,” he rages, stomping out of the tub sopping wet and inadvertently kicking Gizmo with every step he takes. Joel frantically opens the bathroom door, wet hands slipping on the handle. “Scram, you fuckin’ asshole,” he spits, watching Gizmo slip out of the bathroom. 

“JOEL?!” 

Gizmo jumps right into your arms, and Joel gawks at you. 

“What did you fucking do to my cat?”

“What did I do?” Joel seethes. “He clawed my fuckin’ asscheek!” 

Joel can’t believe his eyes. You’re shooting him dirty looks as you kiss Gizmo’s little head, and Gizmo’s headbutting your face in return. He rubs his cheeks on your nose and curls his furry little body into yours, and you pout as you soothe him. “Yeah, sure. Worry about the cat. I’m fuckin’ fine, I guess,” Joel bites, catching a glimpse of a small amount of blood running down his thigh from his ass. 

Joel shuts the door then, and gets back into the shower. He washes the scratch with soap and water, wincing at the sting. When he’s done with his shower - and only his shower, as it’s now too late for him to make himself come, Joel apologizes to you for losing his temper. 

“Well, don’t apologize to me, Joel. Apologize to him.”

Joel pauses, jaw twitching, balling his hands into fists as he glares at Gizmo purring contentedly in your lap. “Sorry.” It’s the most painful, undeserved apology he’s ever had to make

Between the holidays and your cat, Joel can already tell it’s gonna be a long fucking week. 

December 22

Joel’s current job site isn’t too far from home, so instead of eating a packed sandwich in his truck, he decides to come home one afternoon to make himself something for lunch.

He enters his house through the garage and sees you napping peacefully on his couch, snoring ever so quietly. Your lips are pouting, drooling a little onto his leather couch as the TV plays at a low volume. Joel chuckles quietly, shaking his head. It makes Joel happy to see you comfortable like that, so at home at his house. 

He strolls into the kitchen and opens his refrigerator, grabbing some lunch meat and cheese. He tosses them onto the counter, then grabs a jar of mayonnaise and a loaf of bread sitting on top of the refrigerator, sets those down too. Joel grabs a plate, and when he turns back around, Gizmo’s on the counter. 

“Get down from there,” Joel hisses, shooing away the cat. “Go on, git.” 

Gizmo blinks at him nonchalantly, which pisses Joel off. He knows that fucking cat speaks English. So Joel takes the liberty to shove Gizmo off of the counter, Gizmo landing on all fours with a thump and a discontent meow. “Yeah, shut up.” 

Joel pulls two slices of bread from the loaf and opens the jar of mayonnaise, spreading a thin layer on each piece. He moves the jar out of the way and begins assembling his sandwich, and Gizmo hops right back onto his spot on the counter to stare at Joel.

“Oh, you little…” Joel whispers, trailing off and shaking his head. Joel cuts his sandwich on the diagonal, then begins making another - for you, of course. You always told Joel sandwiches taste better when he makes them. You’re a master fucking manipulator, with Joel wrapped tightly around your finger. 

Gizmo reaches for the cheese. “Don’t even think about it, Heathcliff,” Joel gruffs, swatting his paw away. “Sandwich is for her. Not. You.” 

Joel puts your sandwich in a little baggy and places it in the refrigerator before writing a note for you on a post-it. When he returns to the counter, Gizmo’s surreptitiously dipping his paw into the mayonnaise. “Hey!” Joel snaps, “Get yer fuckin’ mitts outta there.” 

December 23

It’s late at night when Joel wakes up to a horrible suffocation. His eyes fly open and his heart pounds with the heavy weight on his chest, and in his hypnagogic state, he begins to panic. Fuck, he’s having a heart attack. Confused and scared, he tosses his body with the little strength he has, and that’s when he feels it - two paws rhythmically pressing into his chest, a low purr. 

Gizmo. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” Joel whispers, pushing Gizmo off his chest. 

Gizmo makes a little mrrp noise on the floor, then leaves. Joel rolls his eyes and tosses onto his stomach, then tries to drift off to sleep. 

But he can’t. Joel’s up now, as there’s nothing like a middle of the night panic to jolt the nervous system wide awake. So Joel groans softly as he sits up in bed, yanking the blankets off his body. He takes slow, sleepy steps out of his room and down the stairs, grabbing himself a glass from the cabinet above the sink. “Fuckin’ cat,” he mumbles quietly as he fills the glass with some water. Joel takes a few sips, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his house. In his living room, he can see some ornaments are strewn across the floor, lights pulled off the branches of his Christmas tree. As if on cue, Gizmo brushes up against Joel’s leg. “I know what you did, you motherfucker,” Joel grumbles, gently pushing Gizmo away with his foot. Joel sets the glass of water down, then makes his way to the living room. 

He first puts the lights back on the tree, and then he gathers the ornaments and places them back on the branches. 

Skrrrch.

Joel looks back to see Gizmo on the counter, nudging Joel’s glass along the surface with a gentle bat of his paw, inching it closer and closer to the edge. “HEY,” Joel whisper-yells, warning the cat, “I fuckin’ dare ya, cat. Watch what happens.” 

Gizmo makes direct eye contact with Joel as he pushes it off, and it lands with that signature, awful sound of broken glass.

“God bless it.” 

Joel stomps over to Gizmo, who frantically jumps down off the counter and skitters off into another room. Joel chases him down and turns on a light, then corners him and grabs his little body. He cradles the squirming, whining cat and inspects all four paws to make sure he didn’t step on any glass, then tosses him back onto the floor, where Gizmo then runs up the stairs and into Joel’s guest room to join you in a peaceful slumber. 

Joel sweeps up the broken glass, defeated. 

December 24

Joel’s off work for both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so finally, he gets to spend some time with you. He’s in his pajamas making eggs and toast for you at the stove, and you’re at the kitchen table, sipping on the orange juice Joel poured for you. “Vitamin C,” he’d said. “S’good for ya.” 

Joel plates your eggs, done just how you like them, and butters your toast. “Here ya are, darlin’,” he murmurs, setting down both yours and his plates at the table. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you smile. Gizmo’s weaving in and out between your feet on the ground. With the side of your fork, you cut off a small bite of your eggs and drop it on the ground, smiling at the way Gizmo darts out to eat it. Joel just watches, completely dumbfounded. 

“You and that cat,” he sighs. “You know, your cat there has been causin’ me all sorts ‘a trouble all week.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” you argue, leaning down to scratch Gizmo between his ears. 

“Well, you should. He’s the fuckin’ devil. Broke a glass last night.” 

“Did not.”

“Did too. An’ he’s been fuckin’ with my tree,” Joel adds.

You roll your eyes. “It’s just a little cat, Joel. Are you being bullied by a tiny little cat?”

“As a matter ‘a fact, yes. I am.” 

