We're goin' down, Phoenix!

it was always so peaceful like this.

not even the birds outside were awake yet, but you were, and you were awfully content.

until the distinct sound of a rather large pair of boots carried down the hallway and in walked a cowboy you weren't sure would ever cowboy again.

"good morning," he whispered with a half smile. his voice was lower in the mornings, more gravelly, rougher, and his hair was still slightly damp from the wash basin. you tried not to stare too bad, failed, and then finally looked away out of embarrassment when he sat down at the bar.

"you're up early," you hummed quietly.

"you're up earlier."

"bad dreams?" you wondered, looking back to him and meeting his eyes. he held eye contact for a few seconds before shrugging and leaning back in his chair.

"they end when i wake up. yours still going?" he asked.

you snorted, raising your coffee to your lips. "you're a lot this morning."

"you made enough for two," he said, nodding to the kettle still on the stove. "don't act like you weren't prepared."

you set your mug down, considering him for a moment before stepping towards the cabinet and pulling a new one down. you let out a breath as you began filling it, shrugging one shoulder. "habit."

"funny thing about habits."

you turned back around to see him sipping on the mug you'd claimed previously, lips turned up as he swallowed and set it back on the counter. you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small upturn of your lips that mirrored his. "what's that?"

"they're easy to form when someone makes it easy to want 'em."

the eye contact you were left with was too intense for your liking, so you huffed a laugh, pushing off the counter and retrieving some sugar from the tin next to him. "you sweet talk like that in africa?"

"i shoot lions in africa."

"well aren't you versatile."

his gaze was heavy on you again, but you didn't quite mind it as much, looking up at him with a teasing smile as you stirred your coffee. he chuckled softly and it made your heart settle warmly in your chest. "you always this sharp before sunrise?"

"only for you, dutton," you hummed, raising the mug to your lips and peering at him over the rim. when you set it down again he reached out a hand, fingers brushing yours as he switched your mugs back. his hand still rested by yours even when your original cup was back in front of you. "careful there, i might start to think you like me."

"i do like you," he told you simply, leaning forward the slightest bit.

a small smile tugged at your lips, his own rising steadily as he held your gaze. "that's a dangerous game you're playing."

"we've been playing it for far too long," he said. "i'm trying to win it now. be done."

he wasn't trying to impress you with his smile or his words. they were final, decisive.

"and how do you propose you're gonna do that?" you wondered.

"well, i was thinking that we go for a ride later today," he said. "just the two of us. you still remember how to ride?"

"do you?" you laughed, tilting your head at him. "i'm not the one who left the ranch for freaking ever."

"touche," he said with a grin and a shake of his head. "so is that yes to the ride?"

"sure," you agreed. "i'll go on a ride with you. is that all you're doing to win the game?"

"well, i was also thinkin' that at the end of it i'd kiss you," he answered easily, tilting his head. "that alright with you?"

you considered him for a few moments as though you couldn't decide on your answer. "it's not like i've been waiting for you to come home and kiss me since we were eighteen."

"no, not at all," he hummed, standing from his chair and rounding the kitchen island before stopping in front of you. he was almost a whole head taller than you, and your heart couldn't help but jump at the reminder as he shifted even closer. he glanced from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes. "you really waited for me?"

"well, either that or there wasn't a single guy in montana impressed with a girl like me," you answered.

"can't be that, so you must've warned 'em off," he said, a small smile on his lips as he reached out a gentle hand to rest on your waist.

"it helps that you're a bit of a living legend," you told him quietly. "no montanan wanted to mess with spencer dutton - if he ever came back, that was."

"i came back. i came back for you," he told you, brows knitting a bit as his grip on your waist tightened.

"took you longer than i expected," you admitted with a short laugh.

he didn't laugh, the furrow in his brow deepening as he stared at you. "i'm sorry."

"it's alright. i get it. you need more than this ranch," you said with a shrug. "you got to see the world. i'm jealous, to be honest."

"don't be. this place is the world to me," he said. "you're the world to me. sure, traveling was new and different, but i thought about you every day. i missed you."

"then why didn't you come home?" you finally asked, a hand resting on his chest as you met his clear blue eyes.

he broke eye contact, running through the question for a minute before returning to you. "after the war... i didn't think i'd be good for you, or the ranch. i didn't think i was needed. i was... messed up, in a lot of ways. you could do so much better."

"you're it for me, spencer, if you haven't figured that out yet," you reminded, a hand raising to cup his jaw. "i don't know what you think better is, because you're the best there ever could be. you could've always come home."

"i didn't want to disappoint you. and after you stopped writing i just assumed-"

"you weren't answering, spence," you said, knitting your brows. "i thought you didn't want me anymore. i didn't want to guilt you into coming home. i wanted the best for you."

"and you still waited for me?"

"yeah," you breathed out. you cracked a small smile. "because even if it took you fifty years to come home, i know that i'm the best for you."

you both broke into a fit of chuckles, spencer nodding as he relaxed in your touch. "damn right, doll."

you smiled up at him as his thumb ran circles over your hip, shifting slightly closer. "spencer?"

"hm?"

"kiss me," you told him.

he looked between your eyes before a smile broke out on his lips and he moved a hand to cup your cheek. "as you wish, princess."

and then his lips were on yours, as slow and steady as you remembered with the perfect push and pull that came with this sort of familiarity. his hold was firm as he tilted your head to get a better angle, tongue swiping against your bottom lip as you pulled him closer to you.

"damn," you breathed out when you finally pulled away, his forehead resting on yours as your hands slipped down to his chest. he chuckled, dipping down to kiss you again. you sighed into it, gripping his shirt tightly. "i missed you."

"missed you more," he mumbled against you, arm fully wrapping around your waist to tug you to him.

your breathing was heavy when you broke away again. "you're not allowed to leave again."

he smiled gently, hand rising to brush stray hairs behind your ear and press another slow, sweet kiss to your lips. "i'm not planning on it, darlin'."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

Half an hour later after more paperwork you followed him out of the building. A dark truck waited in front of the station.

He walked ahead of you.

He opened the passenger door without a word.

He circled the front of the truck and slid behind the wheel. The engine started low. No music. No small talk.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke.

Then he said "We don't have a safehouse available within immediate distance."

You looked at him fully now. "What does that mean?"

"It means the closest is two states over," he said evenly. "Moving you that far increases exposure."

Your stomach tightened. "So where are we going?"

A small pause.

"You'll be staying with a marshal."

The words sat between you.

"With... a marshal," you repeated carefully.

”Yes.“ he said.

"Am I going to meet them there?"

Another pause.

Then, without looking at you, he said, "You already have."

Silence.

The truck continued down the long stretch of highway, gravel kicking up beneath the tires as he turned onto a narrower road.

"You?" you asked.

"Yes."

”Is that allowed?“ you asked

Kayce nodded.

”If we had another option we’d be taking it.“

A small pause

"And it's safer than rotating you between locations."

That made sense.

"You've done this before?" you asked.

"Yes."

"With photographers?"

A faint flicker of something almost like amusement crossed his face. "No."

A few minutes later a small ranch came into focus.

”That’s your home?“ you asked. You weren’t sure what you had imagined. But this was actually really pretty.

”Yeah.“ he said again.

He took your bag before you were able to and you once again followed him into the wooden house. It looked good, warm, comfortable, like a home.

Stepping inside you saw a woman’s boots next to the entrance.

”Do you live alone?“ you asked looking around the house.

He shook his head

”With my son.“

He carried your bag down the hall as you walked through the house.

"Guest room," he said. "Bathroom's across from it. Door locks from the inside. If you hear anything at night, you wake me."

You nod.

The room was simple. Bed neatly made.

Dresser. A small lamp. The closet is empty.

"Thank you," you said quietly.

He nodded once. "They’ll bring your stuff in the evening."

This time it was your turn to nod, you had talked to a Deputy Skinner earlier about what you needed from your apartment. Clothing, toiletries, your work equipment.

When he left the doorway, you let out a slow breath you didn't realize you were holding.

You stepped back into the hallway.

You didn’t mean to explore.

You just looked.

On the opposite wall of the hallway hang some framed pictures. Kayce in a military uniform, him with a small kid, you assume his son. And picture of a beautiful woman.

”That’s my wife.“ his voice came low. You flinched a little not having heard him coming into the hallway.

You nodded. "She's-"

You stopped yourself.

Is beautiful felt wrong.

Is felt intrusive.

You didn’t know the correct tense.

He saved you from it.

"She passed last year."

The words are simple. Controlled. Practiced.

"I'm sorry," you said softly.

He nodded once.

"Thank you."

The silence stretched again.

"There's food in the fridge. Help yourself. I'II be making calls for a while."

Professional again.

Safer ground.

You nodded.

"Okay."

He hesitated for half a heartbeat.

Then, almost as an afterthought:

"Her name was Monica."

"So," you said carefully. "How should I call

you?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

You shrugged, suddenly very aware of how small you must look standing in his kitchen.

"I mean... you're technically my protection." A pause. "Is it Deputy? Or... sir?"

There was a beat of silence.

And then-

He chuckled.

It was soft. Low. Almost surprised out of him.

You looked up immediately.

It was the first time you've seen him smile like that.

"Sir?" he repeated, amused, shaking his head slightly. "No."

You felt your cheeks warm. "I don't know. I just don't want to be disrespectful."

He turned back to the stove but there was still a hint of that smile in his voice.

"Kayce's fine."

"Okay," you said quietly. "Kayce."

The way his name felt in your mouth surprised you.

He glances at you again just for a second like he noticed it too.

The moment didn’t have time to linger when you heard a car door slam shut outside.

Kayce’s eyes lifted to the window.

”S‘just my son.“ he told you.

A moment later a teenage boy stepped into the house.

He stopped when he saw you.

His expression didn’t change much but he scanned you for a second.

”This is Tate.“ he said, then ”This is Y/n. She’s staying here for bit.“

Tate set his bag down by the wall.

”Okay.“ he said after a moment.

”Hi.“ you offer him

”Hey,“ the teenager nodded back.

”Wash up, dinners almost ready.“ Kayce said.

Dinner is quieter than you expected. Not awkward but just people who aren’t used to each other and now have to spend time together.

Then Tate speaks.

“So what exactly happened?”

You glanced at Kayce out of instinct, not sure how much you’re allowed to say. He just gives a small nod.

“I was taking pictures outside town. I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

Tate’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Something illegal.”

“Yeah.”

“And now they think you saw too much.”

You blinked once, a little surprised.

“Pretty much.”

Tate leaned back slightly in his chair, glancing briefly toward his dad.

“That’s why there’s a patrol truck down the road.”

Kayce gaves a short nod. “Temporary.”

Tate looked back at you.

“Must’ve been bad if Dad brought you here.”

You went to your room quickly after dinner. Not wanting to disturb the family live of your hosts.

Outside the window the land was dark. You couldn’t help but wonder if they already had a clue about who you were, if the men had already found a lead to you.

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

You missed your apartment, your kitchen, your bed. And now you didn’t knew when you would see it again.

A tear escaped your eye.

A sound at the end of the hall, a door closing softly. Normal sounds. There was something strange about knowing that there were other people in the same house as you. Someone you didn’t know but who you’re safety depended on.

That thought should have frightened you more than it did.

When he finds you, you’re standing on the porch of your house, watching the sunrise in the distance, a mug of coffee clasped to your chest. You’re clad in nothing but his plaid shirt and cowboy boots. The tattoo of his name stands stark against your upper thigh, a symbol of your love for him, your commitment.

This thing between the two of you was never meant to have a future.

In the beginning he didn’t see how it could work, you were a deputy in the sheriff’s department and he was a land enforcement agent/cowboy who did some goddamn shady shit. The secrets you kept from one another should have strangled the life out of this thing but instead it had flourished, because there has always been a mutual understanding. He’s got shit he can’t tell you and you’ve got shit you can’t tell him.

“We should talk about it.” He says quietly as he comes to lean against the wooden strut that supports the gable.

You set your coffee cup down on the railing before you turn your attention towards him. His jeans are slung low on his hips, the orange light from the sunrise plays over his bare chest, highlighting the brand that’s seared into his skin.

“I guess I just wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.” You say as you lean against the pillar opposite him.

Ryan wants to tell you it doesn’t have to, that he’ll be true to you out there in Texas but he can’t ask you to wait a year for him, no matter how much he may want it. His fingertips trace over your name, the italic scrawl inked into his inner forearm.

Katalina…

The love of his life.

The woman whose about to become Sheriff of this county.

You can’t go with him and he can’t stay…

“I love you.” He says quietly as he looks out across the landscape. “I will always love you, the distance doesn’t change that.”

“I know.” You say softly as you come to stand beside him. “I keep asking myself what’s one year in the space of a lifetime?” 

“And what’s the answer?” He asks you, the back of his hand brushing lightly against yours.

Your fingers capture his, entwining them and for the first time since this conversation started he allows himself to hope.

“Marry you.” You say, squeezing his hand a little. “So you’ll know you’ll always be mine, wherever you go.”

If that isn’t the most romantic shit he doesn’t know what is.

“Are you asking me that honey?” He murmurs, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he backs you up against the strut. He can feel the heat of your body through the shirt, he wants to unbutton it, take it off, fuck you right here on the porch. “Are you asking me to marry you before I head off to Texas?”

Your fingers lace at the base of his neck, fingertips brushing over the light curls. His hair has gotten a little long this season. He’s been meaning to cut it but he likes the way your fingers feel when you tug it just right.

“I guess I am cowboy.” You whisper against his lips. “So is that a yes or a no?”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

"it'll be fine," you answered, shooting him a smile as you tossed the pasta noodles into the boiling water. "beth's issue is just with that dining room. she ain't got any problems with our dining room - especially since we'll be dining outside tonight."

"i just don't know why you want to host dinner with my family anyways," he said, sighing as he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. you squeezed one of his hands before returning to the zucchini.

"because i can't remember the last time we've had a good dinner, all of us, together. has tate ever had a successful family dinner with them?"

he hummed. "don't think i've ever had one."

"my point exactly. might as well have them over here at our place now that we've redone it and made it all nice, get them out of that huge house and away from that stupid table beth hates, and have a good dinner. your family loves each other, babe, they just cannot have a single good meal. we can try to change that."

"i'm sure dad is thankful you are," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the side of you head as he stood up. "now, do you need help with anything?"

"that chicken needs grilling and you know i ain't gonna do it," you said, laughing as you pointed to the plate of marinated chicken. you beamed at your husband. "thank you, kayce."

he grabbed you around your waist again, pulling you into him as he smiled down at you. he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "sure."

as he walked off, you watched him with a smile and quickly smacked his ass. "you're cute!"

he just laughed, shaking his head and walking out onto the back deck to start up the grill, plate of chicken in hand. "not as cute as you, baby!"

"you guys are gross." you turned to see tate watching you with a grimace and you laughed.

"we do our best. go get changed into something a bit nicer, we've got dinner in a few."

spencer dutton:

"what in the world are you wearing?"

you felt two hands move to grip your hips as a kiss was pressed to your shoulder. you laughed. "what does it look like, spencer? your shorts."

"why? my aunt and uncle will be here any moment," he mumbled, kissing your cheek next.

"i told them 6:30, it's only 6," you defended lamely after glancing at the grandfather clock cara had gifted you for your wedding.

"how about you change and i take over whatever it is you're cooking," he suggested, his last kiss landing on the side of your head.

"well, you've got to wear an apron then. we don't want you getting red sauce on your new pants," you said, turning in his arms and reaching back to untie your half apron. you leaned forward to tie it around his waist, smiling up at him as he laughed lightly. you finished, pulling back and crossing your arms across your chest, admiring your work. "you look cute."

"oh, do i?"

"really cute," you hummed, nodding and moving to press a quick kiss to his lips, "i'll be back. i'll put on that dotted blue dress you like."

"hey, hold on," he said, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into his chest as he smiled down at you. one hand rose to cup your jaw as he captured your lips once more, the kiss slow and sweet as your hands rose to rest on his chest. when he pulled back, he pecked your lips once more, and then was left smiling. "okay. you can do that now."

"don't let it burn," you said sternly, watching him turn back to the sauce that was on the gas stove.

"yes, ma'am."

lee dutton

"you really aren't gonna help me, are you?" you asked as you eyed him, just leaning against the kitchen counter with a stupid grin on his face.

he laughed, shaking his head. "no ma'am. unless you start something on the fire, i'm staying out of the cooking."

"you sure you won't even cut vegetables for me?" you asked with a hopeful smile.

"baby, it ain't my fault you volunteered to make us all dinner when gator is literally paid to do it," he said. "you cut those vegetables yourself."

"lee," you groaned, moving around the island to come to his side, hands instantly wrapping around his waist. "please."

he smiled down at you as he wound his arms around you as well. "no."

"come on!" you whined, leaning your head on his chest. "please."

"no. you got yourself into this, you can get yourself out of it."

"i didn't just volunteer me, i volunteered you too, lee jacob dutton."

"i did not agree to that."

"i'm your wife, you don't need to."

he laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "no thanks, baby."

you pulled back then, eying him for several moments before reaching a hand up to cup his cheek and bring his lips to yours. except you didn't completely, hovering over his mouth as a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. he pulled you closer to him by your hips, leaning in to just take your lips himself, but you pulled back, smile growing as you avoided his attempts.

you finally dragged your hand down his neck to his chest, pushing away from him and walking back to collect your washed vegetables and place them on the cutting board. he stared at you with his mouth fallen open in slight disbelief.

"hey, hey, hey," he said quickly as you began chopping the lettuce. he rounded the counter quickly, coming up behind you to take the knife from you. "i'll do that for you, don't worry."

you slid out of his way happily, hand on his arm as you turned to move back to the potatoes. "aw, thank you cowboy."

you pressed a kiss to his cheek before moving around him to get back to your cooking. he was quick though, grabbing your waist and pulling you back into him, pressing his lips to yours roughly. you held his face in one hand, the other on his bicep as you kissed him deeper.

once you broke away, both catching your breath, you smiled at him. "that's why i don't need your permission to volunteer for things."

ryan:

"hell yeah!" colby whooped as you walked in the bunkhouse, grocery bags in hand. ryan wasn't long behind you, both of y'all laughing at his best friend's reaction.

"you gonna cook us some dinner?" lloyd asked with a smile, taking your bags from you and setting them on the counter.

you offered him a gracious smile before glancing back at colby. "hell yeah i am. what do you boys want?"

"pasta!"

"burgers!"

"steak!"

"tacos!" teeter suggested, after spotting the tortillas peeking out of the bag.

"ooh, i like that idea," you said with a laugh, winking at teeter as she grinned at you. "tacos it is."

"want me browning meat?" ryan asked, moving around you to grab the ground beef. he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek as you turned to answer him, leaving you laughing instead.

"yes, thank you cowboy," you said.

"eww," colby whined.

"don't do that," teeter said, smacking him on the head. "you say that 'bout them an' you ain't gonna get anything from me."

"good," colby mumbled. you turned with raised brows and a laugh.

"there's no way you just said that!" you screeched. teeter whacked him again, lloyd laughing as he sat at the table across from him. "you know what, colby, you're cutting onions!"

"what? no!"

"you have to now, you can't just say that to my teeter girl and not have a punishment," you said, flinging an arm around the pink-haired woman and raising your brows at him. when he moved to protest you continued. "it's either that or i beat your ass."

"and so would i!" ryan chimed in.

"fine," colby groaned, standing and moving to grab a cutting board out.

you kissed teeter's cheek before bouncing off to fry the tortillas, grabbing the pan, canola oil, and corn tortillas and moving to ryan's side, flicking on the stove. as you poured the oil, ryan smiled down at you. he leaned into your side and tapped his boot to yours, catching your attention.

"i like it when you come around the bunkhouse," he told you quietly.

"i like it too," you hummed, smiling up at him. you leaned closer to him, whispering now. "but i like being able to take you home afterwards."

he laughed, a faint redness rising to his cheeks as he glanced away from you. "damn baby. how can i argue with that?"

"you can't," you chirped, laughing at his expression. "ain't you glad you put a ring on it when you did?"

"he's been kicking like a boy, and i've got the skin to show it's a boy. i've always imagined that i'd be a boy mom," you answered with a shrug, leaning into his embrace comfortably. "and we've already got tate. i think it'll be another boy."

and he'd been alright with that. he let you have your dreams of what to name him and how you'd have him and tate match in little cowboy outfits. you even omitted the gender reveal in favor of it being a surprise, but also because you were so certain it was a boy.

but, when that little girl came out, you both were in instant happy tears.

kayce held her first due to some complications during birth, and he suddenly remembered the joy that came with being a father. as he stared down at his baby girl with eyes that matched his, he was flooded with a certain protectiveness that didn't come with tate. this was his little girl - nobody was going to mess with her.

to say she was spoiled by her daddy was an understatement. there wasn't a day that he didn't come home with a new handful of wildflowers, one for each of his girls, and sit on the floor having her explain all her little drawings to him. when tate would mess with her, teasing as a good older brother would, kayce would give him a stern shake of his head, holding her close to his chest as she sniffled.