You and Joel spend the rest of the day relaxing and watching Christmas episodes of sitcoms together. Joel has you wrap his presents, claiming it’s what you owe him for allowing you and your devil cat to stay. 

In the late afternoon, you and Joel get ready to go to your parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner. Joel wears a dark green flannel and runs a comb through his hair, and you put on a nice dress, one that hugs your curves beautifully. 

You knock twice on his bedroom door. “Joel?”  

“Yeah, kiddo. C’mon in.” 

“Just wondering if you can zip me,” you ask quietly, spinning around for Joel to pull the zipper up your dress. 

“Can do,” he answers. He puts a hand on your waist and tugs the zipper all the way up, then smoothes out the fabric. “Y’look beautiful,” he tells you. “Know that?”

“Joooel,” you murmur bashfully, elongating his name. 

“I mean it,” Joel says, spinning you around and pushing a bit of hair out of your eyes with his pinky finger and smiling at you, which makes you all flustered. Joel clears his throat then, ushering you out of his room and down the stairs. “M’nervous about leavin’ that cat of yours all alone, you know. If we get home from this and that asshole destroyed my fuckin’–”

You squeeze Joel’s arm. “Relax,” you tell him, but your words do little to soothe the man. The whole time at dinner, all Joel can talk with your parents about is how awful Gizmo is. All the trouble he’s caused, and how you think the little bastard can do no wrong. “Your daughter feeds him,” Joel tells your dad, watching your reaction. “Right from her plate.” 

The night comes and goes, much like it always does. Christmas comes so much faster than it ever used to, and it doesn’t last as long. Joel drives you both home and to Joel’s surprise, his house is in one piece. But not the present he got you. 

“Goddamn it,” Joel grumbles, seeing the gift bag he left under his tree for you in shreds. He picked out a little black cat ornament for you, and thought you’d like it. He put some cat treats in the bag too. Go fucking figure that Gizmo ruins it. 

You help Joel clean up the mess of shredded paper and plastic, all the cat treats are, of course, eaten. “Fuckin’ cat’s probably pukin’ in my bed,” Joel gruffs. 

You put your ornament on Joel’s tree and squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re thoughtful,” you tell him. 

Joel smiles with his lips pressed together. He’s so ready for this week to be over. He’ll miss you - god, will he miss you when you’re gone, but he will not miss your asshole fucking cat. “How ‘bout another Christmas movie, hm?”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling. 

“M’takin’ requests. Got any?” Joel opens his entertainment center cabinet to show you his array of DVD’s, the Christmas movies all already set out. 

“This one.” You tap the Bad Santa DVD case. “‘Cause he’s hot.” 

“Who is? Billy Bob Thornton?”

“Mhm,” you nod, smirking. 

Joel makes a disgusted face and gives you a look, but puts the movie in the DVD player anyway. Some of the vulgar jokes make Joel blush, which is uncomfortable for him and entertaining for you. 

When the movie’s over, it’s time to go to bed. For real, too. You and Joel have to be at your parents’ house again in the morning and will likely spend the entire day there, getting no alone time or space from anyone. Joel bids you goodnight and kisses you on the cheek, then heads to the bathroom for a night time shower. He doesn’t wanna fight you for it in the morning. 

Joel keeps only the night light on in the bathroom. He’s exhausted, eyes are dry and stinging with tiredness. He pulls off his t-shirt, unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans and boxers down his legs together, then toes off his socks, yawning as he scratches his balls. In a sleepy haze, Joel gets into the tub and turns on the shower. 

He’s met with that sharp, awful, excruciating pain of claws in his skin, only it’s not in his thighs. Not in his ass. 

His fucking balls. Your cat’s claws are in Joel’s balls, and dragging down his sack. Joel feels like puking as it happens, and at the same time he’s being blasted with cold water as Gizmo panics and scratches his body further. It’s like a cartoon, when two characters fight and it’s just pure chaos - a cloud of screaming and other concerning noises, concerning noises that startle you awake.

“FUUUUUUCK!!” Joel yells, scrambling to get out of the tub. He clutches his scrotum and wraps a towel haphazardly around his waist, feeling dizzy as he bleeds into his palm. “Fuck - y–” 

You fly out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, where Gizmo is clawing at the bottom of the door. “Joel?” you knock frantically. “Joel!”

Joel unlocks the door and Gizmo sprints out, soaking wet and leaving a path of water droplets in his wake. Joel’s white as a fucking ghost. “Joel?”

“H- he-” Joel can’t even get the words out. Still holding his towel in place, Joel checks the palm of his hand and sees a mess of crimson. “Oh my god,” he says with a weakened voice. 

“Joel, what the fuck? What happened?!” 

Joel shakes his head, vision going spotty as he waddles to his bedroom and sits on the bed. You follow him, shutting the door behind you and turning the light on in his room. “Joel.” 

Joel says nothing, only peeks slightly at his crotch. He does his best to protect his modesty with you there but fuck, he’s gonna faint. And unfortunately, you might see more than you should, should that happen.

“Did he scratch you?” Joel only nods, swallowing thickly. “Okay, alright. Where’s your first aid stuff?”

“Bathroom vanity,” Joel chokes out. 

You hurry to the bathroom and grab Joel’s first aid kit, then return quickly to him. 

Joel has a strong stomach, however, the sight of his mangled scrotum is too much for his heart to take. If he looks, he might puke and faint and that’ll make everything worse. “You gotta do it,” he tells you, urgency in his voice. “I can’t look. Cat fuckin’ butchered me. I’m a eunuch.”

“Okay, okay,” you whisper, sitting beside Joel. You take his hand in yours, the one that’s clutching his towel shut. He’s shaking, trembling, and you move it to the side so you can open his towel. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” Joel says. 

“You’re fine,” you reply calmly, though in all honesty you’re pretty nervous too. “I’m gonna open up your towel, okay?”

“Yeah, go ‘head and do it. M’so sorry, kid. Jesus christ,” Joel groans. He leans back so that he’s laying flat on the bed, palms pressed into his eyes as his tummy rises and falls with panicked breaths. 

You open the towel and asses the injuries. 

It’s not bad. 

Really. 

It’s not. But you still wouldn’t trade places with Joel, right now. There’s quite a few scratches here and there, some deeper and longer than others. Nothing a little cleanup and some antibiotic ointment can’t fix. “Okay, Joel. I’m gonna be right back, I need to get a soapy rag.” Joel gives you a weak thumbs up. 

You run the water on warm and lather a clean rag with some soap, then return to Joel to wash the scratches. “Might sting,” you tell him, dragging the rag gently over his sack. You do your best to remain professional or something of the sort, to ignore how Joel’s cock thickens at your touch. His thick thatch of hair spattered around the base of his dick, gray, wiry hairs sprinkled amongst the brown. He’s thicker than you would have guessed, longer too, curved so beautifully. And his thighs - gorgeous, toned. Belly is soft, arms are strong. He’s gorgeous, all laid out like this.

Joel’s…Joel is feeling every emotion. Embarrassment, because his best friend’s daughter is between his thighs and carefully tending to his lacerated balls. Rage, because her fucking shithead cat is the reason he’s in this predicament. Aroused, because he’s only a man, and you’re too fucking pretty for him to not get hard from your touch. 

“Are you doing okay, Joel?” you whisper.  

“Ask me later.” Joel wipes some sweat from his brow. “Sorry about the…my…uh…”

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “Didn’t know you were hung like that, Joel.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid, don’t say shit like that.” 

You stifle your laughter as you toss the rag to the side, the bleeding now stopped. You unscrew the cap of some Neosporin, then squeeze a generous amount onto your fingertip. 

“I’m gonna touch you,” you warn. “Just some Neosporin. Okay?”

Joel nods. “Go for it.” He clears his throat when you touch his shaft, moving it slightly out of the way so you can dab the ointment on his scratches. Fuck, he’s struggling to conceal his moans and his stuttered breathing. 

Gizmo hops on the couch then, and headbutts Joel’s bicep. 

“Get that goddamn cat away from me before I put him through the fuckin’ wall,” Joel seethes. 

You don’t push. You know Joel means business, and Gizmo really did fuck up this time. “Psst, Gizmo. Get down. Leave Joel alone,” you whisper, swatting Gizmo onto the floor. “Gizmo’s really sorry,” you murmur, still rubbing ointment onto Joel’s balls. “He didn’t mean to, Joel. He must’ve thought—”

Joel holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t. Jus’ don’t.”

“Okay,” you whisper. You lift Joel’s ballsack to see if you missed any scratches, but you didn’t. “You’re all done, Joel.”

Joel scoffs, and you stroke his thigh soothingly to calm him. He says nothing, only collects his breathing. His cock is still achingly hard, a pearly, pretty bead of precum at the tip. 

It’s a risk, but you take it anyway. You lean down and press a kiss right against his ballsack, conscious to avoid any scratches inflicted by Gizmo. 

“Woah, woah, woah-”

“Shhh,” you whisper. “Do you want this?”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing.” You kiss Joel’s sack all over as much as you can, and once you’ve exhausted that, you kiss up his hard shaft. “I’m kissing it better.” 

You lick up the length of Joel’s shaft, then circle your tongue a few times around the tip. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, you rest the other on his tummy. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, voice dripping with relief as his hips thrust up, almost as if to chase your mouth. He sits up and reaches for your head, softly dragging his nails over your scalp rhythmically. “You’re a good girl.”

You take his tip into your mouth, working your way down his cock to take him fully inside. Joel tastes salty, sweaty, heady and so masculine, just like you always imagined, and it makes you wet. And you, with your warm and wet and inviting mouth, Joel’s imagination didn’t come close to mimicking this. You bob your head up and down his shaft, bouncing your nose into his pubic hair. 

“Jus’ like that,” Joel grunts. “Attagirl.” 

His words only worsen your growing arousal, and you can feel yourself making a mess of your panties. You fuck Joel’s cock with your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and spitting down his shaft and your knuckles. 

Joel pulls your head away from his cock. “Wait a second,” he tells you. “Wanna look at the mess you’re makin’,” he mumbles, admiring the slick, wet mess of your saliva on his cock. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs, then pushes you back down onto his cock. 

Joel thrusts into your mouth a bit harshly, though maintaining a certain gentleness to it. He ruts into your mouth, grunting your name as you drool on him, just as he pictured before. 

You reach into your skirt and pull your panties to the side, the cotton is all but soaked with your wetness. Dragging a finger up and down your folds, you moan onto Joel’s cock, sending vibrations down his shaft. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, kiddo?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur, pressing kisses against his dick. 

“Sure don’t look like nothin’. C’mere.” Joel pulls you close to him and tugs the zipper of your back down your dress, then helps you out of it. He unclasps your bra and pulls your soaked panties down your legs, clutching them in his fist before shoving them behind his pillow. 

In a swift motion that has you yelping excitedly, Joel flips you on your back, the bed beneath you warm with his body heat. Joel settles between your thighs and pushes your knees back toward your chest. “Yeah, s’it. This what you wanted, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, settling into his pillows. Joel’s hot breath fans over your hot, pulsing sex as he places his large, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs. Fuck, the way you smell has Joel’s head spinning, dizzy with lust. He presses kisses against your inner thighs first, working his way toward your center where he kisses sloppily over your clit. 

“Makin’ a mess of my sheets, y’know that, kid?” Joel teases, admiring the puddle of arousal you’re dripping onto his bed. He feels the heat of your cunt radiating against his face, inviting him in. He squeezes the meat of your thighs as he licks one long stripe up your pussy, then rubs your skin in circles with his thumbs. 

With a flattened tongue, Joel continues licking, rounding your clit before repeating the motion. He memorizes your folds, your taste, your scent. You moan his name and clutch his head against your cunt, your wordless plea for more. 

“I’ll give ya more, sweetheart. I know what you want,” he says, tongue now circling your entrance before dipping inside to taste you. He drags his tongue back up and flicks it up and down over your clit. Urgently, you tug on his graying, dark curls, pleasure blooming in your gut. You’re soaking his face as your climax approaches, thighs twitching beneath his palms. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. 

“Let go, darlin’.”

You’re about to come when -

CRASH

It’s a loud, thundering crash, the sound of broken glass and heavy objects hitting the floor. Joel growls against your pussy and violently punches the bed on either side of you before tearing himself away from your cunt and stomping downstairs with a renewed anger for your cat. 

“I swear to fuckin’ Christ,” he fumes, seeing the mess Gizmo, of course, made. You’re right behind Joel, your jaw dropped in shock. 

Ornaments all over the floor, some shattered and others still in one piece. The Christmas tree is somehow in two pieces - god only knows how gizmo managed to do that. The Christmas lights are strewn all over the place and there’s your precious cat, tangled up in the mess. Joel seethes as he makes his way toward Gizmo to free him of the lights, “You get the fuck outta here,” he hisses. 

“It was an accident!”

Joel turns around, chest heaving with his angry breaths. “Not another fuckin’ word,” he says, grabbing you by the arm and forcing you over the leather recliner. Joel laughs without humor when he sees that it’s been further scratched by Gizmo.

He parts your legs with his foot, then lines up with your slick hole and enters you in one swift thrust, the action both mind-splittingly painful and pleasurable. 

“Joel,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to grab at his thigh as he sets a quick, brutal pace. 

“You are…” he starts, “Never…bringing…that fucking cat…here…ever again,” Joel pants, fucking you with anger. “Do you fucking understand me?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice muffled with your face pressed into the chair. 