"she ain't a boy, bud," he told him. "i know she's your sister and you wanna tease her, but you gotta treat her like a lady."

"i just wanna make her laugh," tate defended.

"find another way, okay pal? there's a million ways to make her laugh and only a few to make her cry. let's figure that out, alright?" he said, pulling the boy into his side for a hug. tate looked at his sister, thinking for a moment before making a funny face, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes as he pulled his mouth at a funny angle. she burst into a fit of giggles, kayce high-fiving him as she clambered out of his lap to go play with her older brother.

you had to be the one to teach her to rope and ride, ensuring she had the true makings of a cowgirl because kayce did not want that life for her. he hoped that she wouldn't ever end up with a cowboy. but, once she knew how to ride well enough, he'd take her on long rides with him and tate, explaining the beauties of montana to them both.

he first bought her a dress from a little boutique in town and a matching bow to go with it when she was five, beyond excited to dress her in it and take her out on a daddy daughter date. you took tate on a mommy son date that same night, smiling as you saw your husband and daughter eating ice cream through the store window as tate dragged you to the theater down the street.

kayce stayed protective, but supportive of what she wanted - except for when she started getting cutesy around the newest ranch hand rip had let stick around, a kid called carter. kayce nipped that one in the bud real fast.

he thrived as a father, it was his true calling, with both tate and your little girl. having both felt like his life had equalled out and he ensured they had a close bond as well. kayce isn't a girl dad or a boy dad, he's just a dad, and he loves it.

rip wheeler:

rip would never admit it, but whenever he imagined finding a girl, settling down, and starting a family, it was always filled with daughters. it was easy to assume that he'd want all boys - he was one of the most manly men montana had ever seen. but, with that, he felt a need to have girls to protect, to be strong for.

so when that first baby ended up a girl, he was silently ecstatic.

"baby, it's a girl," he mumbled to you, his smile the widest you'd seen it since your wedding day.

he was so supportive during labor, petting your hair out of your face as you squeezed his hand tightly. when your little girl finally started crying, he took her straight from the doctor and set her on your chest, one hand on your arm and the other on the baby's back.

he watched over the both of y'all carefully. it was obvious to everyone that you were his number one priorities, and if anyone so much as mentioned your names with the wrong tone he was ready to fight.

rip started taking her out on rides as soon as she was able to be strapped to his chest and sit on a horse without crying, which was actually awfully early. you told him it was only because she was his daughter that he was able to do this, but they both loved it. she was an expert rider by the time she was eight years old, and a good roper too.

you had two twin girls after her, both absolutely adored by rip and their older sister. you were able to go on family rides at that point, you and rip with each one of the littles in front of you and your oldest perched behind rip with wide wondering eyes.

"daddy, an eagle!" she cheered, pointing over his shoulder at a bald eagle flying over the trees.

"good eye, baby," rip said, smiling as he high-fived the little girl.

she quickly became his right hand man. even at four years old, she was grabbing him a banana for breakfast before he headed out the door or helping him clean his boots. the older she got, the more responsibility she got, which was fine by her. she was strong and determined and a total daddy's girl.

until she became a brother's girl.

carter showed up when she was seven and she fell in love with him quickly. he was sweet with her, carrying her on his back out to the barn as she helped him shovel stalls the best she could.

rip didn't know how to feel about it until you finally approached him about adopting carter.

"it wouldn't be anything official since neither of y'all have any documentation or anything," you told him, fiddling with your fingers. "but, that boy needs a home. and rip, i really love him, and so does she, and so do you. we've got one extra room and a place at the table. i want him here. you've seen him with our baby girl, he wants to be a part of this family too. please, rip."

and so that was that. after you sat the boy down and told him, he became even more dependable. he was an avid protector of your daughter and rip actually began smiling at the sight of the two of them walking around the ranch.

rip didn't love carter the same way he loved his baby girl, he was always meant to be a girl dad, but he appreciated him nonetheless. the way he was with rip's daughters helped secure him in the little wheeler family, and rip was happy about it.

ryan:

ryan was in no way prepared to be a father. when you told him you were pregnant he about shat himself.

"but we used protection," he said, eyes wide as he paced the bunkhouse.

"well, quite obviously it didn't work," you said. you grabbed his arms. "ryan, hun, it'll be okay. okay? it'll all work out, we'll figure it out."

"i don't have anything for you. i can't do anything for you. i don't have a house for myself, i barely have my own truck, i make enough to live but i don't know how to provide for you," he stressed.

"we'll figure it out," you emphasized again, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly.

and you did. with how long ryan had been working on the yellowstone ranch and how close your family was to the duttons (how you'd met ryan, actually), john gave you space in the main house to take care of you new little girl - heavens knew there was enough room, he barely even noticed you were there. he, himself, was kind of obsessed with the idea of having another pseudo grandchild, and ryan was convinced that was the only reason he worked it all out for y'all.

ryan was a nervous father. he was uber careful, keeping constant eyes on the baby or whoever was holding her. ninety percent of the time, that person was himself. he barely even let colby hold her and he cursed out jimmy when he asked, saying how he wasn't about to let that dumbass, brain-injured, bronco-riding klutz of a rodeo star hold his precious baby girl and drop her on her head just like his parents had done to him, obviously.

everyone had a good laugh about that one.

your little girl wasn't around the horses or cows, or even a damn rope for so much of her life, but what she was around was poker. ryan had her in his lap as they played cards since she was a month old and not sleeping through the night. somehow, impeccably, she went down without a fuss after sitting through a few games of cards with her father and his friends.

when she got a bit older, he taught her all his favorite childhood card games, but she got bored of them. when you first walked in on him explaining poker to her, you about smacked him upside the head, but when you saw her smiling and figuring out the order of the cards you let it slide.

"she'll be cheatin' out the rest of us in no time," ryan said, running a hand over her hair as he smiled up at you.

"whatever you say, cowboy," you sighed, sitting next to her and picking at the chips he'd laid out for her.

for her tenth birthday, he threw her a poker party with the rest of the wranglers, the duttons, tate, and carter, with ibc rootbeers in a cooler to make her feel just as cool as the rest of them. it was the first time she'd played with anyone but her parents, and she was stoked.

she smoked their asses.

they were freaking flabbergasted, even ryan. he pressed a kiss to her head, laughing as he congratulated her. "that's my kid, everybody."

lee dutton:

lee never wanted kids.

he knew it, you knew it, john knew it, hell, the whole family knew it. it was never in his plan.

but, you also weren't in his plan. he'd had a perfectly organized idea of being the forever bachelor of the yellowstone, hitting up bars for quick girls when he wanted a makeout or one night stand or whatever, and then returning to life on the ranch.

well, you showed up, a horse trainer from the sixes, travis wheatley's little sister, and he fell in love so fast he almost tripped over his feet. he rushed into dating you, proposing, and marrying you but no one in montana had any complaints, except for maybe your father, but he was in texas so it didn't matter in the long run. and he also, accidentally, rushed into getting you pregnant, which was not the goal at all.

"i know, and i'm sorry, but i'm keeping it, baby," you'd told him the night he found the test. you held his face in your hands, brows furrowed. "i want this. i hope you can understand that."

"i never wanted kids," he told you, shaking his head and breathing out a deep sigh. "but, uh, with you? with you, i'm not so opposed." he looked up at you, mustering a small, almost scared smile. "hell, we're already here, ain't we? let's fuckin do this thing, baby."

"language, lee," you laughed.

his mind was blown when you gave birth, absolutely scared and amazed out of his mind when the nurse handed over this perfect, slightly messy, bundle of pink blankets screaming bloody murder to him as they cleaned you up.

"holy shit," he muttered, staring down at his daughter with wide eyes.

"language, lee," you groaned, sitting up and reaching out for the baby. he handed her to you immediately, watching the both of you carefully.

his world changed that day.

as soon as you were ready to let her out of the house, he took her everywhere with him, and he was not ashamed about it. the strap-on baby carrier was his best friend as he walked around the house, grabbing her nursing bottles before heading out to the barn. john laughed when he saw him the first time.

"and what the hell are you doing? you can't cowboy with a baby, lee," he told his eldest.

"watch me," was his answer.

you didn't know he was doing all this, only being told that he'd take her out while you got some rest or did whatever you needed to get done. it was nice to have little breaks throughout the day, but you worried if she was hungry. well, until you saw the little bottle holster he'd made himself that he kept strapped to his side.

you almost thought it was ridiculous, but it was the best possible outcome you could've hoped for, so you let him take her out every few days.

that girl was practically a cowboy by the time she was five years old. she knew all the terms, had her own boots, was dressed in the same wranglers and carhartts as her dad and grandpa, and always was begging for a horse. she wasn't allowed quite yet, but lee promised her she'd get one eventually.

he took her out hunting with him basically her whole life, teaching her the sacredness and also the practicality of it. she became obsessed with guns when she was eight, something you became especially worried about. you made him put extra locks on each case and then on the safe, the fear of her getting into them eating you alive. she complained about not being able to get a tag until she was twelve, but you thanked the state for it.

lee, of course, found a workaround where she began shooting bucks as big as the bed of his truck when she was only ten because it was on the dutton property - who was going to know? if she could love him anymore than she already did, she definitely did after that.

you kept it to the one kid, knowing she was all lee could really handle. and you were both happy to have her be the center of your worlds. and as much as some traditional montanans might argue that dutton ranch's succession should be male, anyone who met your daughter knew that that little ten year old was as much a cowboy as anyone on the ranch, following in the large footsteps of her grandpa and father with exactness.

jimmy:

jimmy was ecstatic when he learned you were pregnant, as nervous as it made him too. everything in his life was starting to work out; he'd figured out his dream job - to be a horse trainer, he had a good job, y'all had just gotten married, and he bought his first house right by the sixes.

"this is perfect," he told you, kissing your forehead as he smile widely. "everything is so perfect now, darlin'."

when you learned it was a girl that day at the doctor's office, he was even more ecstatic.

"our little cowgirl," you told him as he pulled you into his side.

"our little cowgirl," he nodded, a certain proud smile on his lips as he thought about what it'd be like raising a little cowgirl as a real cowboy now himself.

now that he had money, and good money too, he let himself go out and buy the baby all sorts of things, from cow printed blankets to little stuffed horses. you laughed when he came home one day with tiny little baby boots.

he put them on her as soon as she'd grown enough to give him the chance. he held her hands as he walked her around the room, the small girl bouncing a bit as she situated in her boots.

"i know they're kinda funny, hun," he hummed to her as she walked with him. "but, they're actually the best sort of shoe. you're gonna love 'em."

his favorite part of the day had always been coming home to you, but it was even better now that he had two people to come home to. and she loved her daddy, babbling with that big baby smile as she crawled to him. he'd always scoop her up into his arms and give her a big kiss on the cheek before walking through the rest of the house to find you.

he told her stories about the yellowstone ranch when he tucked her into bed, her favorite black and white spotted stuffed horse in her arms as she gazed up at him with a smile and big hazel eyes that mirrored his own.

when she got older, you started bringing her down to the arena to show her what exactly her daddy did. at that point, he was on travis' main team of show horse trainers, and he was happy to show off for his wife and little girl. she was always excited to watch him, hanging off the fence with a wide grin as you stood behind her, waving at your husband just as travis yelled at him to get back to work. it was the first time jimmy had ever really talked back to him, yelling not to curse when his daughter was around. travis never did it again and began to show off for the eight year old when she was around too.

she was spunky, way spunkier than jimmy was ready for and sassier than he ever had been. "she gets this from you."

when she went to travis asking for her own horse and better lessons, her brows raised and arms crossed over her chest, jimmy nearly had a heart attack. he dismounted his horse, crossing to his daughter but not making it before travis responded.

"what do i get if i do? horses aren't free, you know."

"a new trainer," she answered, nodding at him firmly. "i've seen y'all do this my whole life. i've rode my whole life. just gimme a shot."

at the ripe age of ten, she'd managed to convince travis wheaton to give her a horse, let her dad teach her, and the opportunity to stay on as she trained. travis laughed when he passed jimmy, shaking his head. "i hate to break it to you, but she ain't your kid, jimmy."

jimmy breathed a sigh of relief before he pulled her up onto his horse, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"you've really got to talk to me about things like that before you just do it," he said. "that's my boss, you know that?"

"he ain't my boss," she laughed, kissing her dad on the cheek.

spencer dutton:

spencer had always wanted kids. and ever since he met you he knew he wanted to have them with you. but, life as a hunter in africa was dangerous enough as it is that you both agreed to wait.

life had other plans.

well, you weren't exactly careful, for one, and for two birth control was iffy, so you should've seen it coming sooner or later. it probably should've been later, but what the hell.

he decided that was the right time to quit being a predator hunter then and did what he could to get you both back to montana, hopefully before you popped. you didn't argue - you wanted to be home when you had your baby too. he took excellent care of you on each ship, each town, and on the train west, ensuring you always had water and foods that didn't make you want to throw up, being a constant pillow for when your body decided it needed a nap, and paying for the most comfortable accommodations the different vessels had.

you didn't know the gender of the baby until after you had her. you were exhausted, but spencer had been right by your side the whole way through, smoothing your hair back and cooling you down with a wet cloth as cara coached you through it.

the look on his face when cara exclaimed it was a girl was one you would never forget; a mixture between love, adoration, and excitement, and fear, protectiveness, and anxiety.

he coddled that baby girl. every night, he spent hours cooing to her as he rocked in the rocking chair his father had built when he was just a baby. he told her stories about cowboying and africa, sang her lullabies cara used to sing to him, and never missed an opportunity to kiss her sweet chubby cheeks.

"you're so good with her," you mumbled to him one night as you sat on his lap in the chair, head tucked into his neck as he held you in one arm and the baby in the other. "how do you do it?"

"i don't know," he whispered, glancing at you with a gentle smile before you both returned your gazes to your daughter. "loving her comes as easily to me as loving you. it's as natural as anything i've ever felt."

"so it's just instinct that helps you calm her in any situation?" you asked.

"well, i can't calm her in every situation," he said with a quiet chuckle. "you've got the only solution sometimes. but, yeah. i guess in other ways it is."

then things got worse with whitfield and the ranch. she was older then, about six, and spencer made sure she knew to never go anywhere alone, to scream for help if she ever saw anyone she didn't know on the ranch (because she knew and adored literally every cowboy working for jacob), and to run. fast.

and she was fast. like, surprisingly fast. she took great pleasure in challenging spencer and jack and jacob to races. spencer and jack always pretended to let her win, and so did jacob, but after he got shot she actually did start to win. when he was told to walk around to get better, she thought she would be encouraging by walking right by his side a little faster than he was able to. it did actually get him moving quicker, but cara was constantly rolling her eyes as she did it.

when she got older, of course spencer taught her how to shoot and hunt.

"this is what daddy did before you were born, princess," he told her as he helped her line up the sight to the target.

"kill things?" she asked, raising her brows. you laughed as you sat to the side, watching in amusement.

he cleared his throat, his brows furrowing a bit. "well, i mean, yes, but i was protecting people from animals that wanted to hurt them. and other times getting food for the family."

"so, do i have to get food for the family now?" she asked, looking down at the gun. he laughed.

"you don't have to, no," he reassured. "i just wanted to show you. it's something i love to do, and something to protect you. that's why mama knows."

"mama knows?"

"yes, i do, baby," you chimed in with a smile. "he showed me back when we were just teenagers. he's a lot better than me though, so you listen to him."

"can we shoot something real next time?" she asked, glancing back at spencer.

"maybe not next time, but when you get enough practice in then yeah," he answered.

"when is that?"

she had a lot of questions. and she always asked them. but, spencer was as even kiln as ever, so patient when he responded to her and made sure her curious little mind found the answers it needed.

but, whenever you thought of spencer as a father, there was always one night that came to mind. she was probably four and it was way past her bedtime. y'all had put her to sleep maybe ten times before she finally stayed in her room and you left to hopefully get some rest.

except spencer turned on the radio. you'd just gotten it the day before and were so excited about it and when he flicked it on, some slow, country tune was playing through it. he took you in his arms then, holding you close to his chest with his lips on your temple, swaying you both gentle along to the tune.

you were smiling the whole time, letting him twirl you once before bringing you in close again. only a few minutes into your impromptu slow dancing, your door was pushed open and in walked your toddler.

there was no shouting or frustrated demand for her to go back to sleep, even though that was very tempting given your last hundred tries to have her do just that. instead, spencer pressed a kiss to your head and twirled you out of his arms as he moved to scoop her up instead. he held her up with one arm, his other holding her hand as he spun slowly in circles.

"if i let you dance with mommy and me will you stay in bed?" he said, raising his brows as he met the eyes that matched his. she giggled, nodding as he kissed her cheek. "okay, then let's dance baby."

you leaned up against the bed frame, watching them with crossed arms and a smile as the music played through the small radio. he met your eyes and his smile grew, slowly spinning his way over to you. releasing your daughter's hand, he took yours instead and pulled you in close. his hand moved to your waist and soon you had your arms wrapped around him and your baby girl as he held her between you, swaying slowly.

as the song ended, he twirled you and then spun himself to earn a giggle from the toddler before setting her down and taking her small hand to give her a twirl as well.

your heart was so full in that moment. when he returned from tucking her in for the (hopefully) last time, you kissed him slowly, pulling away with a soft smile.

"you're a good dad, spencer," you told him. he shrugged, pulling you back in to hold you in a gentle embrace.

"you're a good mom. you make it easy for me."

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thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you

The Montana wind, crisp and biting even in late spring, carried the familiar scent of pine and horse sweat across the Yellowstone ranch. Y/n stood on the porch of the smaller cabin Kayce had moved them into, watching Tate chase a stray chicken, his laughter bright against the vast, rugged landscape. She smiled, a genuine, if fleeting, curve of her lips. Tate was her world, her reason for breathing, for enduring.

A heavy sigh escaped her, not out of complaint, but out of weariness that had settled deep in her bones. Teen love had blossomed quickly into responsibility, a shotgun wedding of sorts, not by force, but by the undeniable proof of a tiny heartbeat. Kayce had stepped up, as a Dutton would. He was a good father, a loyal man, but the spark that had ignited their youth had long since dwindled to embers, often choked by the smoke of duty and unspoken resentments.

From the bunkhouse, Ryan leaned against the weathered fence, a coil of rope in his hand, idly watching the scene. His eyes, usually sharp and focused on the cattle, lingered on Y/n. He saw the subtle slump of her shoulders, the way her gaze often drifted to the horizon, as if searching for something just beyond her reach. He saw the genuine smiles she reserved for Tate, and the polite, almost practiced ones she offered Kayce.

It had been years since he’d first come to the Yellowstone, a wide-eyed recruit. He’d seen Kayce and Y/n from the start. Their fierce, young love had been undeniable then. But time, and the Dutton life, had a way of wearing things down. He observed Kayce, perpetually burdened by the ranch, by John, by his own internal wars. He rarely saw him truly see Y/n anymore. No casual touch to her back as he passed, no lingering glance, no pulling out her chair at the dinner table in the main house, where Y/n often sat feeling like a guest in her own life, while Kayce was deep in conversation with his father.

Ryan knew. He knew because he watched. He saw her at the dinner table, an empty chair beside her, while Kayce was on the phone, or talking business with Rip and Lloyd. He saw the way she’d carry Tate’s sleeping form to bed, her movements quiet and practiced, while Kayce was still out in the dark, tending to a calf or fixing a fence. He saw the way her eyes would glisten sometimes when she thought no one was looking, a private battle waged behind a stoic facade.

One afternoon, Tate tripped over a rock near the barn, scraping his knee. He let out a wail that brought Y/n running from the cabin. Kayce was nowhere in sight, likely already out on horseback. Ryan, who had been oiling a saddle nearby, dropped his tools and was there in an instant.

"Whoa there, little man," Ryan said, kneeling beside Tate. "Just a little booboo." He pulled a clean bandana from his pocket, dampening it with water from a nearby trough, and gently wiped the dirt from Tate’s knee.

Y/n arrived, her breath hitched, then softened as she saw Ryan already tending to her son. "Oh, Tate," she murmured, her hand instinctively going to her boy's hair. "Thank you, Ryan."

Their eyes met over Tate's head. Ryan’s gaze was steady, warm, and something else – understanding. It was a look that felt like a quiet invitation, a question without words. Y/n felt a familiar flush creep up her neck. She’d always appreciated Ryan’s quiet dependability. He didn’t grandstand, didn’t demand attention. He just was.

"No problem," Ryan said, carefully tying the bandana around Tate's knee. "He's a tough one, just like his mama." He offered Y/n a small, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

Later that week, a harsh cold front swept through. The cattle needed extra attention. Kayce, already stretched thin, seemed even more distant. Y/n found herself alone with Tate more often, his boundless energy a stark contrast to her internal weariness. She was trying to fix a broken latch on the chicken coop, her fingers numb with cold, when Ryan appeared.

"Need a hand with that?" he asked, his voice low, not startling her.