Joel draws out of you all the way, admiring your milky arousal glistening on his cock underneath the glow of the ruined Christmas lights. He plunges back in, then fucks you harshly. He draws in and out of you so quickly and steadily, the head of his cock brushing over your g-spot with each of his thrusts. “Fuck,” he grunts, pulling you by your hips onto his cock repeatedly. 

He breathes loudly through his nose, fucking fuming with rage as he uses your cunt to relieve himself of the stress you - yes, you caused him. That cat may be Satan’s spawn but he’s still yours. You are responsible for this.

Pleasure builds quickly in you, and Joel can tell. He leans over you to press his fingers against your clit; he doesn’t even have to move them to make you come. Just the pressure and the motion of his rough fucking is enough to send you over the edge, pussy pulsing and gushing on Joel’s stiff cock, making a mess of him.

Joel pulls you against his chest and bites your ear as he pounds into you, chasing his own orgasm. His balls tighten and his body tenses before release, and then he’s spilling into you, spurting milky white ropes of his hot come inside you. “Fuck, goddamn,” he grunts, fucking himself through his climax. When he’s finished, he pulls out of you unceremoniously, your combined arousal spilling onto the ground. What’s another fucking mess to clean up.

Joel rounds the chair and plops onto the couch, pulling you down with him. You yelp as you fall but he catches you in his strong arms and hugs you close against his body, kissing your forehead and cheeks. “I fuckin’ hate that cat,” he tells you, panting. 

Gizmo mrrps then and jumps onto Joel’s lap with you, walking over both of your bodies to greet Joel specifically, bunting Joel’s face as he purrs. 

“He’s really sorry,” you giggle. 

“Yeah, m’sure.” Joel surprises you both and brings a hand to Gizmo’s face, gently petting his head. “I mean it,” Joel warns. “Never. Again.” 

You hesitated for a heartbeat, then gave him the smallest of nods. That was all he needed. Tommy leaned in slowly, his hand coming up to gently touch your cheek. His lips brushed against yours in a kiss that was tender, yet firm, sealing the 'act' in front of everyone.

The next time you saw Tommy, he surprised you with a jaw-dropping 4-carat ring from Harry Winston, valued at approximately a hundred grand. It was currently sitting pretty on your finger.

As the days passed, you found yourself caught in a web of half-truths and improvisation. Every interaction with his family and friends required you to step deeper into this role. You learned to nod knowingly when they reminisced about supposed shared adventures you never had, and you practiced your responses to the questions that seemed to come up over and over again.

Frank became your confidant regarding the situation. As you and Frank shared a quiet moment at the diner, his eyes flickered up to your new ring, leaning in closer to inspect it. "Wow, that’s one hell of a fucking rock," he said, eyebrows shooting up. "Maybe you should go ahead and marry Tommy for real. Do it for me… so I can live vicariously through you,"

You chuckled nervously, the weight of the situation settling in — you and Tommy decided that, for the time being, you wouldn’t work at the diner as it would raise too many questions. However, you were truthful with Tommy’s family about the start-up going under when they asked what kind of work you did. You two decided to twist the truth saying that getting your MBA was always in the cards, so maybe your layoff was just a 'sign' that it was time to finalize applications.

But Joel… Joel wasn’t having any of it. He seemed skeptical, his questions digging deeper, like he was trying to peel back the layers. What the fuck was the matter with this man?

Jeff, ever the supportive voice, nodded thoughtfully. "I think it's smart to get your MBA," he had said, his tone encouraging. "It'll open up more opportunities for you."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. Jeff’s approval meant a lot, especially given Joel's skepticism. He continued, "Education is never a waste. You'll gain new skills and make connections that can help you in the long run."

It didn’t matter what you said or did around Joel; it was like trying to talk to a damn wall. His responses were always clipped, one-word answers. You could feel the weight of his indifference pressing down on you, an oppressive silence that made you think he knew something you didn’t. You hated how much it bothered you, the way he brushed you off like you were a nuisance. You wanted him to like you, hell even if it was all make-believe. But every time you tried to break through that stoic exterior, to see if there was something—anything—beneath that gruff demeanor… it landed you nowhere.

Then Gloria, with her warm smile, asked if you’d join the family for Christmas Eve and spend the night to open up presents on Christmas Day. She wanted to throw a cozy Christmas party, just for close family and friends. You hesitated, thinking about how you didn’t want the engagement to overshadow the holidays, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it. She gently waved her hand in front of her as if to dismiss your concerns.  "Nonsense mi querida," she insisted. "I’m gaining a daughter-in-law. I want to spend this time with you."

Your life began to take on a rhythm that felt both foreign and oddly comforting. Tommy's parents embraced you with open arms. You loved their traditions, their quirks, and their love for one another. Despite your dislike for Joel, you couldn't help but notice the bond he shared with Tommy. Their easy camaraderie and mutual respect was so effortless. They weren’t just brothers, they were genuinely friends. You felt a pang of envy whenever you watched the Miller family interact because it was a reminder of what you didn’t have with your own family, a stark contrast to the loneliness that had become all too familiar.

Tommy's family filled a void you hadn't realized was so deep, and while you were grateful for their acceptance (except Joel), it also made you acutely aware… that all of this wasn’t real.

xx

A few days later, Sarah approached you at Tommy’s house with an invitation to join her at the next Cowboys game. Tommy was currently in his office making a work call. You nodded enthusiastically, both at the prospect of the game and the chance to spend more time with her. Sadly, you would have to spend time with her asshole father, but Sarah was so genuine, so full of life, that it would make it worthwhile.

As the conversation flowed, Sarah’s demeanor shifted slightly. She leaned in, lowering her voice just a touch, her brow furrowing in concern. "You know, I’ve noticed my dad has been a little… tough on you,"

You didn’t want to pry, but her words opened a door you hadn’t expected. You nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"Honestly, I think it’s because of my parents," she continued. "They divorced when I was little, and it kind of messed up his views on relationships. It’s like… he doesn’t believe in love anymore, you know?" She paused, chewing on her lip, as if she was weighing her words carefully.

You listened intently. "My mom lives in Los Angeles with her new husband now. She remarried earlier this year, and I think that made things even harder for my dad."

Sarah might have been young, but she was clearly perceptive.

"I just wish he could see that love isn’t always a bad thing," she added quietly, glancing down at her shoes. "It can be really good, too. I think he just needs to let someone in, you know? Maybe it’ll be easier for him to do that if he sees how happy you make Uncle Tommy."

You felt a lump in your throat. You were a fucking liar. The ring on your finger felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the bullshit lie you were living.

You forced a smile, but inside, you were reeling. "I’m really excited to go," you admitted. "I can’t believe I’ve lived here for three years and haven’t made it to a game yet! It’s definitely time to change that,"

You never quite understood the obsession with American football. It seemed like just another sport, but the intensity of the fans often left you baffled. That confusion was only cemented one night at Frank's Diner. Two regulars were seated at opposite ends of the counter, each decked out in their respective team's jerseys. The tension was palpable, escalating with each passing moment. Voices were raised, insults hurled, and the situation spiraled out of control when things got physical. The cops were called.

Sarah’s eyes brightened at your response, and you could see a glimmer of relief in her expression. "I’m glad! It’ll be so much fun. I promise the atmosphere is insane—there’s nothing like it," she said, her earlier concern momentarily forgotten.

But then, just as quickly, that excitement fizzled out when Tommy pulled you aside later that evening. "Hey, I just got a call," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I have to go to Austin for the next few days for a business meetin’. I’m real sorry, but I can’t make it to the game tomorrow,"

"What? But Sarah was so excited to have us both there," you responded, trying to mask your disappointment.

"I know, I know," he said, looking genuinely torn. “But this is an important contract. I gotta be there,"

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered his schedule. He scratched the back of his head. "Man, I really wanted to go to that Cowboys game,"

A knot formed in your stomach as he continued. "You should still go, though,"

"Tommy, I don’t know if that’s a great idea. I mean, Joel seems to hate me. Sometimes it feels like he knows,"

"He don't know jack shit, he’s just bein’ Joel,"

"What does that mean?" you pressed, leaning forward slightly.

Tommy sighed deeply, finally meeting your eyes, but his expression was guarded. "Nothin’ sweetheart," he said, with a dismissive shrug, turning away slightly as if to end the conversation.

"You have to give me more than that," you said, crossing your arms defensively.

Tommy sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, my brother can be a real hard ass sometimes. He don’t mean anythin’ by it, I promise. He’ll warm up to you eventually. Just give it time."

"Time? How much time? We’re pretending we’re getting married, Tommy. You’re not going to be around, and I’ll be stuck facing him. What if I mess up? What if he finds out?"

"He won’t find out," Tommy assured you.

You sank into the nearest chair, your thoughts racing. You had agreed to this arrangement out of desperation, but now, the reality of it all was hitting you hard.

xx

Arriving at the stadium, you spotted Sarah standing near the entrance, her face lighting up as she saw you. "You look awesome!" she exclaimed, bouncing on her heels. "Ready?"

You weren’t wearing anything too crazy. Just a fitted Cowboys jersey, paired with dark jeans and boots.

"Absolutely!" you replied, trying to embody the enthusiasm she radiated. But the excitement was short-lived as your eyes drifted toward Joel, who stood a few paces behind Sarah, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. He shot you a quick glance before looking away, and your stomach twisted with unease.

"Hey, Joel," you greeted, forcing a smile despite the knot tightening in your throat. He nodded in acknowledgment, but his demeanor remained distant.

Sarah led the way, weaving through the throngs of fans around you that were decked out in team colors, an ocean of blue and silver. You could hear the distant sounds of cheers and the rhythmic pounding of drums, but your focus was partially on Joel’s silent presence beside you.

"Where in the stands are we sitting?" you asked, genuinely curious as you approached the entrance to the stadium.

He smirked slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Follow me."

With that, he turned and led you both toward a private hallway adorned with team memorabilia and bright banners – the air was thick with the smell of popcorn and hot dogs.

Joel then pushed open a door, revealing a spacious area filled with plush seating, a buffet of snacks, and a bar stocked with drinks. The view from the large glass windows showcased the field below, where players were warming up for the game.

"Welcome to the family’s suite," Joel said.

You blinked, trying to process the information. Of course, they were suite holders. "Wait, what?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "You’re telling me you guys have a suite here? Like, a real suite?"

Sarah giggled beside you, clearly enjoying your astonishment. "Yeah! My dad’s had this for years. We use it for family gatherings, and we get to watch the games in comfort."

Joel stood with his arms still crossed, a smug look on his face as he watched your reaction. "So, looks like you’ll be enjoyin’ the game in style today,"

"This is amazing," you breathed, glancing around the suite, taking in the view of the field.

"Yeah, well… it’s not exactly somethin’ we advertise," Joel replied, his demeanor softening just a fraction.

The door swung open, and a tall man in a crisp suit entered. He had a clipboard tucked under one arm and a friendly yet professional demeanor. "Hey, Joel! Just wanted to check in and see how everything’s going,"

Joel’s lips turned up a little. It was clear he was used to this. People kissing his fucking ass.

Joel straightened up slightly. "Everythin' is good, Sam. Thanks for stoppin’ by,"

Sam glanced around the suite, taking note of the spread of snacks and drinks. "Looks like you’ve got everything you need. Nice to see you getting some family time in,"

As Sam walked away and Joel joined him, you couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation. Joel’s voice was low and measured, punctuated by the occasional nod as Sam spoke.

"It just didn’t hit the numbers we expected, Joel," Sam said, his tone laced with frustration. "The big bosses are breathing down my neck about it. They want to see more engagement from the luxury suite holders. I keep telling them it’s like we’re trying to sell gold-plated bathtubs to people who just want a decent shower."

You couldn’t help but interject, your voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Well, it doesn’t help that the suites are catering to the same ultra-high net worth crowd. That seems like a losing game." You felt like you had overstepped when both men turned their heads to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Exactly! Someone gets it," Sam replied, nodding appreciatively. "It’s frustrating to push for engagement when we’re not offering anything that speaks to the broader audience,"

Joel glanced at you, his arms uncrossing fully now, and for the first time, you caught a glimpse of intrigue in his eyes. "You’ve got a point there," he said, his tone less guarded.

"What if you tailored the suite experience to be more inclusive?" you proposed, looking at Sam. "Instead of just targeting current luxury suite holders, why not create a package that allows groups, like families or friends, to enjoy a game day experience together? Maybe a ‘Family Suite Day’ where you offer discounted rates for groups and include family-friendly amenities?"

Joel’s eyebrows furrowed in thought, and you could see him processing your suggestion. "Interestin'..." he murmured, glancing at Sam, who was nodding along, clearly intrigued.

"You can include things like kid-friendly snacks, activities for children in the suite, and even a meet-and-greet with a player after the game. It would create a memorable experience that encourages people to come back, not just for the luxury but for the connection to the team,"

Sam nodded vigorously, clearly valuing your input. "I love that idea!"

"Maybe focus on experiences rather than just the luxury aspect? Get people into the games, let them feel the atmosphere, and then they’ll see why they should invest in a suite," you suggested, your enthusiasm spilling over.

"You really think we could make that work?" Sam asked, respect coloring his voice.

"Absolutely," you replied, emboldened. "Engagement doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s about creating a community that people want to be a part of."

Before Sam could respond, Sarah tugged at your sleeve. "Come on! Let’s grab some snacks before the game starts!"

You followed her, glancing back at Joel, who was still watching you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Joel couldn't deny that you were interesting—intelligent, even. Really fucking intelligent. Unlike the women Tommy usually brought around, who were often bland and seemed to exist solely for a good time, you had depth.