"Kayce said he’d get to it," she replied, her breath misting in the air. "But... well, he’s busy."

"He usually is," Ryan said, a hint of something unreadable in his tone. He took the tools from her unresisting hand. His large, calloused fingers worked with practiced ease, quickly repairing the latch. "He's a good man, Kayce. Loyal to the brand." He paused, not looking at her, his voice soft. "But loyalty can take a lot out of a person."

Y/n watched him, the careful way he tightened the screws, the strong line of his back. "That it can," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

He finished, testing the latch. "There you go. Should hold." He turned to her then, his eyes searching hers. "You still wearing that ring on your finger, Y/n," he began, his voice dropping, "but every time I see you, you look like you're about to cry."

Her breath hitched. No one had ever said it out loud. No one had seen it. She looked away, her cheeks burning. "I'm fine, Ryan."

"Are you?" he pressed gently, taking a step closer. The wind whipped her hair across her face, and he instinctively reached out, tucking a strand behind her ear. His touch was brief, electric. "Because I don't think you are. And I don't think he sees it. Or maybe he just doesn't know what to do about it."

She finally looked at him, her eyes wide, vulnerable. "What are you saying, Ryan?"

He took another deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs. "I'm saying... you deserve more. You deserve someone who sees you, Y/n. Someone who puts his hand on your back, who pulls out your chair, who looks at you like you hung the moon, not like you're another item on his to-do list." He paused, his gaze intense. "Someone who comes home to you, not just the ranch."

Y/n's heart hammered against her ribs. It was as if he’d peeled back layers she’d carefully constructed, exposing a raw, aching truth. Every word he spoke resonated with the quiet yearnings she’d suppressed for years. She thought of the empty nights, the polite conversations, the sense of drifting further and further apart from the man she’d once loved with such fierce abandon.

"Kayce and I... we have Tate," she said, her voice barely a whisper, clutching at the most obvious reason.

"I know," Ryan said, his voice softening, "and he's a lucky boy to have you as his mama. But what about you, Y/n? What about what you deserve?" He took another step, closing the small distance between them. "I see you at home, Y/n, with the kids, while he's out with the boys, or with John, or on the phone. And maybe that's his life. But it doesn't have to be yours."

He reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold. "I know this ain't my place, Y/n. And Kayce's my friend. But I can't stand to watch you like this anymore. Before y'all go too far... before more years slip by... break up with him."

The words hung in the air, bold and dangerous, yet simultaneously freeing. Y/n stared into his eyes, seeing not just longing, but deep, unwavering conviction. He believed it, truly. And in that moment, seeing herself reflected in his gaze – a woman deserving of more than quiet resignation – she started to believe it too.

Later that evening, the bunkhouse was loud with laughter and card games. Ryan, sitting at a corner table, pretended to be engrossed in a hand of poker, but his mind was replaying Y/n’s startled eyes, the flush on her cheeks, the way she hadn’t immediately pulled away.

Y/n walked back to her cabin, the cold wind feeling less biting now, replaced by a tumultuous warmth in her chest. She found Kayce already asleep, sprawled on their bed, boots still on the floor, the TV flickering silently. He looked tired, worn out from the day's demands. A pang of something – not love, but a familiar ache of responsibility – hit her.

She looked at the ring on her finger, the simple gold band that symbolized a life she’d built, a family she cherished. But Ryan’s words echoed in her mind: Every time I see you, you look like you're about to cry. You deserve more.

She walked to the window, gazing out at the vast, silent ranch, illuminated by the cold moonlight. It was a beautiful, brutal place that demanded everything and gave little back without a fight. She had fought for this life, for Tate, for Kayce. But somewhere along the way, she had stopped fighting for herself.

A new kind of resolve began to settle in her heart. She wasn't an accessory to Kayce's life, or a relic of a past love. She was Y/n. And Ryan, in his quiet, understated way, had reminded her of that. He had seen the empty chair beside her, and he wanted to fill it, not just with his presence, but with a love that truly saw her.

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the earth damp and the air thick with the scent of wet grass and fresh mud. You sat on the edge of the porch, wrapped in one of Ryan’s old jackets, the fabric still warm from his body heat. The day had been long—too long—and exhaustion weighed heavy in your bones.

Ryan leaned against one of the wooden beams, arms crossed over his chest, watching you carefully. The way his brows knitted together told you he was worried, though he was trying to play it off like he wasn’t.

“Do you feel any better?” he finally asked, his voice low, gentle.

You exhaled, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. “A little.”

Ryan didn’t look convinced. He pushed off the beam and stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the porch floor. “That’s not an answer.”

You gave him a weak smile, glancing up at him. “It’s the best one I’ve got right now.”

He huffed a small laugh, but the concern didn’t leave his face. Instead, he sat down beside you, his knee brushing against yours. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

You sighed, tilting your head back, staring up at the dark sky. “I just… I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Ryan’s jaw tensed, and he reached over, taking your hand in his. His grip was firm, steady, grounding. “Darlin’, you don’t drag me anywhere. If you’re goin’ through somethin’, then I’m goin’ through it with you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, at the sheer certainty in them. You glanced down at your joined hands, tracing the callouses on his fingers with your thumb. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I do.” Ryan’s voice was softer now, more serious. “Because I care about you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, nodding. “I know.”

He squeezed your hand gently, then pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Then let me take care of you, just for a little while.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself lean into him, letting yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

The night stretched on, the quiet settling around you like a blanket. Ryan stayed by your side, his fingers still intertwined with yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. After a few moments, he spoke again, his voice softer than before.

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” he asked. “Or do I gotta guess?”

You sighed, debating whether to say anything at all. But the way Ryan looked at you—patient, steady, like he had all the time in the world—made the words slip past your lips before you could stop them. “It’s just… everything. The weight of it. Some days it’s like I’m barely keeping my head above water.”

Ryan was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “I get that.”

You turned to him, surprised. “You do?”

He let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Darlin’, I might not know exactly what’s on your mind, but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying too much. And I know that tryin’ to do it alone? It don’t work.”

You swallowed, staring down at your lap. “I just don’t wanna be a burden.”

Ryan sighed and shook his head. “You ain't a burden. Not to me. Never.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek before you could stop it, and before you knew it, Ryan was pulling you closer, wrapping both arms around you. He didn’t say anything else—he just held you, let you sink into him, let you feel like, for once, you didn’t have to be strong.

After a while, when your breathing had evened out and the exhaustion had truly settled in, Ryan pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get inside. I’ll make some tea or somethin’.”

You chuckled against his chest. “You make tea?”

He grinned. “Not very good at it, but I’ll try if it’ll make you feel better.”

You let out a small laugh, and for the first time that night, you felt lighter. Because Ryan was right—you didn’t have to carry everything alone. Not when he was there to share the weight.

Fall was in full swing, and you were running into town for some errands. Nothing too crazy, just going in with the goal to make some pumpkin pie for the Abbott family barbeque that was coming up. Sometime in high school, you perfected your family’s recipe for pumpkin pie, and you knew Cecilia Abbott wouldn’t mind you bringing it over, since Royal still nags her about making the same kind of pie, down to the exact ingredients and measurements, each year. Rhett made it a point to mention this to you. 

Fall in Wabang was almost perfect, the trees were golden brown and orange, the grass was dry, the wind was never sharp like it was in the winter, and pumpkins lined the outside of every ma and pop shop. You were at a local grocery store, one that only sold homemade honey and knitted scarves. It gave the vibe of those tiny stores inside of a cracker barrel, but less corporate, more brick and mortar. 

You had this white sweater, the same one you used to go shooting with Rhett, an event that plagued your mind ever since it happened. However, with mom jeans now, pinned and rolled at the bottom with some vintage clip on earrings your mother gifted you. Flannel overcoat, even if it made you overheat just a bit. 

You were focused on ingredients, but all your mind let you focus on was Rhett. Rhett Abbott and his stupid smug smile and way of doing things for you that you didn’t need to ask for. He’s a friend, right? A friend that feels nice against your body, a friend whose touch lingers in the dark corners of your mind, a friend who makes it impossible to focus at the store. You hated that you felt this way because it was Rhett, the same kid who once put gum in your hair as a prank in grade school. He farted in your face once, at a family party, when he was six. He was a funny looking kid, and now, his handsome face follows you when you least expect it. 

It made you frustrated. 

You were backing into one of the aisles, the smell of pumpkin and coffee filling your nostrils. You could go for one, even if it was getting late, and the sun was starting to set. Find the nutmeg, find the nutmeg and stop thinking about how your sweater still faintly smells of gun powder. 

You feel your basket bump into something, and your eyes lifted to find a tall man, who didn’t even notice you running into him. You look down sheepishly. “Oh, so sorry-” your voice came out a bit strained. How could it not? With urgency and need lacing everything you do, trying to make the best pumpkin pie to impress the Abbotts as if they were your future in-laws. But the man, in a leather jacket and a blue flannel, doesn’t look up until he hears your voice. 

It's Gator. His deer-like eyes light up almost instantly as a small smile comes across his face. “Oh, hey.” he said softly. “Didn’t think I'd find you here.” 

You blush in embarrassment. “Hi!” you almost say out of breath. “So sorry for bumping into you-” “-don’t apologize, what’re you doing here? Thought this place was empty.” he’s light hearted, and it disarms you in a gentle way. “I-uh.” you hold up your basket. “Waited too long to make a pumpkin pie, now I'm rushing. What about you?” 

Gator holds up some handmade soap. “Senstive skin.” patchouli scented, almost an unexpected scent to come from someone like Gator. “I got some mild Eczema and if I use any of the store bought shit, it makes me break out real bad. Haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, everything okay?” 

You nod, the last thing you wanted to tell him was that your mind was preoccupied with flashes of Rhett Abbott. So you told him a white lie. “Work’s just been crazy, they put a new student in my class and he needs a lot of outside help. IOP plan and all, tried tutoring him after school but haven’t been successful. I suck at fractions.” you explained. 

Gator chuckles a little. “Makes sense. Say um, when do you need this pumpkin pie done by? Are we talking you’re baking tonight or…?” 

You shake your head. “It’s for this weekend, I got invited to the Abbott family barbeque. Royal really likes my pies, it isn’t too terribly long of a process but I don’t have time to shop for everything tomorrow. Then next week, I got tickets to go see the Rocky Horror shadowcast over in Casper-” this made Gator’s eyes widen, as a smirk tugged on his lips. “I remember you liking that in high school, guess something's never change.” 

You blush, you didn’t remember him ever knowing about that. But you guessed being in a small town, liking something as campy as Rocky, with everyone being so conservative, might’ve turned some heads. Gator grabs your basket. “Let me buy you a drink, we’ll be quick. Horseshoe is just down the street.” he offers. 

You nod, because it’s Gator Tillman, and the way he looks at you and remembers things about you still made that schoolgirl crush you had on him back then seem fresh. “Okay, let me just pay for these-” 

“-nah, I got it.” he smiles, signaling you to walk with him to the register. You knew better than to fight back, but you did anyway. “Are you sure? I can pay for these.” 

You both reach the register, Gator sets the basket down and glances over at you before pulling out a twenty dollar bill. “You work too hard, Y/N, trust me, I got you. Consider this part of the drink we’re getting.” he places the twenty down on the counter as the woman at the register rings up both of their items, before placing them in a single paper bag. “Besides, you’re gonna need that money to get enough gas just to reach Abbott ranch,” he jokes. 

The woman hands the bag to Gator as he thanks her, before walking out with you to the street. The silence between the two of you feels steady, but ready to break whenever one of you decides to be brave enough to do so. Gator glances over at you, trying to stay warm as a cool breeze pulls your hair back. “Other than work, how have you been?” he asked. 

“Honestly? Just stressed.” your feet hit the brick under you, causing your footsteps to echo slightly. “Rhett’s been driving me up the wall about the barbeque, students have me pulling my hair out, mama is always asking me to run out and do things, I’m starting to think she only wanted me back home so I can do her bidding.” You smile up at him. “And you?”

Gator sucks his breath through his teeth and sighs. “One of my deputies just lost his dad, hasn’t been acting right, might suspend him. Not out of like, malice or anything, but he needs a break. Working himself to the bone and is on the verge of a crash out. That’s coming from a retired one. Retired crash out, that is.” he smiles to himself. 

A wavering sense of nostalgia flows into you, memories of your life back in the Twin Cities flash before you had a moment to process what it meant. Deep down, you knew it meant something more than something Gator said in passing. You nod your head. “Yeah, sounds about right.” you said softly. “Sometimes, I feel like I'm finally fitting in here, doing all of these things to think things are nice, and calm. But things are never that simple, are they?” 

Gator shakes his head as you both approach the bar, he opens the door for you. “Hell nah.” 

You enter the bar, the smell of cigarettes hits you like a bus, and all you want is to bum one off of someone. Gator stands next to you, and all eyes are on him. It almost feels like the music stops, like there was a record scratch, something out of a movie. Gator signals you to a high top table, setting the paper bag down next to you. “What do you wanna drink?” 

You ponder for a moment, almost wanting to say a whiskey sour, before settling on something a little more you. “Vodka cranberry.” 

He clicks his tongue, nodding, not even questioning your choice of drink, before going to the bar. It’s different. It’s different compared to Rhett ordering whatever he wants to drink and letting you have it. It’s not that Rhett doesn’t care, he just doesn’t notice how inconsiderate it can come across. You tried to order that drink last time, but Rhett accused you, jokingly, of still being juvenile. ‘Drink like that only belongs at house parties, bunny.’ or something along the lines of that. This change of pace was different. It felt…nice. 

Gator comes back with a beer and your drink, softly setting it next to you before he hops on the bar stool across from you. A sigh leaves him. “It’s not that he’s a bad cop, you can just tell he’s about to crack. I can’t have that on my conscience.” he finishes what he was talking about, taking a sip from his beer as his eyes study you. 

You shrug. “I’d argue there’s no such thing as a good cop.”

He smirks. “Touche.” he sets his drink down. “I dunno, this sheriff shit, I don’t think I’m cut out for it, y’know? It doesn’t feel right, or earned, at least.” 

You knitted your eyebrows together. “What makes you say that?” 

Gator stares at you for a moment, pursing his lips and leaning over the table. “I mean, everyone knows I’m not good at this. Hell, I know I’m not good at this. Doesn’t really sound like something I wanna do, just something I settled with. I don’t wanna live my life settling for things.” he expresses. “Especially settling for being a cop. I was supposed to play baseball. Now, I just do paper work and stop people from speeding. It isn’t exciting. And I’m tired because…y’know, Rhett said it best, joking about teaching the kids acab. I don’t even disagree with him. Most if not all the people I work with are bastards.” 

You nod, understanding completely. “You don’t gotta be like them.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to be associated with that. If I’m gonna be a bastard, it’s not going to be tied in with something like being a cop. Rather be a bastard because I am one, not because I’m a cop. I see the shit that goes on in other places, and…I don’t want to do that.” he looks down. “I’ve been thinking of leaving, working as a private investigator, cause i like solving stuff, helping others, but don’t feel ready enough to do that yet.” 

You take a sip from your drink, the bitter taste of vodka is somewhat comforting. “I get it, I do…” you stare down at the table, but your head snaps over to him. “It’s nice that you care, you seem to really care, a lot more than you did when we were in school. But don’t beat yourself up over something you can’t change.” you straighten up. “You can still do a lot of good until you’re ready to be a private investigator.” but then a laugh slips out. “Private investigator”

Gator cracks a smile. “Damn, I knew that was too obvious of a name choice.” 

Laughs keep coming out of you. “I’m just saying, it’s almost kismet. I think…” you pause, trying to find the words. “You'd do a lot of good no matter what you decide to do.”

Gator stares into your eyes, you’ve never seen him be this open, so much time has passed since you’ve actually sat down and heard him. In high school, he was always chasing something, never this, so to hear this now felt mature, quietly reflective, questioning everything as we were meant to do. “You think so?” 

You blushed, you can’t help but feel your heartbeat thump in your chest almost irregularly. You nodded, but there was a sense of something else. Something you haven't told anyone but your mom. That feeling from earlier, about Minneapolis, started to burst through the seams of your mind. You took another sip from your drink before your eyes fell on him again. “Can I tell you something?”

Gator looks taken aback, he clears his throat, snapping out of that moment with you as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

You sigh, shifting in your seat slightly. You didn’t know if you were ready to tell him why you really left Minneapolis, yet, you couldn’t help yourself. Watching him go through the same thing you went through. A small exhale left you as you began speaking. “I worked for this marketing agency in the twin cities. It was a good job, people liked me there, so much that I got this big promotion. It was my dream position, something I worked hard for. I thought I was ready, that I could grab the bull by the horns and do the thing I thought I was meant to do.”

Gator’s expression shifted as he listened intently, you continued. “The first three weeks, I planned everything, I thought I had it under control. But the to-do list grew longer and longer. I was at the office more than I was at home. I slept there, ate from the vending machine, showered in the gym downstairs, I was still functioning, still useful. That list never got shorter. So I started skipping meals, not showering, wearing the same things, never doing my makeup. Started...feeling lost, detached, overwhelmed. Six months in, I…became severely depressed. The worst part is that the work never stopped, the deadlines never stopped rolling. I was making so much but never had time to spend any of it. No time to go out. See family. Do anything.”

Gator’s eyes softened, his hand slowly wanting to snake over to yours, but it just rested next to yours. “The company I worked for, they started this wellness initiative. All the employees under me got to take an hour break, got a subscription to this meditation app, free water bottles and yoga mats and stress balls. I was subsidizing stress balls to Mr. Shrink. One day, I was wrapping up a meeting, and I found out that those wellness workshops were mandatory. But I had no time to even participate. I asked about it and someone said “oh, we’ll send you the slides so you can see it in your free time!” and…I lost it. I started laughing, then I started crying, then yelling, and then I kicked a chair to the ground, and threw a smoothie at a window. I was quietly let go after that…said I wasn’t a good fit.” 

Gator stays quiet for a minute, nodding his head,

 but you couldn’t even look him in the eye towards the end of your story. All the shame came back, you found yourself wondering why you even wanted to tell him this in the first place. Then Gator speaks up. “Fuck them.” 

You glared up at him. “What?” 

“Fuck them.” Gator repeats, sipping on his beer. “They pushed you to that point, you were just trying to stay afloat. You didn’t fail.” 

“It was humiliating.” you said, almost defensively.

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. You knew that it wasn’t your fault, but it felt like that, regardless of how many times you tried to remind yourself. Gator’s hand ghosts yours for a bit, before finally connecting with yours. Blush runs to your cheeks and your ears as he gulps. “You didn’t deserve that.” he’s soft, his hands aren’t, but he is. “And…it doesn’t make me look at you any differently.”

You squeezed his hand softly, and he squeezed back. He continues. “I know that couldn’t have been easy, saying it out loud like that-” “-it felt relevant to what you were saying, and…” an exasperated sigh left you. “I dunno, it felt easy to tell you compared to telling someone like Rhett.” 

Gator bites his bottom lip, then shrugs. “Sometimes, it is.” Then he smiles. “Although, I will say, sometimes I wish I could throw a smoothie at my deputies and kick a chair down. Pretty badass of you to go out the way that you did. A lot of people wish they could do the same.” 

You laugh softly. “No it’s not-”

“-you’re lying, it’s super badass. Take this strawberry banana smoothie, corporate shrill!” he chuckles softly. “I bet you’re a legend over there, I bet the person who has your old job now wishes they can stand up to them the way you did.” he grins. 

You shake your head. “You make it sound so heroic.”

But Gator doesn’t stop smiling, he just shrugs. “You should take your own advice, it’s pretty good.” 

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something you can’t change.” Gator remarks, his eyes falling to your lips before reconnecting with yours. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be worried about being ashamed of that. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let you push yourself to that point ever again, just keep you in a snuggie and a face mask, put on whatever show you like to watch, let me do all the work. Wouldn’t…let that happen to you.”

You can’t stop blushing. “You’re good at that.”

“At what?”

“Sugar talking, selling an idea. You should go into marketing.” you joked. 

Gator rolls his eyes playfully. “I’m serious, I…nevermind.” he shakes his head, pink tint lining his cheeks. He wanted to say more, you almost wanted to ask him to finish his sentence, tell you how serious he was about taking care of you. Instead, he looks down at her drink. “You finished your drink.”

“And you finished yours…”

Gator almost seems hesitant to let your hand go, he doesn’t want to, but he does. He sighs and squints his eyes a little. “Should we call it a night?” He's too respectful, and he doesn’t want the night to end, but he’s asking anyway unless you want to end this. Meanwhile you can’t help but notice how good he looks in that brown leather jacket, how it made his shoulders seem broad, and how his lips still glistened with beer before he swept his tongue on his bottom lip. You realized you were staring at his lips for too long. What if you didn’t want to call it a night? What if you wanted to go back to his place? What if that schoolgirl crush on him just never went away? 

“We should, I have work in the morning.” 