And he hated admitting… that you were absolutely fucking gorgeous. Really fucking gorgeous. He thought it the first night he met you. It was the first time in a long time that he felt an immediate attraction to a woman. When he found out you were with Tommy, he’d expected the usual: a pretty face with nothing substantial behind it. But you defied that expectation the last few weeks in every way whenever you interacted with his family.

As the game kicked off, the atmosphere in the suite was electric. The excitement of the crowd below seeped through the walls, the roar of cheers and the thud of tackles echoing in your ears. You found yourself caught up in Sarah’s infectious enthusiasm, cheering at the right moments and laughing at the ridiculous antics of fans on the screen. However, you couldn't shake the feeling of Joel's eyes on you, his gaze lingering longer than you anticipated.

During halftime, Sarah left to use the restroom, and the conversation turned back to football, but you felt a palpable shift when Joel leaned closer to you. "So, is that what you did at your old job? Focusin’ on client engagement?" he asked.

"Not exactly," you began, your tone thoughtful. "I was more focused on marketing from an eCommerce perspective, really. Search engine optimization strategies and all that."

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. "SEO, huh?"

"Yup. It’s kind of similar in a way. In both cases, it’s all about converting visitors into loyal customers. You have to create an experience that resonates with them, something that makes them want to come back,"

Joel nodded slowly, his mind working through your words. "So, you’re sayin’ it’s about buildin’ a relationship?"

"Exactly. You can have the best product in the world, but if no one knows about it or feels connected to it, it’s just going to sit there. Just like those luxury suites—if they’re not appealing to a broader audience, they’ll struggle to keep people engaged,"

Joel was a Managing Director at one of the world's largest asset management firms and most people he dealt with wouldn’t have thought that deeply about things, they would only care about the numbers. It was refreshing to hear someone breaking down a complex idea into something relatable and actionable. It was a quality he valued, considering the world he navigated was often filled with superficiality.

"And how do you go bout’ that?" he asked, genuinely intrigued. "What’s the secret sauce?"

"Why do you care?"

"Our family is actually thinkin' of becomin' limited partners. Investin' in private equity funds and buyin' shares in the team,"

Of course they fucking were. Every time you learned something new about the Millers with their investments and partnerships, it was a stark reminder of just how vast their resources were. It was easy to forget the magnitude of their influence and financial power in everyday interactions, but moments like this brought it sharply back into focus.

You leaned back, a cheeky expression crossing your face. "I mean, I’m just a gold-digger, so what would I know?"

Joel felt a flush creeping up his neck as your playful words hung in the air. His mind raced back to the night of the engagement. He hadn’t meant it seriously… or maybe he had, but hearing it come from your lips made it sink in. He hadn’t just been dismissive; he had been an outright ass.

His stomach twisted as he met your gaze, and he could see the way you shrugged it off with a smile, trying to play it off as a joke. Yet, there was something in your eyes—an undercurrent of hurt nestled beneath. His jaw tightened as he wrestled with the uncomfortable truth that he had judged you too quickly, too harshly.

"I’m sorry. That was wrong of me, " he said, his tone suddenly serious. He leaned in closer, the laughter and chatter from the game fading into the background. "I shouldn’t have called you that. It was outta line."

Joel’s heart raced as he watched you process his words. The sincerity in your eyes made him feel uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I understand," you replied softly. You gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "You were just being protective,"

"I’m sorry," he repeated. "I still shouldn’t have tossed that word ‘round,"

"Thanks," you murmured. As your eyes locked onto his, he couldn’t help but notice how perfect they were, and Joel felt a something pooling in his chest. There was no mistaking the intensity in your eyes; they held something that lingered just below the surface.

Get a fucking grip. This is Tommy’s fiancée.

Just then, Sarah bounced back into the room, dragging a plate of snacks behind her, and the moment shifted, and you turned away to face Sarah.

Tommy’s fiancée.

Tommy’s fiancée.

Tommy’s fiancée.

He kept thinking that over and over again as the game continued and the crowd erupted into cheers.

xx

Joel drove Sarah to her friend’s sleepover. The game had ended, and the excitement of the day still buzzed in his veins like a shot of whiskey. But his mind was no longer focused on football or the family suite. It was on you.

"Thanks for taking me, Dad!" Sarah chirped from the backseat, pulling him from his reverie.

"Sure thing, babygirl," he replied, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror.

As Sarah hopped out of the car and told you goodbye, he turned to you. "So, d'you want me to drop you off at Tommy’s or your place?" he asked, keeping it light, though the idea of being alone with you had him on edge. You had Ubered to the stadium, so you had accepted to hop in his truck for a ride home after the game.

"My apartment, please,"

"Alright," he nodded, shifting into gear. The drive was quiet, his mind racing with thoughts of being a terrible person until suddenly, just as he was turning onto your street, the engine sputtered and died, the dashboard lights flickering like a bad horror movie.

"Shit," he muttered, feeling the car jerk to an unceremonious stop. He turned the key in the ignition again, but the engine just groaned in protest. "Well, this is just fuckin’ great."

You looked over at him, concern etching your features. "What happened?"

"Don’t know," he sighed, pushing the door open and stepping out. He popped the hood, hoping to see something obvious. Tommy was better with cars, but he knew enough about cars to get by. Right now, he just felt stumped.

You joined him, peering under the hood. "Let me take a look," you suggested, not waiting for his approval.

"You sure?" he asked, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

"Yeah, I can check it," you replied, leaning in closer, your focus unwavering.

The way you leaned over the engine, your hair falling slightly into your face, made his pulse quicken. He watched you work, transfixed as you inspected the engine. "You know your way round’ a car?"

"My dad’s a mechanic," you said, glancing at him with a shy smile. "He taught me a few things when I was growing up. I used to help him out in the garage,"

He couldn’t help but admire how you started fiddling with a couple of cables. "Just give me a second," you said, your tone focused but casual.

Joel stood beside the truck, momentarily forgetting the car troubles as he watched you work under the hood. The way you leaned in, the fabric of your jeans hugging your ass perfectly, made it hard for him to look away. Jesus fucking Christ. Your jersey, slightly oversized, rode up just enough to reveal a tantalizing sliver of skin at your waist.

Your brow was furrowed in concentration, lips pouting slightly as you focused intently on the task at hand.

Tommy’s fiancée.

Tommy’s fiancée.

Tommy’s fiancée.

"He taught you a few things? I don’t know darlin’. Seems like you’re real good at this," he said, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it.

You laughed softly. "Don’t get used to it. I promise I’m not always this handy,"

"Oh no?" he pressed, unable to hide the interest in his voice.

You shrugged, the corners of your mouth turning up in that teasing way he was starting to recognize.

"Got it!" you exclaimed suddenly, standing upright as you tightened a bolt. "Try starting it again."

He slid back into the driver’s seat. As he turned the key, the engine roared to life, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him. "Hell fuckin’ yeah,"

You beamed at him, that infectious smile lighting up your face. "No big deal," you said, brushing your hands together as you stepped back from the car. "Just a little tweak here and there,"

As the engine purred to life, Joel turned to you, a grin spreading across his face. "I owe you one."

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, even though you felt a flutter in your stomach. What the fuck was that? "It was nothing, really. Just a little troubleshooting,"

You reached into the passenger seat to grab your purse. "Thanks again for the ride Joel," you said and started walking towards your apartment complex.

"Hey, where are you goin’?" Joel called after you, his brow furrowing slightly.

"It’s literally just a two-minute walk from here," you replied casually, waving your hand dismissively. "I’ll be fine,"

He shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. "What kinda man lets a woman walk alone at night?" he asked, stepping out of the truck and moving to catch up with you.

You paused, turning to face him, surprised by his insistence. "It’s really not a big deal, Joel,"

"Doesn’t matter," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "I’ll drive you. It’s dark out, and I’m not just gonna let you walk by yourself,"

"You don’t have to."

"Yeah, I do."

There was something about the way he said it that made you pause. You saw the genuine concern in his eyes, and it softened your resolve. "Okay, fine," you relented, unable to hide a small smile.

"Great," he said, his expression brightening. He gestured for you to get back in the truck. "Let’s go, then."

As you climbed back into the passenger seat, you felt a flutter of excitement at the prospect of spending just a little more time with him. The engine hummed softly as Joel maneuvered the truck back onto the road.

"Tommy said you have a sister?" he said, glancing at you as he drove. "Is she good with cars too?"

After you and Tommy announced your engagement, Gloria and Jeff, naturally wanted to meet your family and suggested flying them out for a celebration. Caught off guard, you had to think quickly. You came up with a story that your family was on a month-long vacation visiting your sister’s husband’s family in Dubai. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Your sister’s husband’s family really had been expats in Dubai, but they had relocated years ago and currently lived about 20 minutes away from your childhood home. You smoothly explained to Tommy’s parents that it would be impossible for your family to cut their trip short and return early.

You scoffed lightly at his question, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Oh, my sister? No, she’s definitely not good with cars. That’s more my territory," you replied, shaking your head. "I was more of the tomboy growing up. Always getting my hands dirty. Meanwhile, she was the pretty one, the one all the boys fawned over."

He let out a chuckle, and his warm breath caused strands of your hair to flutter on your neck. "Am I supposed to believe that you were so hard to look at or somethin’?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Something like that. I mean, I had braces all through high school and was a total nerd. I spent my time buried in textbooks, trying to figure out how to get into a good university. My sister was the spontaneous one, the fun one. She was always out with friends, going to parties, and living for the moment while I was at home studying for exams."

"Sounds like a classic siblin’ dynamic," Joel observed, his gaze still focused on the road ahead.

"Pretty much," you nodded. "She had this effortless charm that drew everyone in. Guys were always tripping over themselves to get her attention. I was just trying to survive high school without embarrassing myself."

His lips twitched with amusement. "I bet you weren’t as awkward as you thought," There was a pause, and you could feel the weight of his words even without him looking directly at you. "In fact," he added softly, "it's pretty clear you grew up to be very beautiful."

You shot him a playful glare, but the sincerity in his tone left you momentarily speechless, and something in your brain short-circuited.

"So, are you and your sister close?"

At his question, you felt a slight tightening in your chest, and you considered your response carefully. "I wish we were closer," you admitted, your voice tinged with a bittersweet edge.

The air in the truck shifted, the easy banter replaced with an uncomfortable silence. Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, awareness dawning in his eyes as he realized he had stumbled onto a sensitive subject. "Oh… I didn’t mean to…" he said, his tone softer now, laced with genuine concern. "If you don’t wanna talk bout’ it—"

"No, it’s okay," you interrupted, grateful for his consideration. You took a deep breath, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your jersey as you gathered your thoughts. "It’s just… complicated."

As he parked, in front of your apartment complex, you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words settle in the small space of the truck. "My parents divorced when I was young, and my sister and I have never really clicked. We’re worlds apart." The words slipped out before you could filter them, and you felt a familiar ache in your chest. "I guess I always thought sisters were supposed to have this strong bond, but for us, it’s just… strained. We’re just… different, you know? It feels like she’s always picking at me—my appearance, my jobs, my relationships. Like I’m some kind of punching bag or something."

Joel nodded slowly. "That sounds rough. Siblings should support one nother’, not tear each other down."

You cleared your throat and twisted to fully face him. "Exactly. I just got tired of it. Every time I think we’re having a moment, she finds a way to undermine me. It’s like she can’t help herself. I don’t know… It just gets to a point where it becomes exhausting,"

His eyes narrowed and you saw his lips curl into a sneer as he shook his head in disapproval. "Sounds like she’s got her own issues to work through,"

As your tirade came to an end, you began to feel a pang of regret. You realized that in your outburst of emotion, you may have burdened Joel and felt guilty for unloading onto him.

"I’m so sorry, that was a lot," you said nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

"Don’t apologize," he said while licking his bottom lip. He had great lips. You wondered if he was a good kisser.

"Joel," you began, hesitating just a moment. "I feel like I’m spilling my guts here. It’s only fair if you share something with me too, right?" You gave him a playful nudge with your elbow, hoping to lighten the mood.

He looked at you trying to hide a sudden contagious grin, a lock of his curly hair flopping over his forehead. "You want me to share somethin' huh?"

"Yeah," you encouraged, leaning in slightly. "It doesn’t have to be anything deep or personal, just something. What’s something you’ve been keeping to yourself?"

Joel sighed, his expression shifting as he seemed to contemplate your request. "My ex-wife… she remarried this year."

Oh… so he was going to go for something deep and personal.

"Yeah, Sarah told me that. That must have been hard for you,"

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. "We got married when we found out she was pregnant with Sarah. We thought we were doin’ the right thing by getting’ hitched,"

You could see the weight of his words sitting heavily on his shoulders.

"What happened after?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed ahead as if searching for answers in the darkness beyond the windshield. "We got divorced when Sarah was bout’ eight. But the thing is, after the divorce, we’d still fall back into bed together a couple of times a year. It made everythin’ confusin' as shit. We were both just… comfortable, I guess? But it just kept draggin’ things out, makin’ it hard to move on."

You gave him a soft smile, one that communicated that he could continue.

"Obviously things stopped when she started datin’ her now husband. But when I went to their wedding earlier this year, it just sorta messed with my head. I don’t have feelings for her anymore, so I’m happy for her, but another part of me just feels… like I wish we could have made it work for Sarah,"

Joel leaned back in his seat, the weight of his confession lingering in the air between you. His eyes remained focused on the steering wheel, but you could see the flicker of emotion crossing his features. "When my ex announced she was movin’ to California… I was terrified. I didn’t wanna lose Sarah, y'know?"