Gator nods and stands up. “I’ll walk you out to your car, before someone calls a tow.” he offers, grabbing the paper bag from earlier. You went with him, the night settling in, both of you walking with your hands brushing each other. You reach out to hold his hand, and he complies. His fingers delicately wrap around yours as you both walk back to each other's cars in silence. A comfortable silence as the warmth from the liquor makes you want something more. 

You reach the front of the store you both were shopping at, lights off, door locked, and a sign that says closed hanging from the window. You look over at the store as he steps right in front of you, handing you the paper bag, but not letting go of your hand. “Don’t stress yourself out making this pie, you can always buy one from the store and it’ll be just as good.” he says softly. 

You look down at the bag and nod. “Will do, Sheriff Tillman.”

And he stares at you, the same way he’s always stared at you, but this time it feels deeper. You can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up at the sight of him, looking at you as if you’re everything, and he’s lucky enough to be next to you. Your lips tingle with need, wanting to feel his, wanting to feel something touch you somewhere other than your hand, which he still held. You squeezed his hand softly, signaling him that it was okay, that you wanted this. You wanted him, for the first time, to kiss you. And for the first time, you can see that he wants that too, so desperately. 

But instead, he pulls away. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Goodnight y/n…” 

“Goodnight, Sheriff.” 

He starts to walk over to his car, but you notice something. His hand flexes, shaking a little, as if he’s shaking the feeling of your touch off of him. Not out of disgust, no, not even close, not even at all. He doesn’t look back either, knowing if he does, he wouldn’t be able to walk away like this. The same way you stood there, playing back the moment in your head, before seeing him drive off. You sigh, the tension never subsiding as it kept on building. You hated that he had restraint. You hated that he wouldn't touch you like how you wanted. You wanted nothing more than to melt into him. 

You entered your car, trying to shake off the pit in your stomach as you sighed. You look at the bag of groceries he bought you, before realizing something. You dig into the bag and found the bar of soap he forgot. Your fingertips glide across the label and the soap itself. You wanted to reach for your phone. Shoot him a quick text saying that he left something. You wanted him to come back, finish what he started. He played baseball, you wanted him to get a home run. You didn’t even reach first base, you were still at the pitch, gearing up to hit the ball.

The smell of crayons and chalkdust filled the room as you scrambled to make your classroom look presentable. Today was career day at the school, and you got a text from Rhett this morning asking if it was okay to bring a goat for career day. Seriously, this is worst case scenario. In fact, you didn’t even know he signed up for career day, since the Tillerson ranch usually covers the farming aspect of the day. Nope, he signed up last night apparently, and said he’d go before Gator. 

You didn’t have time to decode Rhett. Instead, you were rushing to clean your room after some scientist from the University of Wyoming spilled ooblek on the carpet. (you know, ooblek! The science experiment you did in the fourth grade that only consisted of water and cornstarch?) Anyways, the kids were playing outside for recess when a soft knock echoed in your classroom. You had on this long plaid skirt; something you would never be caught dead in if you still lived in the twin cities, and a white cardigan that was buttoned up and tucked in. Add bowling shoes and a gelled back pony tail and someone would’ve confused you for Sandy from Grease. But no, you had sneakers and your hair was down. 

And there was Travolta…well, actually, it was Gator. His eyes nearly pierced through your soul when they met yours. He was a bit of an asshole in high school, but you remembered asking yourself why since he had such kind eyes. A small smile came across his face as he stood by the door. “Hey.” he cleared his throat. “Can I come in?” 

You nodded. “Yeah.” 

He saunters in, whistling slowly as he looks around the room, hair held together by gel, hands tucked in his pockets. Fuckin’ Danny Zuko over here. “Nice.” he said to himself before reaching you. “Haven’t been speeding down any backroads lately, huh? Been hoping to see you drive by.” he chewed on his bottom lip. 

You just shrug. “What happens on state road 50 stays on state road 50.” 

A soft chuckle left him. “Yeah, yeah.” he looked down at your outfit, then back up at your eyes. “I wanted to talk to you more but you seemed busy, not busy now though, right?” What's it to you? You could see right through Gator and instead of standing your ground, it made you blush. You glance up at him. “No, will say though, Rhett was fuming over the ticket you gave him.” 

Gator clicked his tongue. “I was just enforcing the law.” 

You could feel your cheeks hurting from smiling, you don’t remember Gator being this charming. Rhett, you knew, was a charmer. A loud one at that. Gator was much more subtle. “Still, though. Wish I had more time to catch up with you. Caught me off guard the other day. Never happens to me here with how small Wabang is.” he sits down on the desk in front of you, as you lean back on yours slightly. “You never struck me as a teacher.”

“You never struck me as a cop.” 

“Shit happens.” he shrugs. “Tore my ACL pretty bad my first year of college, lost my baseball scholarship, moved back home, joined the force…I only like it ‘cus I can run red lights and give assholes like Rhett Abbott a ticket every now and then.” he smiles to himself. “He ain’t that fond of me, I know that.”

You shrugged, not confirming or denying. “Then why are you a cop?” Gator takes a deep breath and throws his hands up. “Why are you a teacher?” he answered back. 

“Touche.” you got up from your desk and sat down at your seat. Gator gets up and clears his throat again. “Well, I should get Shiloh ready. I don’t got much experience with kids but I know they love a good K-9-” you cut him off. “-wait, you brought a dog?” you raised an eyebrow. Gator slowly nodded. “Yeah, the Wabang police department always uses the same old dog for career day. The kids go fuckin’ crazy for Shiloh.” 

You reach for the stress ball in the corner of your desk. “That's great.” you squeezed the ball. “That’s so great. There’s gonna be a…petting zoo in my classroom.” 

Gator puts his hand out and knits his eyebrows. “Hold on, if you’re not cool with Shiloh comin’ in, we can always do my part outside. I don’t mind accommodating for you-” “-no, no. it’s not that. Don’t worry about it.” you sighed. “It just sucks being a first year teacher, the others don’t tell you shit.” you spoke quietly. 

Gator hums. “Yeah, I understand. Like I said, don’t want a pretty thing like you worrying about your classroom being a mess, students being unruly, all that.” you want to respond to him, you want to talk about the annoying aspects of this job. But all you could zero in on was that pet name, how it rolled off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond the bell rings, and kids flood into your room, packing in like sardines. 

You shoot up from your desk. “Shit, that really flew by. Rhett was supposed to be here already.” you said to yourself. 

“It’s okay. I gotta go back outside anyway to get the dog. I can text you if I see him.” 

“But I don’t have your-” Gator doesn’t hesitate, he grabs a notepad off your desk and scribbles his number before handing it to you. “Just text this, I’ll let you know if I see him.” 

Your heart thumps as you glanced at him. “Oh-okay.” you stumble, unable to compose yourself as he leaves the classroom. The chattering of students grew louder and louder as you pulled out your phone and started texting Rhett. 

Y/N Rhett What the fuck Where are you? 

It didn’t take long for him to respond. 

RHETT Nipples was loose in the parking lot 

Y/N I’m sorry, what? 

RHETT Fucking auto correct Don’t worry about it Omw!

You sigh and look at the notepad with Gator’s number. It wouldn’t hurt to shoot him a quick text. You fumble the piece of paper as you typed his number; sending him a ‘hey! It’s y/n’ before you put your phone down. You started clapping your hands, getting everyone’s attention, and walked in front of your desk. “Class! Um…we have another presenter for career day, who is running late-” 

“-I’m here! I’m here!” Rhett’s voice booms from the hallway, holding a baby goat in his hands as he reaches the doorway, nearly tripping over himself while doing so. The students all turned around, and loud ‘awh’s escaped their tiny bodies as Rhett smiles at you. A sigh of relief left you as you gestured to him to come up front. Rhett doesn’t hesitate, going to the front and taking a deep breath. 

“Hello, children.” he said, almost unsure. You can tell he’s had no practice before this. Now he was getting stage freight in front of a class of fourth graders. “My name is Rhett Abbott. I work at the Abbott Ranch. I’m actually Amy’s uncle-” you can see Amy sliding down her chair cringing at Rhett. “-and I’m a Rancher. Uh, what do Ranchers do? Well, we, um, take care of cattle.”

Just dead stares, nothing behind these kids' eyes. 

Rhett cleared his throat. “This is nibbles.” he shows off the goat. “We call him that because he…nibbles.” he was flat at the end, realizing this was a bust. “Any questions?” Rhett’s smile faltered when the silence stretched a beat too long. One kid in the back coughed. Another leaned over and whispered something that made their friend snort. Nibbles chose that exact moment to bleat; loud, indignant, and try to chew on Rhett’s sleeve.

“Hey-hey, no, buddy,” Rhett laughed nervously, adjusting his grip as the goat wriggled. “He gets excited around new people.” He glanced at you like a man looking for a lifeline.

You cleared your throat and stepped in beside him. “Nibbles is a baby goat,” you said, projecting your teacher voice, the one you reserved for assemblies and fire drills. “Does anyone know what baby goats are called?”

A few hands shot up. Thank God.

“Kids,” someone yelled.

“Yep.” you smiled. “They’re called kids, yes. And ranchers like Rhett help take care of them. They make sure they’re fed, healthy, and safe.” Rhett nodded enthusiastically, relieved. “Yeah, yeah, that. Exactly. Safe.” He looked down at Nibbles. “Real safe.”

Nibbles, then, promptly tries to headbutt his chest.

A ripple of laughter spread across the room. The tension broke. Rhett, finally, relaxed. Shoulders loosening as he leaned into it, crouching slightly so the kids could see the goat better. “Okay, rule number one on a ranch,” he said, warming up now. “Animals don’t listen. Ever. You gotta work around ‘em, not the other way ‘round.”

That earned him a few giggles. Even Amy peeked up from behind her hands, less mortified now, watching her uncle with reluctant pride. Rhett smiles. “Rule number two-” 

Before Rhett could finish his sentence, the sound of a dog panting enters the room. The children turned their heads around, but you didn’t have to look to see that it was Gator. The kids clamoured at the sight of the elderly german shepard, who’s seen better days, but was just as lovable and sweet looking. The room erupted with “dog!” “can we pet him” “awh, how cute!” as Gator walked to the front of the class.

Rhett shot you a look. “You’ve got to be kidding me-” he grumbled under his breath. 

You leaned in closer to him, side by side as you whispered. “You signed up to be first, and you were late.” which earned a sigh from Rhett as Gator tipped his head to you. “Told you, Shiloh’s popular.” Then, Gator’s eyes flickered to the goat in Rhett’s hands. “You brought livestock into a school building, Abbott. How ambitious of you.” 

“Yeah? well you brought a cop dog.” Rhett shot back. “This is a place of learning.” 

A few dispersed giggles filled the room as you put your hands up. “Alright,” you said, clapping once. “Everyone calm down. We’re very lucky today, we get to learn about two very different careers.”

Gator’s gaze slid back to you, amused. “Different’s one word for it.” he straightened up as he looked at the crowd of kids, all of them wishing they could reach for Shiloh’s shiny coat. “Alright, as many of you know, my name is Sheriff Tillman. I work for the Wabang Police Department. And just like the avengers, and batman, and superman, I love catching bad guys!” you watched him move. Calm. Confident. Comfortable in his skin. The kids hung onto every word, eyes wide as Shiloh demonstrated a perfect sit and stay. 

Gator kept on talking. “There’s two very important things about policing, one is making sure the right people are brought to justice. You will get in trouble if the wrong person is behind bars. The second thing that’s important about policing is making sure the community is safe for everyone, not just one kind of person. If you do that, and learn basic arms training, you’re pretty much set to spend the rest of the day eating donuts and hanging with K-9’s like Shiloh.”

Rhett looked over at Gator before Gator pulled out Sheriff badge stickers and started passing them out to the kids-Jesus, why didn’t he think of that?! And the doting look on your face filled Rhett with envy. “Any questions?” Gator asked, as a sea of hands were raised as he started picking which questions to ask. “Yeah, you with the buzzcut.”

“Did you have to go to college to be a police officer?”

Gator shrugged. “You can, but it’s not required. It should be though, right?” Then he picked on another hand. The little boy spoke up. “Is it scary to be a policeman?” and Gator pondered that question for a bit, before nodding. “Yeah, it can be. But not always. Sometimes, you just have to protect yourself.” he said, then pointed to a little girl in the front. 

“My mommy says you’re only sheriff because your daddy was mayor.” 

Rhett snorted. Gator’s eyes widened as he nodded his head. “Yeah…your mommy is right. That’s called nepotism.” he sighed. “Big word for Elmo.” Then, he pointed to Amy Abbott. Amy looked at her uncle, then back at Gator before pointing to his belt. “Is that a gun?”

Gator nodded. “Yes, but only I can use it.” 

Rhett turned to him. “Can we see your gun?”

A deep breath left Gator, keeping his eyes on the kids. “No.”

Rhett scoffed slightly. “Cmon, the kids want to see the gun. My niece wants to see the gun. Look at her, she’s excited. She wants to hold it.” 

“Abbott, I’m not pulling out a firearm in a classroom for no reason.” 

“So you think women can’t have guns?” 

Oh my god. You softly slap Rhett’s forearm, shooting him a ‘please shut the fuck up please’ look as Gator throws his hands up. “No, there are plenty of great police women who have their own guns and if your…” he waves his hand around. “niece decides to become a cop, she will have her own. When she’s grown.” Gator clarifies. 

The same little girl from earlier speaks up again. “My mommy says Ms. L/N should have a gun in case there’s a bad guy at school.” 

For a second there, all three of you had the same expression. Rhett pursed his lips to hold back a smile as Gator pinched the bridge of his nose. You catch your breath as you stare at your student. “Maybe your mommy shouldn’t be talking to you about that.” 

The bell rings, and your day unwinds slowly as each student leaves the class. Amy knows to wait for Rhett outside as the class finally empties. A soft sigh left you as both men stared at you. Holding their animals. Looking ridiculous. You wipe the sweat off your brow as your eyes fall on Rhett. Who tried to hold back a smirk but failed to do so anyway. “Next career day, we should teach them to say acab.” he suggested. 

Gator rolled his eyes. “Gee thanks, Abbott. For the record, I think you did pretty okay too.” then the sheriff turns to you. “I guess I’ll see you around, Y/N?” The way Gator said your name. Slow, deliberate, like he was trying it on, made your stomach flip in a way you absolutely did not have time for. Not now. Not with a sheriff, a rancher, a goat, and a police dog all standing in your classroom like the punchline to a bad joke.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing invisible chalk dust off your skirt. “I mean, yeah. Probably. This is Wabang. And thank you for coming. The kids love Shiloh.”

Gator smiled at that, small and knowing, like he understood exactly what that meant. You watched him leave, heart still thumping, classroom suddenly too quiet. Too still. Before turning to Rhett and softly slapping his arm again. “Hey! What’s that for?!” 

“So you think women can’t have guns?” you mocked him. 

Rhett can’t hold back the laughter anymore, he snorted and put his hands up to defend himself. “In my defense, it looked like that, didn’t it?” he shrugged as he tried to hold back laughter. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry that I tried to be funny at your job, Bunny. I did do that on purpose to ragebait him, I won’t do it again.” He's earnest. At least now he is, you won’t know until later if he really means it or not. “Cmon, it’s Gator Tillman. He’ll survive.” 

you shake your head. "you're no good, Rhett."

Before he could respond. Amy poked her head back into the room. “Uncle Rhett?” she stage-whispered. “Grandma says you’re blocking traffic with your truck. And the goat.” Rhett sighs softly. “Jesus Christ.” He looked at you apologetically. “I’ll walk her out, Bunny. Try not to miss me too much.” he smirks. 

Blush creeps onto your face as you waved him off. “Go, before nibbles eats through a kid’s backpack.” you laugh softly. “And thank you for coming, as chaotic as it was.” 

Rhett salutes to you with two fingers before walking Amy and the goat out. So corny. When the door finally closed for good, you sank down into your chair. Your classroom looked like a tornado had passed through. badge stickers stuck to desks, a faint smell of hay lingering in the air, chalk smeared where a kid had dragged their sleeve across the board. You understood why the older teachers drank every night before bed. Before you could take a deep breath, your phone buzzed. 

GATOR Career day survivor? 

You stared at the screen for a second, then smiled despite yourself.

Y/N Barely. Your dog upstaged a goat.

GATOR He has that effect on people.

You glanced around the empty room, at the sunlight slanting through the windows, at the life you’d built in this tiny town you swore you’d never come back to. It was hard not to think about how chaotic things have been since you got back, now that you had a moment alone. 

Y/N Thanks for earlier. For…everything.

A pause. Then:

GATOR Anytime. Maybe next time we catch up somewhere without livestock. You always wanted to be a teacher?

Y/N No, I wanted to leave.

GATOR Funny how that works

Your heart did that stupid little flip again.

Wabang was just like every small town along the midwest bible belt. A one stop light town that had its heyday back in the sixties. Where the mountains scraped the sky. Where dairy farms and ranches spread across acres and acres of stolen land. Where everyone, unfortunately, knows everyone. 

You swore to yourself that you’d never move back here. 

Until you had to, until the money in the twin cities ran out and everyone’s back faced against you as if you had a say in the matter. No problem, there was always Wabang. Plain, thankless, and dull. As a child, you had more fun watching paint dry than engaging with anything going on here. In high school, a boy asked you out to go cow-tipping, and you went, but never spoke to him again. That’s all this town was; purgatory. The silver lining is that purgatory too is a stepping stone to the next place you were meant to be. Whether it was heaven or hell didn’t matter to you. You just knew that already, you wanted out of Wabang. 

Your mother, who owned a plot of land, begged you to come back. She hated that you were so far from her, hated that you were struggling out with all the other city girls. You were a city girl. Now, you taught elementary school. Elementary school. Teacher. It wasn’t too long ago you were in a condo, talking about marketing tactics and earning over 100k a year. Now you made 50k and hate lesson planning with a passion. But you don’t hate the teaching gig; the kids are sweet and don’t give you grief every time you swear under your breath over outdated textbooks and broken pieces of chalk. Textbooks that haven't been updated since the turn of the millennia  and classroom maps that still have Yugoslavia on them. Some kids didn’t even know what the pandemic was and it was fairly recent. 

At least you had Amy Abbott in your class. Which led to you reconnecting with your childhood best friend, Rhett Abbott. 

Rhett just waltzed in, jaw practically hitting the floor when he realized you were Amy’s new teacher, and barked something about you “not having the gall to even call him to let him know you moved back.” as if Rhett ever made the effort to call you in the city, or when you were in college, or tried to keep contact with you after high school. Didn’t matter, a friendly face was a friendly face, and you were at least relieved that someone was happy you were home that wasn’t your mother. Catching up was natural, catching up over a drink at the Horseshoe was ritual. 

You had work the next day too, but that’s the thing about Rhett Abbott and the effect he had on everyone; he was like a drug. Like those disposable pens where each hit feels like a hug. Comfort. He even had this effect on others as a child. Despite his irresponsible nature, others opened up to him so quickly, even if he didn’t return the favor. You unraveled for him so quickly as he kept his composure; so rugged now. His voice was rough, probably from all the Marlboro Reds he smokes. The boy who once struggled to lasso cattle from his father’s ranch had grown into a true gunslinger, and the girl who used to fall over laughing at his attempt to lasso was now laughing with him. 

Even with you unraveling so quickly, you couldn’t talk about how badly you fumbled your chances at the twin cities. Luckily, it never came up. 

But Rhett couldn’t stop poking fun at the Minnesotan twang in your voice, which layered over the Wyoming dialect you once sported. Rhett always seems to forget that you’re not from either Minnesota or Wyoming. You were from Florida. Deep south Florida where everyone owned an airboat and loved Billy Ray Cyrus. Moving to Wabang at five didn’t soften the blow of leaving Florida; you could’ve been in Miami and Tampa by now. Instead, you were stuck with a slightly inebriated Rhett humming out soft “oh yeahs.” and “you betchas.” at the Horseshoe.

Between whisky sours and funny stories about college boys and bull riding, your phone buzzed and the time was apparent. It was nearly midnight. You were sober enough to stumble out of your seat with Rhett following behind you. The air was cooler than what it was when you first arrived at the bar. The sun peaked through the orange and purple clouds, cascading over the mountains as the sky started to turn dark. Rhett flipped his hat on his head and glanced over at you. “Bunny, you live close by?” he asked. 

Bunny. Bunny was a nickname given to you by Royal Abbott because when you were seven, you hyperfixated over rabbits. Even tried to save them while Royal and Perry went hunting. The nickname caught on. Your mother called you Bunny, your peers sometimes called you Bunny, Rhett called you Bunny. You shook your head. “Nah, I live a little ways away.” You huffed. “Cmon, i’ll drive you to the ranch. I’m sure your mama would be very happy to see me.”  

“You kiddin’?” Rhett chuckled, tossing his keys to his truck over to you. “Mama used to think we should’ve gotten married. She’d lose her shit if she knew you moved back.” 

You scoff. “Please, even if that was a possibility, we were in two totally different worlds by senior year. You were head over heels for that Maria girl-” “-hey! Maria broke my heart.” he chuckled as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Left me to go to some big fancy college to be a banker.”