He paused, taking a breath as he gathered his thoughts. "But then, just like that, Sarah told her mom she wanted to stay in Dallas. And I can’t even tell you how relieved I felt. I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for a teenage girl’s stubbornness. I hate admittin’ it, but I was secretly thrilled. I need her here with me. She’s my whole world."

The admission hung in the air. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if Sarah didn’t wanna stay. The thought of her movin’ away, it just… it scared the hell outta me,"

You watched him, your heart aching at the honesty in his words. It was the most talking Joel had ever done. It was clear how much he loved Sarah, how deeply their bond ran. "You’re a great dad, Joel," you said softly, wanting to reassure him. "It’s clear Sarah means everything to you,"

“Thanks,” he grunted out. “I just wanna give her a stable life, y'know? I want her to feel safe and loved,”

You nodded, feeling a deep sense of understanding wash over you. "Well, you’re doing a great job," You bit your lip, hesitating momentarily as you contemplated your next question. "Can I ask you a question?"

He cleared his throat. "Sure,"

"Have you been in any serious relationships since your ex-wife?" you asked, your voice soft yet probing.

Joel’s eyebrows shot up, caught off guard by the unexpected inquiry. He could see the regret wash over you as you fidgeted, clearly wishing you’d chosen a different topic. "I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer," you murmured, your eyes darting around like they were searching for a way out.

He gave you a reassuring smile, one that said you had not crossed any boundaries with your question. "Nah," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Just flings here and there. Nothin’ serious."

It felt strange to share this part of his life, a life that had become so focused on being a father that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be anything more than that. "Nobody worth introducin’ to Sarah in the last few years," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"And why’s that?"

"Well, the last girl I 'dated' hated my facial hair," he replied, deciding to use humor for his response.

"Seriously?" you mock gasped. "Clearly, she was a woman of refined tastes. Beards are hot. It suits you perfectly," you caught yourself saying, and the words hung in the air. Suddenly your eyes widened in realization as you quickly became aware of what you had said.

He raised his eyebrows at you and stroked the scruff around his mouth with his thumb and forefingers. "Oh really?"

The air in the car suddenly got heavier. The realization that you had unintentionally complimented his appearance in a way that may have implied something more than just a friendly observation left you feeling flustered.

Get a fucking grip. This is Tommy’s brother.

A few moments of awkward silence passed as you stared at each other. Your heart rate had slightly picked up, and you looked away while your fingers traced a pattern on the surface of the console.

Tommy’s brother.

Tommy’s brother.

Tommy’s brother.

"Well thanks again for the ride," you said, realizing you two had been talking in his truck for quite some time since he parked.

"Anytime," he said, wearing a panty-dropping smirk as his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long. You thought you caught him staring at your lips. But you quickly dismissed the thought by telling yourself it was just your imagination.

As you stepped out of the truck, you glanced back at him over your shoulder to see him put the car in reverse, his expression suddenly was unreadable – his brown eyes dark and intense.

You waved goodbye to him and walked towards your apartment, the cool night air brushing against your skin, contrasting with the warmth still lingering from the conversation in Joel's truck. Each step felt heavier, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. You fumbled with your keys, the metallic clinking echoing in the quiet hallway, but your mind was elsewhere—lost in the moment you’d just shared.

Once you reached your front door, you leaned back against it, the solid surface grounding you as you collected your thoughts. A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you closed your eyes for a brief moment.

Tommy’s brother.

Tommy’s brother.

Tommy’s brother.

xx

You arrived at Frank's Diner a couple days later, it was bustling with the usual lunchtime crowd, the smell of burgers and fries wafting through the air, but your focus was solely on the conversation you were about to have with Tommy. You spotted him in a booth, a half-eaten plate of fries in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with his phone.

As you slid into the seat across from him, you noticed the tension in his posture. "Hey," you greeted, trying to keep your tone light despite the unease settling in your stomach.

"Hey," he replied, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something off about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

"Everything okay?" you asked, concern lacing your voice. "What’s going on? You said you’d be in Austin,"

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture indicating he was stressed. "Yeah, bout’ that…" He looked around as if checking for eavesdroppers, leaning closer. "I wasn’t in Austin. I was in Dallas,"

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Dallas? But you told me—"

"I know what I told you," he interrupted. "I lied."

You blinked, processing his words. "Why would you lie about that? What’s going on?"

Tommy’s gaze dropped to the table, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the menu. "I was with Maria,"

"Okay and?"

He looked up. "She and I have been workin’ with my trust lawyer and accountants."

"Your trust lawyer?" you echoed.

He took a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the right words. "Turns out, the requirement to access my trust fund ain't just engagement. It’s marriage. My fucking father is bein’ strict bout’ the rules now,"

Your stomach dropped. "Wait, what? So, you can’t access the money,"

He shook his head, frustration etching lines on his forehead. "Nope. The asshole told my lawyers and accountants that he won’t let me access it unless I’m married,"

What the fuck was up with Tommy and his father? Jeff seemed like such a nice man. There had to be more to the story...

You leaned back in your seat, the weight of his words crashing down on you. "So… what does that mean?"

"It means you’re off the hook," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "You don’t have to pretend anymore,"

There was a nagging question gnawing at you. "Why do you need the money from the trust in the first place? You’ve never been honest with me about that, Tommy,"

He hesitated, the tension palpable between you. His eyes darted away, as if he were weighing the consequences of sharing the truth. "I—"

The door to the diner swung open, and the sound of laughter and chatter flooded in, momentarily breaking the tension.

"Tommy?" you pressed, bringing his focus back to you. “Why do you need the money?”

But before he could continue, Frank arrived, interrupting the moment with a cheerful smile. "Hey, you two. What can I get you?"

You exchanged a glance with Tommy, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He raised a hand, signaling he needed a moment. Frank nodded and stepped away, leaving you both in uneasy silence.

"Tommy," you urged. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, his mouth opening as if to finally share his truth. But just as he began to speak, the door chimed again, drawing his attention away from the moment.

In that instant, you felt an overwhelming sense of dread. The air shifted, and you knew—whatever he was about to say would change everything.

And it did… because thirty minutes later you found yourself saying something fucking crazy.

"Let’s get married," you blurted out before you could think better of it. The declaration hung thick in the air, catching both of you off guard.

Tommy’s jaw dropped, "You fuckin’ serious?"

What Tommy had just revealed changed... absolutely everything. You had to help him.

"Yes, let’s get you that fucking money,"

xx

Sorry for the cliffhanger… but considering it’s a mini-series, I can spoil that we find out why Tommy needs the money in the next chapter – and it impacts the entire Miller family. So fair warning, major angst coming up...

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