“Good for her.” you started the engine, stealing a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. Rhett leaned back, arms crossed, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips, and for a second, it was like he hadn’t changed at all. Except now, he wasn’t a boy. “Yeah…hey, you still like Rocky Horror?” he gazes at you as you pull out of the bar. 

You try to hold back a smile. “I wasn’t the only one into it. Perry was too.” 

“Yeah, dad thought he was queer for a year ‘cus of that.” he chuckled. “I’ll never forget how we all snuck out to see a shadowcast show in Casper that one halloween. Pops nearly killed us once we got back. Grounded for a month.” he snickers. “How does that one song go? Y’know, it’s, a, science fiction, bum bum bum, double feature.” he starts to sing a little drunkenly. “Doctor X, bum bum bum, will build a creature.” 

You sigh and start singing with him. “See androids fighting-” 

“-and fuckin’, and suckin’ on-Brad and Janet!” he starts to laugh.

You snorted and smiled. “You know damn well that’s not how it goes-” “-in the back row-fuck the back row!” he cuts you off with another laugh. “Cmon Bunny, now that you’re in town and Halloween is soon, we should go see a show. We don’t even gotta sneak out this time.” he stares at you almost intently. “Invite Perry, he can bring Amy-” “-you cannot bring a child to that show, Rhett.” you laughed. 

“Why? We were kids when we snuck out to see it.” 

“We were sixteen.” 

Rhett looks back at the road. “Yeah…yeah, we were.” he smiles warmly. “I’m glad you’re back, Bunny. Didn’t realize I was missin’ you so much. I…coulda called more.” he confessed. “Life picked up though, I got a niece I gotta take care of, a ranch I'm probably gonna look after, bullridin’ career…seein’ you here, though, we fell back into it like nothin’s changed.” but you shake your head, because this pit opened up in your stomach if you thought too hard about all the people who were supposed to call you. “It’s fine, Rhett-”

“No it ain’t.” he mumbled. “You know it ain’t.” 

There’s this silence that fills the truck, taking out the fact that Rhett’s engine roared like a steam engine and the radio was playing some Blake Shelton song on low volume. But then Rhett shoots you this look, and his lips tug to the side as he sits up. “Remember when we were sixteen and…” he crosses his arms. “You said you could kick my ass racin’ down the back roads? And I said you couldn’t, but then you did.” 

A small smile formed on your face. “Oh, you mean the time I kicked your ass? You betcha.” you almost internally cringe from the Minnesotan in you slipping out. Years of living there and it still makes you gag over how it sounds on your tongue. “Why you asking?” 

“I want a rematch.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” you giggle as you start to turn into a back road. Out here, in Wabang, all roads were back roads. This one was just the closest. “No, I'm serious. I’m so fuckin’ serious, Bunny. I want a rematch. It was…downright emasculatin’ for a sixteen year old me to lose to a girl who went by Bunny. You do realize that, right? I’ve been drivin’ since I was twelve and lost. I need this” he expresses, and as annoying of an excuse it was as to why he needed to race with you so badly, you felt it too. You wanted a rematch too. 

So you nod and grip the steering wheel. “Well i’m going first-” “why-?” “-because you still need to sober up. Not letting you operate machinery three whisky sours in,” you hummed. Switching the gears and looking at him. “Tighten your seatbelt. Don’t want your head hitting the roof again.” she recalls. 

Rhett scoffed. “My head did not-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you started to peel rubber as the smell oozed around your car. The tires squealed as the car jerked ever so slightly, sending both you and Rhett shooting fast down the street. Rhett clumsily held onto the bar above his seat and his hat. He rode bulls for a living but let a woman drive and see how tightly he held on. A laugh rips through the air as you go from forty miles per hour to sixty, to eighty, to a hundred in just a span of a few minutes. Your hair almost flying back with the windows rolled down and no street light in sight. 

Rhett glanced over at you. “Don’t wreck my truck!” he joked before you hit a bump, causing Rhett to fly up in his seat and hit his head. “Shit!” he yelped, but another laugh-no, a cackle, slipped out of you as you looked over at him. “I told you to tighten your seatbelt!” “I did!” he smiles at you. That smile, you haven't seen him smile like that in years. Well, you also haven't seen him in years but this look was different. You almost can’t look away from how happy he was to see you, recklessly driving his truck as if he would have it any other way. How part of you feels your heart thump at the idea of Rhett looking at you like this all the time.

And before you could look back to the road, red and blue flashing lights flashed on both of your faces. Rhett groaned as he turned to you. “Fuck, was so sure there wouldn’t be anyone here. Let alone a fuckin’ pig.” he sighs. You start to slow the truck down. “It’s okay, I’m just gonna pull over, hope they don’t breathalyze us or whatever.”

“God damn it.” Rhett looked over. “That’s right, you were drinking too.” he realizes, as he watches you dig in your purse for gum, chewing fast like it could erase the smell of whiskey and bad decisions.

Rhett dragged a hand down his face. “This is bad. This is real bad.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Rhett.” you spoke, seeing a silhouette get out of the car, holding a small box and puffing smoke out. Boots hit the ground. Slow. Unhurried. He slowly reached the window. “Besides, it could always be worse. We could’ve crashed and burned. I ain’t down to be barbeque right now.” you tried to make it just a bit better for him, but it was written all over Rhett’s face, he hated that this was happening right now. 

The cop tapped the glass softly, he was so tall, even standing by the window, it was impossible to see his face. A flashlight swept through the truck as you rolled down the window. Vape smoke disappeared behind him as you were blinded by the flashlight. “License and regis…” the cop stops, and your body knows that voice from somewhere, you just couldn’t pinpoint it until a flat and disbelieving “no fuckin’ way.” came out of him. 

Your eyes adjusted to the light before seeing a mess of gel hair and deep set brown eyes and shit, it’s Gator Tillman, Gator Tillman, who sat next to you in biology and talked you through dissecting a frog. Gator Tillman, who wanted to play in the big leagues since he played baseball in high school. Gator Tillman, who’s dad was mayor of Wabang at some point before retiring. Same broad shoulders. Same heavy stance like the ground owed him rent. A little more worn around the eyes, maybe. A little sharper, too. His hand rested on his belt, thumb hooked casually, like he wasn’t standing on a pitch-black back road with two idiots doing triple digits. His eyes flickered to Rhett, then back at you. 

“Y/N…?” he said almost quietly, as if he was testing the name. He never called you Bunny. Not even when you were in school. 

A soft sigh left you. “...Hi Gator.” your stomach could fall through the truck’s floorboard. Gator Tillman became a cop. Unsurprising, but still. Rhett, on the other hand, just breathed out through his nostrils and tried to avoid the sinking feeling he got from watching you interact with Gator. 

Gator huffed a short laugh through his nose. “Been a long time.” His gaze didn’t leave you. “Didn’t think you’d come back.”

You swallowed. “Didn’t think I would either.”

Something unreadable crossed his face, gone as fast as it came. Professional mask sliding back into place. He tipped his chin toward the speedometer. “You got any idea how fast you were goin’?” You opened your mouth, because you knew that this road had to have a forty five mile per hour speed limit, and you were going forty, maybe fifty over. 

Rhett beat you to it. “She kidnapped me. At gunpoint.”

Gator’s eyes finally cut to him. Flat. Unamused. “Step outta the vehicle, Rhett.”

“Oh come on-”

“Out.”

Rhett shot you a look that screamed ‘help me’ grumbling under his breath but obeying anyway. You didn’t know it, but Rhett wasn’t above verbally sparring with and fighting a cop. He just wouldn’t do it in front of you. Gator watched him step out of the car for a split second before turning back to you. “Had anything to drink-?” Gator asks, but Rhett Interjects. “She’s sober.” lie. Gator knows it and keeps his eyes on you. 

You met his gaze, not looking away. “Just one or two.” 

Gator’s eyebrows ticked up as he nodded. “Mhm.” He leaned down slightly, close enough that you caught the faint scent of leather and night air and something clean underneath it. Soap, maybe. His flashlight angled away from your face, deliberate. “You don’t look drunk,” he said, almost to himself. 

Your heart kicked hard. “Is that a compliment?” 

That did it.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely. “Careful.”

Then he straightened up, taking Rhett’s license and registration before walking to his cruiser, vaping on his way back as Rhett glanced at you. He hated this. He hated the way Gator’s mouth jerked that way at your joke. Hated the way he invaded your space just to blind you again with the flashlight. Hated him. Rhett hated Gator. The worst part? Gator was taking his sweet time getting everything situated with Rhett’s license and registration. You could see it in Rhett’s face, he knew Gator was going to do something ridiculous like make him walk in a line or say the alphabet backwards. 

What felt like an hour was actually just five minutes. Gator came back, tucking his vape in his belt before kneeling behind Rhett’s truck. Rhett sighed. “What now?”

Gator gestured to him to come over, and begrudgingly, Rhett did. He dragged his feet a little, coming over and seeing the busted brake light. “...you can’t be serious.” Rhett said to himself.

Gator got up and started writing a ticket. “Oh, I’m serious.” Gator stood, his pen writing fast. “Truck’s registered to you. Ticket’s yours.”

Rhett stared at the clipboard like it had personally betrayed him. “She was drivin’!”

“And?” Gator said mildly. “Your truck. Your responsibility.” but Rhett just wouldn’t let up. “It was working just fine yesterday,” he expressed. Gator ripped the ticket from the clipboard and handed it to him. “It ain’t yesterday, Abbott,” he said. You had to catch yourself from smiling, because Rhett could be such a sore loser. Gator catches you pursing your lips as he goes up to your window, tapping the edge of it. The way his eyes warmed up when he saw you left you feeling soft. “You gonna make it home safe?” he asked. 

You nodded. “I don’t live far from here. I got to work in the morning and everything.”

Gator listened intently. “Oh? Where you working now?” he questioned. You don’t break the gaze you both are pulled into. Even if you wanted to, you could not pull back from his eyes. “I’m the new school teacher. I’m actually Rhett’s niece’s teacher. I teach fourth grade” 

“Nice, guess you’ll see me at career day next week.” shit, that’s right. You did have to get all settled in before career day. Your classroom is almost half done, kind of. You all get assigned a person per room as the classes switch, talk about a totally unproductive day. You smiled. “Okay.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “Slow it down, Y/N. and uh…welcome home” that name again, your real name. Soft, familiar, warm. Slipping out of his mouth as if fit always belonged in here. You nodded. “Yes, Sheriff.” You couldn’t look away from him as he smiled back. 

Rhett scoffed. “It’s a fuckin’ set up, unbelievable.” he mumbled to himself. Gator walked back him, leaving you with a smile but turning stone cold and serious as he pulled out his vape. “Get that light fixed, Abbott.” he said passively. Going over to the cruiser and hoping in. Rhett threw his arms up. “Can I at least hit your vape?!” he raised his voice at him. 

Gator couldn’t be bothered, he let his siren play for a bit, before pulling out from the side of the road and driving down the street, leaving Rhett out on the street. He huffed again before going back into the passenger seat of the truck, tucking the ticket into his pocket as he looked down at his lap. “I hate him, hate that motherfucker, always have.” he spat. 

You watched the road where the red and blue had been, your pulse still humming over the glances Gator was giving you, the small talk, how you just totally avoided getting a ticket because Rhett just happened to have a busted brake light. Your stomach swirls with the idea of Gator being at career day, even if you aren't entirely sure what it really meant. You just sat there with Rhett, who was seething, who was ready to punch Gator if he was alone with him. Yet, instead, your mind drifts off to the police officer who was nice enough to let you go without a ticket.

“…Yeah,” you said softly. “I forgot how much.”

…

“Bradley, your son wants you.” You mumble into his bare chest, eyes practically glued shut, the steady chorus of his breathing already trying to lull you back to sleep mid-sentence.

If you had told him a year ago that he would be spending his prime-time Saturday 2am slot just barely awake, cradling a girl and getting ready to go and change a diaper — he would have turned and run for the hills. Now that he’s in it, it’s not so bad.

As he turns his face into the curve of your neck and inhales the familiar scent of you, the idea of getting out of bed, now that seems bad.

“He’s not even crying yet.” Bradley mumbles into your hair, his eyelids heavy, the mattress soft and pillowy under him, inviting him back to sleep. Your palm smacks into his stomach and he groans. “Fine, I’m up. I’m up.”

The baby is just starting to grumble really, kicking his feet and waving up at the mobile above his bassinet. He’s really starting to look at things now. The light fixture in the living room seems to fascinate the kid.

Bradley leans into you and he kisses your hair, before pushing the covers back and rolling out of bed with a groan. He pads around to the other side of the bed and squints tiredly at the bassinet. Thomas kicks his legs and flaps his hands, apparently excited to be awake at this time of night.

“Come here, little guy,” He whispers, his thumbs stretching far across the infant’s tiny chest, his fingers hooking under his back. He lifts him and sets him against his chest, rubbing his back softly. “I’ve got ya.”

He’s getting real wriggly now. He turns his face into Bradley’s bare chest and coos, arms and legs stretching out as Bradley holds him close.

You hum softly and roll onto your back, blinking through the darkness to look at the two of them. Thomas fits against his shoulder like a puzzle piece. Bradley’s hand still covers the entire length of his back. He always looks so doll-like in his dad’s arms.

“Go back to sleep, babe.” Bradley urges you, patting Thomas’ back and turning to head for the living room. He’s hungry. Bradley has learned that’s what this kind of grizzling sound means — he’s a lot louder when he needs a diaper change.

He almost has it down to a routine now. Could maybe do it with his eyes closed if he was trying. He blinks tiredly, swaying side to side as he lets a few droplets fall from the tip of the bottle onto the inside of his wrist.

“A little longer, little man.” Bradley whispers, setting the bottle down again, shifting Thomas in his arms. He’s getting bigger. A whole two and a half pounds in the last five weeks. Longer too. His feet now extend beyond the length of Bradley’s forearm and onto his palm.

His nose wrinkles in the air and his mitten covered hands rub haphazardly at his face. He takes short, warbling breaths. Bradley has learned by now that means a big cry is coming.

“Shh, shh, shh— I know, I know — Daddy should make it cool down faster, I’m working on it.” He whispers, rocking side to side and gently bouncing the infant against his arm.

You talk to him all the time and he seems to just quieten up and listen.

“Your mom’s got it all figured out, huh?” Bradley will never get over how soft Thomas’ cheeks are. Round and plush, so delicate. He trails his thumb in soft circles over the apples of his cheeks, watching the way his infant son matches him with a seemingly pleased wriggle.

“I’m getting there.” It’s like Bradley’s telling both of them, really. He nods his head and picks up the bottle again. That’ll do.

They settle onto the couch and Bradley nestles him into the crook of his elbow, holding the bottle up high so the air doesn’t get in, blinking tiredly at ESPN’s coverage of a baseball game from a week ago. Glancing down, he finds that Thomas’ eyes aren’t on the light fixture above them. It’s not switched on. He’s looking right, staring at the blue and white glow of the television.

The book on the coffee table says he can only see a couple of inches from his own face still, more than last week but not as much as he’ll be able to see next week. He just likes the lights, Bradley guesses.

Still, he kicks his feet up onto the table and smiles a bit.

“We’ll watch tonnes of these together,” Bradley tells him, over the sounds of Thomas gulping hungrily at the bottle. “I’m sorry that the first game you’re seeing is an Astros game. They suck. But, don’t tell your Uncle that I said that.”

He stares at the screen. “You don’t have to be into baseball. It’d be cool if you’d watch a game with me every now and again, but I won’t hold you to it. We could be into… swimming, or something — I don’t know, it’s 3am, I can’t think of other sports right now.”

When he looks down this time, Thomas is looking up at his face. His eyes are heavy and kind of crossed, apparently that’s normal when they’re drinking.

“Yeah,” Bradley whispers, stroking at the baby’s forearm with his thumb as his other hand holds the bottle steady. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll have something in common, right? — We’ll figure it out.”

His face softens, breathing out a soft and amused noise as Thomas’ eyes roll back and his hands stretch up towards his head.

“That’s good, huh?” He smiles.

He drinks about four ounces each time now. Then, Bradley sits him up — he has grown awfully familiar with the importance of a muslin during this step — and pats his back softly for a couple of minutes. This part is especially hard because Thomas almost always tries to fall asleep immediately after eating.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he’s wide awake and still kicking away on his play mat at 4:30am. Bradley’s sitting at his side, propped up against the couch and now somehow watching a documentary on the mesozoic era.

He yawns, combing a hair through his wild curls and stretching his legs out in front of him. As the narrator stops to take a breath, Bradley hears your bedroom door click open.

You pad along the hallway and round the corner into the living room. He looks barely awake, blinking at you.

“What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” You answer him, crossing the living room and stepping over his legs. He loops his arms around your middle as you straddle his waist and rest your head against his shoulder. “The bed was cold. You didn’t come back.”

“Yeah, sorry, babe, we were just having too much fun out here without you.” Bradley mumbles into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes for a moment. His eyes sting behind his eyelids and your warmth against him is threatening to send him back to sleep.

You hum amusedly, kissing softly at his shoulder. You reach just past him and hold Thomas’ onesie covered foot, your mouth stretching upward into a grin. “Did Daddy get you too excited to go back to sleep, huh? — You two have no respect for bedtime, you know that?”

Bradley chuckles, pulling back and turning his head to watch the two of you.

“I have respect for bedtime, I was in bed on time. Our kid is a bad influence on me.”

“Yeah? Did daddy let you stay up and watch dinosaurs?” You grin, tickling your fingers lightly across the embroidered teddy bear that covers his stomach. Bradley turns his face into your neck, letting his eyes fall shut for just a moment. Quickly, they shoot back open as you let out a gasp.

“He’s smiling!” You push out of Bradley’s lap and kneel closer to the little activity mat. “Was that funny? Are you smiling at me?”

Bradley pushes up onto his knees and leans closer to get a look, and sure enough, his lips are twitched just a bit at the corners and as Bradley leans in, his mouth opens real wide. It looks like a real grin.

Not just the kind of smile he usually does before he pukes either. This one looks more real. Like he really did find you funny. Bradley’s lips twitch. He kisses your shoulder softly, his hand resting against your waist as you kiss Thomas’ cheek.

His cheeks dimple, his grin stretching as he makes a gargling coo sound, kicking his legs eagerly.

“That’s so a real smile! He’s happy!” You gasp, beaming as your head whips around to look at Bradley.

His thumb dips under your sleep shirt, stroking over the inch wide space above your shorts. He inhales deeply, then exhales, smiling back at you.

“Of course he’s happy.” Bradley says quietly. He watches you lean over and kiss Thomas’s stomach, then his face, then all over his mitten-covered hands. Then, you turn back and set yourself in Bradley’s lap again, your hands resting against his shoulders.

“We’re doing a good job, right?” You ask him.

“Feels like it.” He tells you quietly. You nod your head back at him. For a moment, the two of you just stare back at each other.

Just your eyes locked on his, the glow of the television behind you and the faint consistency of the dinosaur spiel and Thomas’ cooing. He’s really looking at you. His thumbs circle your hips and it feels like he’s just reading you like a book — like he has learned how to understand the position of your lips and the shape of your eyes and the depth of your breaths.

His big brown eyes, always looking at you with such a softness these days. Such a recognition.

It’s a really strange feeling, because when you look down at this little thing that you love so much — you see parts of him all over, and you know it’s the same for Bradley. To look back at him now and find those things, it’s like seeing them for the first time all over again.

You lean in close and kiss the bridge of his nose, then rest your forehead against his.

“You’re happy too?” Bradley asks, his thumbs stroking softly at your hips. You nod your head against his and hum a sound of agreement.

“Yeah. Are you?”

Bradley lifts his head a bit and lets his mouth cover yours. Warm and firm. An answer of sorts. Still, he nods anyway.

“Yeah.”

And then his mouth is on yours again, softer this time but faster. His kiss pushes a breath out of your nose, your hands linking behind his shoulders as you pull yourself closer.

Those dinosaurs and that droning voice fade into a blur and it’s just Bradley. He melts into you, groaning at the feeling of your fingers in his curls. Kissing, pulling, panting, lost in the sensation of your lips coming together. His hand comes up to cup the side of your jaw, guiding your mouth against his as his tongue caresses yours.

The hand that isn’t on your cheek skims briefly along your back, then grabs firmly at your hip. He drags you closer, the proximity making you shiver.

His eagerness thrums between you like energy, pulling you closer together, deepening your kisses until your head is spinning and you’re half sure that you’re soaking through the thin fabric of underwear that separates you.

For a second, you remember how you wound up here. Falling just as easily into Bradley Bradshaw’s bed, letting yourself get so captivated by his kisses. He feels you smile against his lips, and is the first to pull back.

His fingers dig softly into your hips.

“Are you thinking about the baseball?” He whispers, kissing you again. You grin against him, breaking into a soft giggle as you nod. The signed baseball bet, where you had offered to blow him. That thing is in a box now. He hums, “That was a really good blowjob.”

You frown and shove at his shoulders, “Don’t say that in front of—“

At once, you turn to check and find your son to be asleep on his back. All of that wriggling and kicking tired him out, one of his mitten covered hands resting against his cheek.

“Huh. He put himself to sleep.” Bradley comments, he looks back to you and finds your lips quirked. His brows start to knit together, wondering what you’re finding to smirk about at four-thirty in the morning.

Then, you lean in close and kiss his cheek softly, your lips grazing his ear. “Go put him in his bassinet.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Setting you on the ground beside him, he scoops up the baby and cradles him to his chest. You watch him kiss the top of Thomas’ head before they disappear down the hall together. He returns with a grin on his face.

”Yeah, yeah, take your pants off.” You tease him, pushing up onto your knees as he struts across the room with that cocky little smile on his face. He drops down onto the couch and sighs wistfully.

”Whoa — I’m not that kind of guy, you’ve gotta buy me dinner first.” He jokes back to you, leaning down and kissing your mouth softly. Your palm dips into the leg of his shorts, fingers wrapping loosely around his hardening cock. He chuckles breathily against your lips. “You’re right, I am that kind of guy.”

This makes you giggle, quietly of course, you’re mastering the art of not waking up Thomas by this point. Bradley sits back as your mouth presses softly to his chest. He watches silently as you kiss your way down his body, lifting his hips for you to tug his shorts down.

Then, finally, your lips are wrapped around him. His hand flinches, halfway between curling itself into your hair and staying put against the fabric of the couch. Your gaze flickers up to him, heavy with more than just the weight of the late night, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock.

You lace your fingers through his, squeeze his hand and guide it to the back of your own head. Bradley breathes out shakily. “Fuck, I love you.”

He does love you. He shows you every single day.

After sex, Bradley used to be the first to walk away. If he was in his own bed, he would be up at the crack of dawn to indicate that there was no intention of this being a long term thing. If he was in someone else’s he would be gone even sooner.

Tonight, when you’re grinning up at him as he tries to catch his breath, the first thing that crosses his mind is your bed. His and yours. Where he has held you every night for the past few months, where your son sleeps a few feet away.

Pulling his shorts up around his hips, Bradley leans forwards and pulls you to your feet, then hooks his hands under your thighs. You bury your gasp into the curve of his neck as he lifts you against him, guiding your legs around his waist.

”C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

He offered to reciprocate the favour. It’s getting difficult to say no, watching him stroll around the house in a pair of shorts, holding your baby in his arms. Even worse since he went back to work and the flight suit made its reappearance.

You’re only a week from getting the all-clear, and really, you’re half sure that six days wouldn’t make that much of a difference in your recovery journey. But that’s the old you thinking. Now that you’ve got a kid, you should be doing things more by the book.

So, six more days until you can let Maverick take the baby for a nice long walk, and have wild, protected sex, with Bradley. His arms wrap securely around your middle. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and kisses lazily at your skin, and promptly falls asleep.

It takes you a little longer, you weren’t up for as long as he was, but you know that you have to work fast while the two boys are asleep. Eyes closed, Bradley’s heartbeat is steady against your back and his snoring is muffled by your shoulder. If you listen out, you can hear Thomas’ deep little breaths from within his bassinet.

Slow, deep breaths in. Bradley’s weight pressing into your back. Long, calm breaths out. The dinosaurs on the television and the smile on Thomas’ face. The freckles on Bradley’s chest, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your middle.

You’re up before him the next morning. Tommy has little respect for the Saturday morning lazies, it would seem. You let Bradley sleep in for a bit, giving the baby his bottle and getting in a solid twenty minute tummy-time session before it dawns on you that the two of you had invited Maverick over.

“Come on in, Mav — Bradley’s sleeping.” You call to the door. Bradley still gets a little antsy when his uncle comes around, but he doesn’t mind so much as long as the conversation stays on Tommy.

Maverick has been over a couple of times since he was born and it’s like the two of them have some kind of unspoken connection. Pete’s old and childless, and kind of a bachelor, but something about him calms Tommy down every single time.

His spare key clicks in the lock and the door opens compliantly. After the last emergency, you figured it would be good for him to have one. At least for as long as he will be in Pensacola with you.

Dressed in his uniform of a white t-shirt and vintage jeans, Maverick walks towards you shaking his head. He isn’t fazed by the fact that you’re in your pyjamas. Carole stayed in hers until Bradley was almost eight months.

He exhales as he sits beside you. “I can’t believe how big he’s getting.”

“I know, right? — It’s going by so quickly.” You hum, grinning at the baby in an attempt to replicate last night’s moment of pure bliss. Maverick’s blue eyes flicker between the two of you, and he finds himself smiling too. “Here, make yourself useful, Gramps. I’ll get Bradley.”

He complies as easily as the door had, taking the baby as you pass him over, but his face falls. Gramps. That’s not his title, he hasn’t earned it. Looking down at the squirming little boy in his arms — god, he hopes he earns it.

You push up onto the edge of your bed, take two steps, and drop down on top of Bradley, waking him with a groan.

“Morning.” You grin at him as he frowns grumpily at you, blinking through the morning light. He reaches out blindly and cups the back of your neck, pulling you into him. You giggle as he kisses at your forehead, then puckers his lips expectantly for you to kiss his mouth.

You peck his lips softly.

He sighs softly. ”What time is it?”

You smooth your hands along his bare chest and tap at his navel. ”Eleven. Mav’s here, put some clothes on and entertain so that I can shower?”

“Uh-huh. Five more minutes.” He mumbles, turning his face into the pillow, almost knocking you off of him as he tries to roll onto his side. You shove at his shoulders and he groans again, more dramatically this time. “Fine, I’m up.”

You seem to have struck a decent balance. Maverick has stopped by every weekend since you got back from the hospital, more now that Bradley is back at work. He seems to have a little more freedom in the Navy than Bradley does, but Bradley says that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

Doesn’t matter to you either way, it gives you time on a Saturday morning to have a twenty minute shower, get dressed and still find time to put some makeup on afterwards. Even if Bradley does appear in the reflection behind you after exactly thirty-two minutes of independence.

“What’s that look on your face?” You wonder aloud, coating mascara through your lashes in the mirror. He presses his chest into you, snaking a hand around to your front and resting it against your stomach.

“Just… getting used to him not being in there anymore.”

“Tell me about it, I keep getting surprised when I see my toes.” You scoff in response, setting the applicator into the tube and twisting it shut, dropping it back into your makeup bag. Bradley leans forwards and kisses the side of your neck softly.

Then again. Then, he turns his head and looks at you through the mirror with a smile on his face.

“I can fix that, if it’s an issue for you.” You already know that he’s joking but the sentiment of being pregnant again so soon makes you screw your face up and push him off of you anyway.

“Five weeks postpartum and you’re already begging to knock me up again,” You hum, playing him right back at his own game as you pull a blush from the bag. “And to think, last time you just took it for granted.”

His palm smoothes over your stomach, using the leverage to drag you backwards into his chest. He turns his face and kisses your cheek tenderly.

“I’ll make it up to you next time.”

“Bradley, I love you,” You tell him carefully, squinting at him through the mirror, “but if you keep threatening to get me pregnant, I might have to take a vow of celibacy.”

He snorts. Threatening. His mouth stretches into a grin as his thumb trails across your navel, ending the conversation with a sweet shrug of his broad shoulders. Maybe there’s more to say on the topic, but you won’t know.

The sound of your phone ringing cuts between the two of you. Simultaneously, your eyes go wide. It’s going to make Thomas scream. That kid hates high-pitched noises, the two of you have been living with your phones on silent for weeks. You must have accidentally turned it off, either way, it’s loud and it’s shrill now — and Mav panics when Tommy starts screaming. Bradley leaves you with a quick squeeze of your hip, darting from the bathroom before you have even opened your mouth.

You hear him answer the phone with a quiet ‘hello?’ from the other room.

You slot the blush back into your makeup bag and dig around between plastic tubes and packages. Stupidly looking for whatever comes next in your routine, preparing yourself to do something minuscule like take a trip to the grocery store.

All too soon, Bradley appears in the mirror once again. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, his face suddenly sullen, his eyes on you.

“Yeah. No, I get it. Call us back when you know.” He says quietly. The line clicks dead against his ear and he swallows thickly. Your smile falls as you turn to face him.

”What is it?”

Bradley lets his hand fall down to his side, pausing in thought for just a moment. He presses his lips together and gives a small, weak shake of his head.

”It’s your dad.”

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…

“This… doesn’t look right.” Bradley pulls back and rests his hands against his hips, staring at the car seat with an unimpressed gaze frown.

“Sure it does.” You answer, peering around him to examine the situation in front of you. The straps are secure at the top of his chest, his plush cheek resting against the padded restraints.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look comfortable.” Bradley answers you with a shake of his head. This is his second practice of the day. He doesn’t want Tom to be in the car seat too long, but he knows that his most significant job in all of this is getting the two of you home safe.

He leans forwards and begins to fiddle with the straps again. Your newborn doesn’t seem fussed by his neurotic, worried dad anyways. Bradley hums. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll figure it out.”

“The Bradshaws! — How are we this morning?”

This, Thomas is fussed by. Over the last six days, the first six of his life, you’ve figured that your son has some pretty sharp reflexes. Even just blowing on his cheek makes him flinch. He jumps, arms and legs tensing at once, his still unfocused eyes blowing wide open as the doctor strolls into the room.

His lip begins to wobble and his nose scrunches up tight, his hands trembling under the confines of his mittens. You nudge Bradley out of the way and unclasp the straps right as Thomas begins to cry.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook this little sweetheart.” The doctor is smiling and reaching out to tickle the infant’s back and on your end, everything is forgiven. Bradley, however, glares at her as he reaches his son.

You hadn’t been expecting the same guy who once jumped off of the roof of a neighbouring frat house and into their pool to be such a nervous nelly when it came to parenthood. Especially not the same guy who told you he wanted no part in any of this.

You roll your eyes, rocking softly, shushing the baby. These past six days have taught you a lot of things. That the birthmark on the bottom of Thomas’ back is kind of the shape of Italy. That even though he can’t see much yet, he likes to look around while he’s being fed. That Bradley is not fast enough at changing diapers yet to avoid getting peed on.

That somehow, you and Bradley might have just created the most perfect little boy in the entire world. With his thatches of brown hair and his tiny fingers and toes, his sloped nose and poured lips. Those funny, jumpy reflexes.

“I’m just here to do some tests, see if we can get you guys home today.” She tells you with a bright smile. From the way that your face changes, she can tell that this is the news that you’ve been waiting for. Six days of barely walking, hearing other people’s babies screaming — you’ve been ready to go home for a while.

“Today? — Nobody said today. They said tomorrow.” Bradley interjects loudly. You scowl across at him and he shuts up, but the nervous way he fidgets on his feet tells you everything you need to know.

“I know, I know. But he’s doing just fine so far, and I’m sure you two are eager to sleep in your own beds again.” The doctor coos softly, learning from her initial mistake as she takes the baby from your arms. She follows your pattern of soothing and rocking and Thomas seems to consider quietening down.

Bradley pushes his hands into the pockets of his sweat shorts and just leans back against the end of the hospital bed. He’s so focused on watching this stranger with your baby that he doesn’t even hear you move until you’re pressing in against his side.

“You’re doing fine.” You promise him, stretching your open palm against the fabric of his black t-shirt, stretching your neck to look at him. “Stop stressing.”

He doesn’t say anything, and that worried frown on his face doesn’t soften either. Bradley swallows, brushes a hand over his upper lip and reaches out for you. You close

Your eyes as he secures an arm around your waist and tugs you closer, leaning down and resting his mouth against the top of your head.

He inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of unfamiliar shampoo and hospital borrowed soap.

“She called you a Bradshaw, you know.” He whispers finally, just before he straightens back up. You scoff, jabbing the tip of your index finger into his side.

“Don’t get any ideas, Pops. It’s bad enough you talked me into letting Tommy take your name.” You’re joking, of course. The amusement in your voice makes his chest feel that little bit less tight. You’ll say yes, one day. He’ll make sure it’s special and you’re not giving birth next time, and you’ll say yes.

He pinches your side playfully and tugs you closer again. “Pops? — I thought we agreed on you calling me—“

He grunts as you jerk your elbow back into his stomach, just enough to make him jolt but not enough to actually hurt the idiot you’ve come to be so fond of. There it is, he grins behind you, his chest rumbling with a soft chuckle.

Minutes later, the doctor turns around to you and gives you the go-ahead. Suddenly, the little boy in the roomy onesie is all yours, and yours alone. Well, not that suddenly, there’s paperwork first. But sudden feels the only appropriate word when you’re walking out of the hospital, with no one to guide you.

Bradley’s knuckles are white around the handle of the car seat in his right hand, a slightly softer approach to the way that he’s holding your hand in his left.

“You’re sure you can walk? — They said you could have a chair, if you want a chair.” He checks, for the second time since you stepped out of the elevator.

“I’m fine.” You give his hand a soft squeeze and groan softly as you step out into the mid-summer suffocation of the Florida heat. “Now walk with purpose. It’s too hot for this.”

Settled into the backseat beside Thomas, sleeping in his car seat, you catch Bradley frowning worriedly back at the both of you before he turns the key in the ignition.

The drive home is slow, and uneventful. The baby is asleep. Bradley’s eyes are trained seriously on the road, his hands holding a steady ten and two position on the wheel. You don’t dare suggest that he turns on the radio.

There were plenty of things that you had prepared yourself for when you had decided to have your baby. Your body changing, fine. Your career plans changing, okay. The hormones and the responsibilities and the tiny human who would depend on you for probably the rest of your life, sure.

Some things about such a drastic lifestyle change simply cannot be planned for.

Nine hours ago, you brought your son home from the hospital. This is something that you would never admit out loud, but in those last few days of your pregnancy, the concern had flooded your mind that maybe your feelings for Bradley were purely hormonal. You were carrying his child, it makes sense that your body would want him around. It was the after that had concerned you.

But, you had watched today as Bradley had carried the car seat in one hand and secured you by his side with the other. He had buckled your son into the car, and he had driven home under the speed limit the entire way.

You exhale softly as you step out of the shower. That’s growing easier now, six days later, but your body is far from healed. Your legs still tremble when you try to stand too long, and your back aches in a way you’re starting to worry might be permanent.

It’s quiet in your apartment now. You listen out as you towel dry your body, trying to find the pitch of a sports narrator or some soft music — anything. It’s almost dead silent.

You wriggle into your pyjamas and wrap your wet hair, walking slow out of the bathroom and down the hall. You’re barely dry, your warm feet padding along the carpet, wrinkled fingers pushing open the door to the bedroom.

One of the things that none of the articles you had read seemed to mention, is what to do the first time that you see the father of your child at home with your baby.

Bradley’s sitting up against the pillows with Thomas nestled against his chest. His hand eclipses the infant’s torso as he pats his back softly. Thomas’ cheek is resting against Bradley’s pectoral, you can’t see from where you are but instinct and your son’s uncharacteristic stillness tells you that he’s sleeping.

Bradley’s singing. He’s patting the baby’s back gently and he’s singing softly, trying hard to push the usually deep rumble of his voice into lullaby territory.

Your mouth falls slack, cold feet becoming still against the soft floor. This tiny first apartment and its discernible wooden doors that creak at every opportunity give you away and he stops just as quickly as he is perceived.

His gaze flickers up and his lips twist softly into a small smile. You watch him take account of your matching maternity pyjamas which threaten to be too big without the stretch of your bump. Amusement floods the hint of the smile on his lips — he loves to laugh at these pyjamas.

His hand stills against Thomas’ back, those glittery brown eyes flicker up to study the look on your face.

“Hey, babe,” He hums, keeping his voice low so that he doesn’t startle the baby. “How was your shower?”

“I didn’t think I would miss our shitty water pressure, but I’m just so glad we’re not at the hospital anymore.” You pad across the carpet towards him and crawl into bed, pulling back the sheets and draping yourself across Bradley’s brawny thighs.

He looks down at you and secures the infant close to his chest, freeing one hand to brush tenderly across your cheek.

“What was that song were you singing him?” You ask. The ceiling fan whirs above you like a thrumming, excessively loud lullaby. The warmth of his thigh props up your cheek.

There’s something about it all that feels too much like a dream. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. The NICU isn’t exactly a luxury retreat, despite its price point. Tonight is your first night home from the hospital. Your son is six days old and yesterday, he officially crossed the threshold into five pound territory. Tonight, he’s huddled against Bradley’s bare chest, wearing a diaper that had seemed too tiny for an actual human to wear and zipped into a onesie printed with little ducks on it. Geese, maybe, actually.

You lift your hand and reach out, watching your fingertip follow the soft cotton covering those wrinkled lines on the sole of Thomas’ foot that you’ve come to be so familiar with already.

The infant curls his toes and unclenches them again, scrunching his knees. Bradley watches, lips twisted into a smile that he couldn’t fight back if he tried.

There’s something about the steady, heavy thrum of Bradley’s heartbeat that puts the kid right to sleep. The warm bath and the ounce of milk that came before he was set on his dad’s stomach may have helped too. Bradley’s hand cups the back of Thomas’ neck, keeping the sleeping baby steady.

“Wildflowers by, uh— Tom Petty, I think?” Bradley shrugs. In truth, he knows the song inside and out — it was the first song he learned to play on piano. He’s used to playing that down. Girls find guitars hot, not his years of classical piano lessons.

You smile, lifting your head and pressing a gentle kiss to the sole of the baby’s foot, soft blue cottons

against your lips. Then, you lower your mouth and press it softly to Bradley’s stomach. Just once, before you drop your head back down and set it against his thigh.

“He’s so good, and I’m still exhausted.” You murmur, exhaling deeply. Behind heavy lids, you make a mental note to look into which ingredient in the smell of baby soap acts as such a good sleeping agent.

“You should sleep. He’ll be up again in a couple of hours.” Bradley reminds you, stroking damp hair back off of your forehead. Closing your eyes, you nod with him, but make no effort to move. He smiles. “Come on, I don’t need to sing the both of you to sleep, do I?”

You huff a soft sound of amusement, giving a small shake of your head. “Not tonight, Pops. Put him to bed, let’s get some sleep.”

Bradley chuckles, carefully shifting your son off of his stomach and instead laying him across his thighs as you sit up.

“Mom and Dad… isn’t that crazy?” He muses, stroking his thumb across the soft hair on the infant’s head. Thomas is still so small that Bradley’s palm makes him look even tinier. You lean into your boyfriend’s shoulder and stroke the baby’s cheek.

“I know.” You agree quietly.

Big, round cheeks and pursed lips, dark eyelashes and a soft little nose. His tiny hands balled into fists, his knees curled up to his middle. Blue clouds adorning his onesie. Half you, and half Bradley.

“Alright, we’ll see you in a couple hours, little man. Yell if you need something.” Bradley half jokes as he pushes himself up from the bed and turns to set the baby into the bassinet. With the lung capacity he has already impressed you with, you know that he’ll have no issues letting you know if he wants something.

He crawls back into bed beside you and flicks the beside lamp off, pulling the covers up around the two of you. Readily, you press yourself close to him and close your eyes. He smells like baby soap.

“Are you still hurting anywhere?” Bradley’s voice lowers to a whisper now, his breath fanning across the nape of your neck as he leans his head into the crook of your shoulder and cautiously rests a hand against your hip. Into the dark, your mouth twitches at a smile.

Your hips feel both squished and torn apart at the same time. Your back feels like it might never feel quite right ever again. But even with him a cautious distance from you, you can feel the perpetual warmth from his body.

“Everywhere. But I still want you to hold me.”

Slowly, he slides an arm under you and another over you. Draping his body around yours, he pulls you close and suddenly you get whatever it is that sends Thomas off to sleep so easily. The faint musky smell of his fading cologne. The steady, heavy thrum of his heartbeat. The long, deep pattern of his breathing.

Just when you think he has beat you to it, he reminds you that he’s still awake. A soft, chaste kiss presses to your throat, his voice low as he mumbles, “I love you.”

As much as Thomas is a good baby; he’s still a baby. A small one at that, with plenty of growing to do. Even now, he just about finishes an ounce of milk at a time — half of the time. That means a lot of wake ups. A lot of diaper changes with your eyes half open.

The first four days of parenthood pass you by before you’ve really come to terms with the reality of it all. Constant feeds through the night, surviving off of instant noodles and pizza — all of this doesn’t feel too far of a stretch from your recent college days.

But it’s harder now. The responsibilities are never ending. It’s hard to remain rational about any of it.

“If you could breastfeed, would you do it?”

From the other end of the couch, Bradley seems to startle awake. Brows drawing together in confusion, he stares across your dimly lit living room at you, then takes a second to look around him.

You’re at the end of the movie now, so he doesn’t have a clue how long he has been sleeping. Stretching his legs out, he sighs softly, “Yeah. I guess so.”

Your mouth twitches at the fact that he doesn’t even ask you why. He blinks softly and brings both hands up to rub at his eyes tiredly.

“What time is it?”

“Two, maybe.” You shrug, watching Thomas’ eyelids grow heavy. His hands remain balled and tucked in against his chest. He has spent these past four days stretching out occasionally, scrunching himself back into a tight ball frequently.

“No fucking way did I just sleep for four hours. The movie’s still playing.” Bradley protests, awkwardly fumbling to push himself upright and puckering his mouth into a deep frown. You just shrug across at him once more.

“I put the sequel on after you fell asleep.”

He hadn’t ever thought he would be able to have a regular conversation with a woman who had her breast out in front of him, but here he is. It doesn’t even cross his mind to check you out. The only thing he’s thinking about is the fact you’re running on maybe an hour of uninterrupted sleep and all you had wanted was to watch your movie with him. And he had fallen asleep.

He fumbles around, checking his pockets for his phone, finding it instead resting between his jaw and shoulder. You close your eyes for a moment as he checks the time. In the split second that your eyes are shut, Thomas makes a spluttering sound.

As quickly as you can lift and turn him, the has already spit the last mouthful of milk back against your skin and all down his chin.

“Oh, Tommy…” You groan, adjusting the strap of your nursing bra with one hand as you support him with the other.

“Here, I’ll take him.” Bradley offers, pushing himself up and starting to scoot towards you.

“We’re fine.” Maybe it comes out a little bit harsh, maybe your tone is a little colder than normal. Bradley frowns at you, sitting still at the opposite end of the sectional. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know you didn’t.” You’re just doubling down at this point as you wipe at Thomas’ mouth with a muslin cloth. Bradley’s brows draw together a bit.

“So why are you mad at me? — Just let me help you.” He pushes forwards again and reaches for your son.

“I said we’re fine!” You bite back. The baby flinches and quickly starts to scream. You slam your eyes shut, darkness behind your lids and a dull ache drilling from your temples to the core of your brain.

Opposite you, Bradley sighs, dropping his head forward into his hands. You’re both silent. The sequel plays on. The baby keeps on screaming. Neither one of you look at each other.

This is what all new parents go through, you know that. It doesn’t make it any less sore in the moment.

“What should I do?” Bradley asks finally, pushing up from the sofa and squeezing against your side, wrapping an arm around your aching shoulders. It’s not worth dragging your eyes open for.

“Never get me pregnant again, for starters.” You mutter half-jokingly. Bradley chuckles at your side and turns his head to kiss at those sore temples, like he can feel where it hurts. Maybe those dad-senses are sharper than you give him credit for.

“Not even once more? — But look how cute the first one wa—“ He’s only joking of course, but he still has the good sense to shut up when you turn your head and glare at him. He grins, and he looks just like he did the first time you were stupid enough to melt for that pretty look.

“You hungry?” Bradley asks. He read somewhere that breastfeeding can cause stronger appetites.

“Yeah.”

“Dad’s got it. We’ll be right back.” Bradley promises you, dipping forwards and kissing your temple once more, stealing the baby in one fell swoop. “Come on, buddy.”

Bradley pads into the kitchen barefoot, bouncing the baby in his arms and you let your eyes fall shut once more. You’re only two weeks in. They don’t start sleeping through the night for another couple months at least — sometimes years. You don’t know how you could do another couple years of being this delirious.

Closing your eyes, it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re not here. That you’re still in school, or still in your parents’ house. Somewhere safer, where you could hide from the limited responsibilities that you had back then. It would be so easy to drift off into a dream about life being that easy again.

Instead, the sofa dips at your side and your boys are back. Bradley announces himself by kissing your cheek softly and pressing a spoon into your hand.

“All we have is Ice-Cream.” He tells you, settling Thomas into the crook of his elbow and passing the tub of ice cream off to you. You blink at the vanilla flavoured frozen treat in front of you, then look up to stare at him. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow. We’ll both go. You can stay here and sleep in.”

You look away for just a second, digging the tip of your spoon into the ice cream, and hear him continue.

“We can get whatever we want, Mommy won’t be there to tell us no.”

Despite your best efforts, a smile itches its way across your face. You turn your head and attempt to force at a scowl. All five of Thomas’ right-hand fingers are wrapped around Bradley’s little finger, they both seem to be looking at you.

“I don’t care what you come home with as long as there’s more of this stuff in there somewhere.” You decide, slipping a spoonful into your mouth and savouring the flavour on your tongue. Bradley shifts, leaning his head against yours.

“Share.” He demands, leaving his mouth open. You snuff your nose at him as you dig another spoonful from the tub and shovel it into his mouth. “That’s so good.”

“Probably not what we should be eating. We aren’t setting a very good example.” You hum, ignoring your own advice and gulping down another spoonful, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table.

If only your mother could see you now. She would lose her marbles if she saw your approach to motherhood.

“Eh, this kid pees himself all day long. We’ll start being good examples for him later on.” Bradley shrugs, leaning his weight into you, turning his attention back to the tv. “So can you explain to me what I missed?”

…

…

Bradley spins the padlock, humming as he does, twisting the lock and pulling open his locker. That run was awful, his instructor has been breathing down his back and Bradley had fucked up two consecutive manoeuvres. He’s sweaty, and tired.

It’s nice out, though, and you’ve been so couped up recently that it’s driving you crazy. If he’s done early enough he could take you out. It’s the middle of summer, there are tons of properties not far that host drive-ins.

You’d probably like that.

He reaches for his bag first. Towel, clothes, soap — the necessities. Under that, is his phone, which he picks up absentmindedly, without checking. Immediately, it starts to buzz in his hand. He turns it over as he walks towards the showers, seeing an unknown number flash up on the screen.

Instinct tells him to answer. He taps the button and cautiously brings the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“There you are, you son of a bitch!”

Bradley blinks, frowning slightly. His stomach drops.

“Jake?”

“No, no! Don’t you dare fucking speak, where the hell are you?” Jake rants on the other end of the line. Bradley’s brows furrow as he plugs a finger into his ear to try to hear. He knows for a fact that Jake gets one call a week, and he hasn’t ever wasted that call on speaking to Bradley.

“What? — I’m at work, what’s going on?” About fifteen other pilots just piled into this room behind him, it’s hard to hear, even with the way your brother is screaming.

“My baby sister’s about to have your kid in your dumbass uncle’s car is what’s going on! — I’m so serious about this, Bradley, if you fucking let her down today, I will kill you — I promise you that I will actually—“

“Uncle? Jake, slow down, I’m grabbing my keys. Where the fuck is she?” Bradley turns on his heel and shoves his way back through the steam-filled locker room, pressing the phone closer to try to hear. It has been hours since he was able to check his phone and the thought makes his throat tight. He can’t think of how many times you would have tried to reach him, how scared you must be.

It’s the entire reason you’re here, away from everything you have ever known; so that he could be there for you. And he isn’t. He might have missed it. He could have let you down all over again.

“She’s on her way to Sacred Heart Hospital! Do you know how many fucking times she tried to call you?” Before Jake even gets to finish his second sentence, Bradley has started running, hoping that he doesn’t turn a corner and knock hot coffee into someone important.

Jake continues to rant on the other end of the line but Bradley’s far from even listening. All he can think of now is when he woke up the night after halloween and saw you laying in his bed, wrapped in his jersey. You had looked so comfortable that he hadn’t wanted to wake you.

On his run that morning, he had thought about it. If he had woken you. Asked you for your number, asked you on a date. He had thought about the way you had joked the night before and the instant connection. But then he came home and realized who you were. It was all downhill from there with the way he had treated you.

He should have just woken you that morning, asked you if you would go to dinner with him. There are so many things he would do differently now. He swallows as he climbs into the driver’s side of his truck and wraps a hand around the wheel just to notice how much he’s trembling now.

“Are you fucking listening to me?”

Bradley swallows, fumbling to get the key into the ignition and balance his phone between his ear and his cheek. “Look, Jake… I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you when I can.”

Jake starts to protest, but Bradley hangs up anyway. His heartbeat thuds in his ears as he backs out of the parking spot. August third. It hasn’t ever been important before, it will be every day for the rest of his life. It’s his son’s birthday.

Maverick winces at your bedside. He has been told by nurses six times now to just sit, that it could be a while before a doctor can see you. But, he won’t. He has been standing to the right side of your bed for over an hour now. He has been acting on autopilot, he barely even knows how he got you here. It’s the one thing that has kept him alive in his career so far, probably. Instinct.

He watches as you double forwards, gritting your teeth, whimpering in pain.

Bradley doesn’t have anybody, Maverick never had anybody. You’ve got two parents out there somewhere who are willing to let you go through this alone. He swallows softly at the thought and lifts his hand, brushing it tenderly over your head as he leans closer.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be just fine.” He says quietly. Your hand darts out and your fingers link between his, squeezing hard at his shaking hand. As much as he’s certain that your grip is going to bruise, he just exhales slowly and smooths his thumb over the back of your hand.

He didn’t even know your name this morning.

“Alright, Miss Seresin,” The snap of a surgical glove alerts the both of you, looking up quickly to see the smiling woman in the colourful scrubs entering the room. “My name is Lucy, I’m just here to do a quick check on how things are progressing. How does that sound?”

Still gritting your teeth, you’re too busy holding your breath and waiting for the pain to subside to answer her. Maverick makes a pained sound at your side, exhaling deeply as you finally let go of his hand.

“Mhm.” You manage out.

Lucy offers you a sympathetic smile as she pulls up a stool at the end of the bed. Maverick turns his attention towards the ceiling as she settles between your legs. You make a soft sound, closing your eyes. You wish that your mom was here holding your hand, rather than Bradley’s last standing family member.

“Okay, you’re still at six centimeters,” Lucy hums. You drop your head back against the pillow and groan in frustration. You’ve been at six centimeters for an hour and a half. Maverick squeezes your hand softly as Lucy grabs your chart from the end of the bed. “How would you rate your pain at the moment?”

“I don’t know. Does it get worse than this?” Your voice trembles as you speak. After sobbing hysterically into both Bradley’s voicemail and to Jake’s commander, begging him to put Jake on the phone, you’ve been doing your best not to cry again. It seems to make Maverick uncomfortable.

“Can you give her anything? — An epidural, or whatever?” Maverick presses.

Lucy presses her lips into a line as she pushes herself to her feet and sets the chart back into its place. She gives a small shake of her head. If she knew anything about Pete Mitchell, she would know that ‘no’ isn’t a word he often agrees with.

“Why not?” He urges, brows knitting together as he drops your hand and straightens up. You glance between him and her.

She sighs softly. “With pregnancies that have complications, we tend to advise against epidural. It could put more strain on his heart, we would have to monitor very closely.”

“So monitor it closely. If you’re so worried, why has she been sitting here for an hour on her own?” Maverick challenges her. Lucy looks towards you and wrings her hands together.

“Pete, stop.” You breathe out.

“I can get the doctor to discuss it with you. It’s still an option at this point, but—“

“I don’t want it.” Your answer is instant. It’s the most confident you’ve sounded all day. Maverick’s head whips around and for the first time, you catch sight of Bradley in his eyes. It’s not a genetic thing, just more of a temperament. All of those hours spent together, Bradley’s quizzical, developing mind. He’s been copying those mannerisms subconsciously since he was in the first grade.

“But—“

“I don’t want it. We’ll be just fine without it.” You decide calmly, smoothing your palms over your swollen stomach for one of the last times. Pete opens his mouth at your side, he almost argues with you, but he stops himself. This isn’t his kid, or even his family — Bradley has made that clear. So, pressing his lips together, he just nods.

Bradley can feel all of the eyes on him. Maybe it’s because he’s in uniform, maybe it’s because he is walking so fast that when he collided with a doctor two minutes ago, he knocked the poor guy straight on his ass and just kept walking. His eyes widen as he spots the reception desk finally.

“Seresin. My, uh — my girlfriend is having a baby. Her last name is Seresin, she should be here.” Bradley breathes out. The nurse looks up at him and smiles. She sees a lot of stressed out, first time dads. This isn’t unusual.

“Alright. What’s your name, honey?” She smiles.

“Bradley Bradshaw.”

“I’ll tell her you’re here, I’ll come get you as soon as she says it’s okay. Why don’t you get some water, just take a breath?” She reaches out and pats the hand that he has resting on top of the counter. Bradley swallows, managing to give her a stiff nod.

She’s gone for less than two minutes, but Bradley’s pounding heart just makes it feel like it’s an eternity. She can see it on his face when she walks back towards him that he’s terrified. So, she just offers him a smile and nods for him to follow her.

At first, Bradley doesn’t even notice that there’s anyone else in the room. All he sees is you, sitting up in the bed, your hair pulled back and tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He rushes towards you. You whimper as he wraps you in his arms, grabbing onto him tightly. He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Jake got through to me, I got here as soon as I could.”

“I was scared you wouldn’t make it in time.” You whisper into his chest. Bradley turns his head and kisses your temple, nodding. He opens his mouth to agree, and then takes notice of who is standing at the other side of your bed. His uncle. He hadn’t taken much notice of what Jake had said on the phone.

He stands up straight and stares, silent for a second. Maverick has learned by now to just keep his mouth shut.

“I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from my family.”

“Bradley, don’t. He got me here, he stayed with me.” You frown up at him. Bradley just stares over you, looking at the man who has let him down again and again for as long as they have known each other.

Maverick takes a slow step back, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll go. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

“No, Mav—“

“I don’t want him here. He doesn’t need to be anywhere near—“

“I want him here.” You answer back, scowling up at your boyfriend. Of all the stupid arguments that the two of you have had, Bradley knows better than to pick a fight with someone who is in active labour.

Even so, Maverick has spent more than two decades going against Bradley’s wishes. Making him eat his vegetables, refusing to let him drop out of little league, almost ruining his career. He needs to give his nephew some leeway here, if this is going to work.

“I could go to your place. Get you some things, give you two a minute. I’ll come back, sit in the waiting room. If you want me, I’ll be right outside.”

“No.” Bradley deadpans. You shoot him a look, then turn to offer Pete a small smile.

“Can I text you a list? I have it all written on my phone.”

Maverick nods. He still has your keys from earlier, and honestly, he’s grateful to be out from Bradley’s glare once he leaves the room. You’re grateful that you aren’t going to have the two of them fighting while you’re trying to do this.

Bradley’s scowl fades once he’s certain that Maverick is far enough away. He turns around and perches on the side of your bed, draping his arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“How are you feeling? — Did they give you anything for the pain, yet?” He asks softly, smoothing his free hand tenderly over your stomach. You scrunch your nose slightly and turn to frown at him.

“No — Bradley, you smell disgusting.”

He stares back at you, blinking slowly. “Honey, I ran a red light to get here. Showering wasn’t my top priority.”

“No, I know, but — could you maybe put your arm down?”

His mouth twitches, giving an amused shake of his head as he unwraps his arm from around you. He entwines his fingers with yours instead, giving your hand a soft squeeze. “What do you mean they haven’t given you anything? — Do you want me to talk to someone?”

“No, no. I can’t have an epidural, it would put him at risk. I’m going to do it without.” You’re quiet as you explain it, just waiting for Bradley to freak out like Maverick had wanted to. He’s quiet for a minute. You brace yourself.

He strokes his thumb softly along the fabric of the hospital gown. It takes him a minute to finally lift his head and look you in the eye. He exhales slowly.

“You’re sure?”

“You couldn’t change my mind if you tr— ah.” You wince, sitting bolt upright and holding your breath. Bradley barely even notices you squeezing his hand. He feels sick, watching the way your entire body goes rigid with the pain. He has read that this can take like eight hours the first time, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to sit through eight hours of watching you suffer like this.

That being said, there’s nothing he can do but be here. An hour later, he’s already on the verge of tearing his hair out as silent tears roll down your cheeks while you sip on water. He has suggested the epidural twice more since your first conversation, you’ve refused it twice.

The contractions are more regular now. You’re trying to keep him calm, knowing that he’s freaking out even more than you are, but they’re close enough together now that you haven’t spoken in a while. You knew this was going to hurt, but the last ten minutes have been agony.

“Okay, Miss Seresin, just here for another quick check.” Lucy strolls back into the room smiling again, shooting a quick look to the new man standing at your bedside. Bradley glances between you and her, fighting to ask her where the hell she has been. She sits between your legs once more. You sigh in discomfort. The thing about not having an epidural — you can feel everything. “Oh.”

Bradley looks at her. “Oh?”

“She, uh — We’re just about there. That was fast, you’re sure this is your first?” Her smile has faded for the first time. You stare at her face. She looks scared. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

“She’d notice if it wasn’t, wouldn’t she?” Bradley bites. You swing your arm out and smack him in the stomach. Lucy stands up quickly.

“I’m going to grab the doctor.”

You’re quiet as she hurries off, turning your head and looking up at Bradley. He watches your lip tremble and reaches out instinctively, stroking gently at your cheek. He wipes a salty tear from your skin.

“She looked worried.” You whisper to him.

He leans down, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your mouth as he squeezes your hand. “You’ve got this. You’re going to be just fine. This whole time, you’ve been so strong. Just a little longer.”

Squeezing his hand, you lean closer and rest your face against his arm.

“I’m so fucking scared.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, to either one of you.” Bradley kisses the top of your head, his eyes sting. He closes them and inhales the familiar scent of your hair. There’s no way in hell he’s going to cry in front of you. “Just a little longer and he’s going to be here, this is all going to be worth it.”

He doesn’t know that for sure, there’s no way that he can, but it’s enough for you to believe it. Besides, there isn’t a lot of time to be caught up in the fear. Once pushing starts, there’s only one thing on your mind and that’s getting this over and done with.

Bradley isn’t sure what he was expecting labour to be like, but he wasn’t expecting so many people. There are six people in this room and Bradley isn’t sure exactly what any of them are here for specifically. His main focus is you.

Each time you push, your body goes tense, you grit your teeth and you hold your breath. He’s sure that you’re going to pass out any minute now.

“Okay, another big one. You’re doing great.” The doctor instructs. Bradley shoots him a furious look. A nurse at your side is quick to rub your shoulder and tell you to breathe. He leans in close and kisses the top of your head. Once again, you grit your teeth and push hard. Bradley feels like he can’t breathe himself.

This time, you don’t hold your breath. Instead, it’s all forced out of your lungs at once as you scream out, digging your nails into Bradley’s palm, hot tears spilling onto your cheeks. The second that you’re done screaming, there’s no getting your breath back. You inhale too fast and sob back out an exhale. Again and again as the nurse at your side tells you to slow down.

“Alright, and again.” The doctor sighs.

Your eyes flicker to him, and Bradley snaps. He can’t stand the pain in your expression, and he can’t stand that doctor’s fucking tone. “Again? — She needs a break. She can’t go again.”

The abundantly calm older lady between your legs simply lifts her head and looks up at him through her glasses. She has been delivering babies longer than either one of you has been alive. “Son, there’s no time for a break right now. This baby’s coming. Rather than yelling at me, focus on her.”

Bradley’s jaw ticks as he settles in closer and brings your knuckles up to rest against his lips. He winces, blinking back tears as you have to go through another tough push. Your head falls back against the pillows in a moment of brief respite.

He studies your face for a second. Up until this exact moment in time, as he’s wiping tears from your cheeks with his free hand, Bradley had seen the two of you maybe having another kid. Right now, he’s certain that he’ll never put you through any of this again.

“You must hate me right now.” He whispers, giving a soft shake of his head. Honestly, he doesn’t really expect you to answer. He barely expects you to hear him. He definitely doesn’t expect you to laugh.

Your face is hot, and blotchy with tears. Your entire body is exhausted and trembling, and you’re laughing at him. Sniffling, you blink through the tears, “I’ve hated you more than I do right now, it’s okay.”

He can’t help but smile, brushing a few strands of hair back off of your face, then leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about the future, and about our family—“

“Don’t you dare fucking propose to me right now, Bradley. Don’t.” You growl. The nurse at your side just can’t hold it in. Bradley frowns at her as she giggles and rubs soothingly at your back. He kisses your knuckles and closes his mouth.

You’re right. He’ll finish that speech another time.

“Here’s his head.”

Bradley looks swiftly away and stares at the ceiling. The death-grip that you’ve got on his hand is the least of his worries. The thought alone is enough to make him dizzy. Jake’s going to kill him if he passes out. He inhales slowly through his nose and leans in again, resting his forehead against your temple as you cry out.

“There we go, that’s perfect. Keep going, he’s almost here.” The doctor’s tone never lifts above a breezy cadence. She’s beyond cool, finally glancing up to offer you a small smile.

He sticks to your side, kissing your temple. Your chest heaves. There’s not long to go, you’re almost done. But, the end is the worst. It really does feel like you’re going to black out. You don’t know how people have been doing this for so long, or why some of them choose to have so many kids after this pain.

You half expect to give up, to break down crying and begging for your mother before it’s all done. You’re right on the verge, whimpering into the sleeve of Bradley’s flight suit. And then, it’s over. The doctor exhales deeply and hums.

He takes his first big inhale and promptly wails into the air.

The doctor has him in her hands when she looks up and catches sight of the two of you before her. You’re clinging onto his hand and he’s pressing as close to you as he can without crawling into the bed. There’s a fearful, awestruck look plastered across both of your faces as you stare in the direction of the scream.

She smiles at the two of you. You’re going to be just fine.

“Would you like to cut the cord?” The doctor asks Bradley calmly. He regrets yelling at her now, but she doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.

Bradley blinks, then shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to hurt him.

She chuckles, then shakes her head. “You won’t.”

He does as instructed, rolling his sleeves up, and quickly cleaning his hands and arms. He’s the first one that gets a look. As he sets the scissors back down, he turns his head towards you with a look on his face that you haven’t seen before.

Blinking back tears, Bradley smiles softly at you. And then he’s all yours. They set the baby down on your chest, starting to clean and dry him off right away. Bradley moves to your side once again, brushing your hair back off of your forehead.

Still wailing, you whimper quietly as you stare down at the infant. Ten fingers, ten toes, a good set of lungs on him. Bradley’s lips press softly to your forehead as you reach out, hands trembling, and trail your fingers featherlight along the length of his spine.

His plush, pink lips tremble as the wailing starts to subside. Bradley strokes tenderly at the nape of your neck with his thumb, rendered silent as he watches you with him.

“Hi,” You breathe out, hugging the towel closer to him. You inhale deeply, then exhale through your nose. A nurse smiles as she reaches around you to place the soft knit hat on top of his head. He’s warm enough now, you want to keep it that way. “Hi, baby boy.”

Bradley swallows the lump in his throat. Four and a half hours of labour without any tears. Twelve seconds of watching you with your baby and hot tears are stinging his eyes.

You get five minutes with him before they have to check his vitals, his weight, his height. As much as your arms feel empty without him there, you want those results. You want him to be fine. You want to see him in that bassinet beside your bed tomorrow night.

Blinking, you look up at Bradley. He scoffs as your mouth falls open.

“Allergies.” He mumbles, crouching down to kiss your mouth as tears dampen his cheeks. You reach up and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, turning your face into his neck. You feel him relax into your touch. He kisses your shoulder, sniffling.

Both of you let it be quiet for a moment. You won’t be getting a lot of that once you’re at home, not with that boy’s vocal chords.

“Thank you,” Bradley mumbles into the crook of your neck. He pulls back from the hug just slightly, brushing the backs of his fingers along your cheek. He sighs, then nods seriously. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t ask me to do it again.” You joke, watching his tearful face shift into a grin. He sits forwards and kisses you. You close your eyes as he trails his fingertips along your arms.

“I’m serious,” He tells you softly, watching you blink tiredly. “I’d have nothing if it wasn’t for you. I was bitter and mean, and you were way too nice to me. It’s because of you that we have him. I’m so, so grateful.”

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile. If Jake could hear some of this, he would probably start to like Bradley again.

Exhaustion starts to set in, but there’s no time to sleep when there are doctors and nurses fussing over you, and then he’s being bundled back into you again.

Your eyelids are heavy as you turn your head and look over at Bradley, sitting in the chair beside your bed. His flight suit is tied around his waist and his t-shirt is draped over the back of the chair. Your baby looks tiny nestled into his arms.

You fight to keep awake as your always calm doctor walks into the room once again and sits down between the two of you.

“Seventeen inches, four pounds and ten ounces. Congratulations.” She tells the two of you with a small smile. Bradley doesn’t look up at her, smoothing his fingertips through the soft, dark hair on your son’s head. She looks at you, then at Bradley. “He’s strong. He’s doing well. We’re going to move you to the neonatal intensive care unit so that we can keep an eye on his feedings. We need to get that weight up, keep him warm. But, I’m not concerned.”

You swallow softly. “The tests and everything… he looked okay?”

She stands up and takes two small steps towards you. She rests her hand softly on your forearm, giving you a sincere nod. “Aside from his weight, he’s perfect. Does he have a name?”

Bradley finally lifts his head and looks, offering you a small smile. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and nod at her. “His name’s Thomas.”

It breaks your heart when it’s time for him to go. The thought of him being without you on that ward. Bradley holds you while you cry, and truthfully, he feels like crying too. It’s been a long day. You’re all emotional.

He stays with you until you fall asleep. Then, half-awake himself, he heads off to see your son. It’s the first night that he gets to say goodnight to the both of you.

Bradley stops as he closes the door to your room behind him. He stares at the man asleep in the waiting area, drooling on his hand as it props his chin up. He knew Mav had gotten here a while ago, someone had brought the bag in. Bradley just figured he would have gone home by now. Exhaling slowly, he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides.

“Mav?”

The older pilot startles awake, blue eyes wide and blinking quickly as he tries to figure out where he is. It takes him a moment to figure out who is in front of him. Tall, flight-suit, mustache. Maverick feels the lump in his throat grow as he realises that it isn’t his best friend.

He looks Bradley up and down. He looks older now than he did a few hours ago, not just because he’s tired. Because Maverick isn’t looking at a little boy anymore.

“There’s someone you probably want to meet, huh?”

…

…

“Hey, Bradshaw,” He looks up from his locker, brows raised as he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. Ames, one of his new acquaintances from flight school, is about six steps away and the one speaking. Bradley gives him a small nod of acknowledgement as he reaches for his clothes. “Is it true you’ve got a kid on the way?”

Being as young as he is, and straight out of college, Bradley understands the surprise. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s about to be a dad, but it’s not something that he advertises at work. He doesn’t advertise much about his life at work. Truthfully, his only goal is to get through flight school without any trouble.

“Uh-huh.” Bradley steps into his boxers and unwraps the towel from around his waist, draping it over his shoulder.

“That’s crazy,” Ames chuckles from behind him, shaking his head amusedly. Bradley shakes out his wet curls. Eight months ago, he would have agreed. “So, you’re getting married, then?”

Bradley scoffs. Even if you can manage to ignore that thick accent, Ames finds a way to remind everyone that he’s from the middle of Buttfuck-Nowhere, Kentucky. Stepping into his issued khakis, Bradley turns his head once more to find that most eyes are on him now.

“No?” He answers, tone incredulous. He’s not sure why everyone’s first reaction when they find out that the two of you are having a kid is to ask when the wedding is. Seems a little outdated. It’s not something that you’ve discussed. Or even something that he has really considered.

“Man,” Ames laughs from behind him as Bradley pulls his white t-shirt over his head. “I can’t imagine being stuck with the same pussy for the rest of my life.”

Halfway through tucking his shirt into his pants, Bradley stops, and turns towards his new colleague. He inhales slowly, blinking twice at the red headed asshole who just made the mistake of making that comment.

This is his career on the line, sure — everything that he’s spent his entire life working towards. But it’s not just that. This is medical, it’s security, it’s going to make sure his kid is okay for the rest of his life. It’s not worth throwing that little weasel on the ground and making him shut his mouth.

He exhales, then winds his face into a tight-lipped smile. “Maybe once you lose your virginity you’ll feel differently, buddy.”

The heavy silence in the locker room is broken by a round of laughs, and the mocking immediately begins. Ames groans, trying to quieten the jokes at his expense. Bradley pulls his khaki shirt on, buttons it swiftly and grabs his bag to leave.

His boots thud along the halls, not stopping for anybody as he heads for his truck. It wasn’t that long ago that he was in the locker room at college, listening to this same shit without batting an eyelid. Hell, when you first came to him, he was the one saying it.

He slips into the driver’s side and drives home. There’s no making up for how much of an asshole he was, not that long ago. He probably still is, or still could be — but his kid won’t be.

“Seresin!” Your eyes widen at the sound of him swinging the front door open and letting it slam closed behind him. Dropping the screws, your body tenses.

“Shit, shit, shit…” You whisper, abandoning the screws on the floor. With how round you’re feeling, bending over to get them at this point is quite simply not an option.

If he’s looking down at his phone, there’s a chance that he won’t even notice you. You slow yourself at first, quieting your footsteps along the floor as much as you can.

“Hey! — I thought I told you to stay in bed.”

You groan in frustration, one hand on your bump, busted. Footsteps behind you tell you that Bradley is not only home from work early, but he is also ready to enforce the bed rest rule again for another day. Pretending that you hadn’t heard him is becoming a more and more frequent issue, as you continue along the hallway and into the nursery.

“I’m talking to you, Seresin,” Bradley drops his bag by the door and starts after you. His eyes widen as you speed up, unsteady on your feet and leaning back under the weight of your ever-growing belly. “Are you seriously going to make me chase you?”

Admittedly, the idea makes you laugh as you swing the door to the nursery shut behind you, just to slow him down. He swings it back open and steps in after you, brows knitted together in concern. “Come on, we had a deal.”

The deal being that you would rest as much as you can and call him when you need something, and he’d take care of everything that needed to be done. You’d just been so bored. It’s been days of this. Sure, the first day, you welcomed it. You’d had blood tests the day before and were tired. By now, you’re about to start pulling your own hair out without some kind of stimuli.

“Fuck your deal,” Out of breath from your six steps of speed walking, you pant at him, lips quirked through your fading irritation as you brace one hand on the wall to lower yourself to the ground. Bradley looks between you and the torn open flat pack box at your side. “I’m building this crib.”

“I said I’d build it!” Bradley tries to reason, frowning and darting closer at the unsteady way you’re crouching towards the ground.

It’s been a rough couple of days. Reading sounds boring, you can’t stand to watch another second of TV and you hate having to wait until Bradley’s home in case something happens. It’s hard to pretend that you aren’t a little pissed off about it.

“He’s my baby,” You strain, wobbling as you get closer to the floor. You’ve been thinking about him a lot recently. About if he’ll look like you, or more like Bradley, or maybe even your dad. You always heard that Jake looks a lot like your grandfather. “And I want to build his crib. You can help.”

Bradley stands there, lips parted like he’s trying to come up with a way to get you back in bed. He knows that it’s no use, if he was you, he’d be damn near climbing the walls by now. If this kid is anything like you, he’s got his work cut out for him — there are going to be two of you to defy his rules soon enough. After a few moments, he resigns with a sigh.

“Alright,” Bradley breathes out, stepping behind you to help you to the ground before you collide into it. Knowing that he’s got far more experience with this kind of thing than you do, he resigns to being your assistant without argument. “Alright. I’ll help.”

He settles you onto the ground, then grabs the flat pack box, settling it onto the ground in front of you. Tired from work, sure, but he catches sight of the smile on your face and finds himself smiling too.

“I dropped all of the screws in the hallway when I was running from you.”

He looks down at you. You look up at him, face squeezing into an almost apologetic smile. Curls short, mustache trimmed to keep up with regulations, you’re still getting used to seeing his features as much as you have been recently. His lips twitch, almost smiling. He tries not to, trying to be stern. You can see it in those big brown eyes that he thinks this is funny.

“I’ll get ‘em.” Bradley decides with a slow nod.

“Thanks, you’re such a great assistant.” You tease, shooting him a quick wink. Still leaning over you, Bradley’s eyes flicker over every inch of your face before he finally gives in and smiles softly. You’re steadfast, more than happy to play his game of chicken as he leans in so close that you can practically still smell the jet fuel on his clothes.

There’s a long pause of silence again, where he’s just watching you. Wearing maternity shorts and a t-shirt twice your size, sitting on the floor of your son’s nursery.

“Careful. You keep looking at me like that and I’ll build you whatever you want for the rest of our lives.” He tells you with a soft smile on his face, his voice raspy after a day of yelling over the sound of engines.

You blink a few times. Bradley watches you trying to come up with some kind of witty response, and he gives you a couple of seconds to try, but you’re equally relieved when he leans forwards and kisses your mouth. Sliding five fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, pressing closer to you.

He pulls back first, kissing the corner of your mouth and standing upright.

“God, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, Seresin,” Bradley breathes out, shaking his head as he swallows and turns to leave. “Can’t even kiss you without my dick getting hard anymore.”

He’s just gone for a few seconds. He gets around a lot faster than you do these days. But, he stops in the doorway as he’s walking back into the room. “What?”

You set the base of the crib down, looking up at him. Bradley’s lips quirk. He glances down and cups a hand over his half-hard dick, running his palm roughly over it through his khakis.

“Fuck first and we’ll build the crib later?” He offers you in one swift breath, lips quirking up into a grin as you smile back at him. He steps forwards and helps you up from the ground, still careful not to rush you even though his hands are on your ass and his mouth’s on yours from the second that you’re on your feet.

“Fuck yeah.” You agree against his lips.

Working open the buttons on his khakis, kissing him so deeply that it makes you dizzy as he walks you backwards, arms wrapped around you to keep you safe. He’s in just his white t-shirt and slacks by the time you’re at the foot of your bed.

Then, he stops kissing you. Just for a second, taking a moment to really look at your face. Once he’s done, he lifts his hand, eclipsing the nape of your neck, pulling you into him so that he can kiss you again. Up close, your head tips almost all the way back as his lips touch slowly against yours. Brief, disarmingly tender.

You press forwards and kiss him again, harder than he had kissed you. You let him nudge back your jaw so that he can kiss your neck. His strong hands steady you against him, his lips working a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

Bradley remembers when you first started hooking up again — how rushed all of those times had been, how desperate he had been to get his hands on every inch of you. His mouth too. He’d been a little rough, maybe, but you hadn’t been complaining.

He knows that you would probably enjoy that again now, but he knows your body. He knows that your hips hurt, even when you won’t admit it to him. He knows your breasts are sensitive, even though you like having his hands on them.

One thing that his mother taught him was to never act like he knows best. He doesn’t. You’d have no idea exactly how considerate he’s being when he touches you, careful to not press too hard on anywhere that’s too sensitive.

Pressing his fingertips lightly into your hips, he turns you around and walks backwards to sit on the edge of your shared bed, peeling his shirt up and over his head. There’s a brief moment where he’s torn between leaning back and taking a look at you, or grabbing hold of you and bringing you close again.

He falls for the latter, grabbing your thighs and pulling you between his legs. Your eyes are on him as he pulls your shorts down your legs, peppering kisses over your thighs and hips.

You swallow softly as he drags your panties down your legs to follow, his hand cupping your dripping sex, two fingers swiping gently through your growing excitement.

Closing your eyes, you exhale softly, anticipation vibrating through your middle, waiting for him to touch you. The feeling of his cool breath on your thighs makes you jolt, instinctively reaching out and grabbing hold of his bare shoulders.

Featherlight, his fingers slide under your t-shirt and guide it upwards. He hums in approval as you take the hint and grab the fabric, tearing it off and letting it fall to the ground with the rest of your clothes.

Tender, he reaches out and curls his fingers around your calf, lifting your leg and planting it beside his thigh on the bed. Now that you’re where he wants you, he grabs your hips to steady you and gets right to work.

As much as you try not to think about how many girls Bradley has slept with, each time he graces you with his tongue between your legs — you’re reminded that you should probably be thanking whichever one of them taught him how to do this.

His tongue trails slowly along your slit, thumbs brushing slow circles on your hips as he trails lightly upward to your clit and stars with a circle around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your fingers smooth along the ridges in his shoulder, up along the nape of his neck. You always forget that he doesn’t have long, messy curls anymore. The back is buzzed down to a number two. Bradley groans in approval against your clit as you grab the longer hair at the crown of his head and tug softly.

Working up slowly, he trails his fingers along your middle and cups your breast in his hand, delicate as he kneads the sensitive flesh. You breathe in deeply, squeezing against your hold in his hair as he makes your stomach start to twist into that familiar knot.

Pulling back, he’s careful not to be too abrupt. Kissing your pelvis, your thighs, leaving you with a few teasing nips and licks. You moan out, letting him go finally. He shifts backwards, touching your palms with the tips of his fingers as he does. “C’mere, baby.”

You open your eyes again to look at him. His eyes are hooded, watching you lustfully, begging you into his lap. He watches you hesitate, glancing down at your bump.

In response, he shifts further up the bed and plants his head on the pillows, unbuckling his belt slowly, chest heaving. You watch the muscles in his stomach contort as he kicks the khakis down his legs, dipping two thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoving them down too.

“Come here,” He looks so desperate, fist wrapped around his swollen cock. He sighs in relief as he lifts his hips just slightly, rocking into the friction his palm provides. His lips quirk softly as he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not above begging, babe.”

Hesitantly, you kneel on the bed before him. His eyes light up, giving you a small nod of encouragement. Walking on your knees towards him, Bradley can’t help but groan. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

Always impatient when it comes to getting his hands on you, Bradley sits up swiftly and grabs your hand in his, making you giggle softly. Moving just a little closer, you carefully straddle his thighs, gasping as he drags you closer.

Hands cupping both of your breasts at once, he practically nestles his head between them, kissing each of them first in turn. Then, looking up at you through those thick eyelashes, you briefly catch the wolfish grin on his face before he turns his full attention back to having his mouth on your tits. Kissing, sucking, grazing the underside with a gentle nip every now and again.

Careful not to hurt your over sensitive skin, he’s suddenly soft as he takes your nipple into his mouth, fingers skimming tenderly along your bare waist. He circles each bud with his tongue, taking his time, then peppering them with affectionate kisses. Large hands trail around your waist to meet at the small of your back, then slide swiftly downwards.

Grabbing two handfuls of your ass, he drags you closer again with an eager grunt, squeezing your soft flesh in his hands. Two can play at that game. You grab hold of his broad shoulders, shoving him back down against the pillows.

He looks up at you, grinning, as you lift slowly and replace his hand with yours around the base of his cock. Trailing your soft palm along his length once, twice, and then lowering your hips just enough to guide the tip between your folds.

He inhales sharply, hands sprawling out open along your sheets, eyes dark as he watches you tease him. You watch his eyes follow up to the swell of your pregnant stomach as you rock your hips just slightly, brushing his tip against your clit.

“Oh shit, wait.”

Immediately, his brows knit together as you lurch forwards and lean across him, reaching for the night stand. His hands grab at your waist to steady you, beyond confused as you sit back up with a little box in your hands.

“What the fuck is that?” He frowns at you.

You fight the urge to hit him in the head with the box, because this is exactly how you ended up in this position. Your fingers work open the box as Bradley props himself up on his elbows to investigate. “These are condoms.”

“We haven’t used condoms since — y’know.” Bradley gestures towards your stomach, then looks back up at you again, frowning.

“Exactly. We need to start getting into the routine of using them again.” You tell him calmly. He sits up and grabs at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his warm mouth sucking at the sweet spot on your throat.

“We’ve got three more weeks to practice,” He murmurs, breath tickling your ear between open-mouthed kisses. You shiver, damn near dropping the box. “Come on, baby. You don’t want me to cum in you one last time?”

There’s a pause between the two of you, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of your ass as he sucks a deep kiss into the dip where your shoulder meets your neck.

The box clatters noisily against the wall as you toss it out of your way, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him hard. You pull back, breathless, and narrow your eyes at him, “One last time.”

He grins, nodding his head as you lift your hips to hover over his thick cock. “Fuck, I love you.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him. It would be kind of hypocritical, when you’re smiling too. Bracing yourself against his pecs as you lower yourself down onto him, he screws his eyes shut and groans happily. Settling down against his pelvis, you let your head fall back and sigh in relief.

He’s trying to train himself out of grabbing your hips and guiding you where to go, so he reaches down and loops his fingers between yours. As good as he’s being, he can’t help himself from shifting down the bed, spreading his thighs and planting his heels to change the angle that you’re sitting on him.

The next time you lift your hips and come back down, his dick grazes your g-spot perfectly and makes you grip his hands a fraction tighter. Panting out soft moans, you settle into a soft pace, lifting up and sinking down on him again.

The gold cross chain around his neck slides on his chest, calling your eyes to the smooth ridges of his tanned pecs. Bradley watches the way your eyes drink him in, spurred on as he rocks his hips to meet your pace.

The way he watches you is so intimate, like he’s memorizing every inch of your skin. The way you’re coming down on him feels like it’s knocking the breath from your lungs each time, your moans filling the air. His thumbs stroke softly along the backs of your hands. Everything about the way he has learned to fuck you is so perfect, and the adoration in his eyes makes it hard to even look at him sometimes.

You feel sexy. With his eyes on you like this, the way his body responds to you, you feel sexy as you roll your hips into him and he rocks back to match your rhythm. Filling you to the brim, making your orgasm build swiftly in your stomach.

He leaves one of your hands, reaching out instead and catching the nape of your neck, pulling you down against his chest. Your stomach presses firmly into his. He lifts his chin and kisses you.

“You feel so fucking good.” He groans against your mouth, pleased as you moan back in response. Your hands flatten against his toned pecs as you push yourself to sit upright, so that you can ride him harder. His head falls back against the pillows, fingers pressing into your thighs. “Fuck.”

Bradley wets his lips with his tongue, eyes unashamedly darting from your tits to your face as they bounce in front of him. His brows draw tightly together and you feel him shift, pressing his heels harder into the mattress, fingers marking into the soft skin of your thighs.

A muscle ticks in his jaw before he inhales sharply, trying not to focus on how close he feels like he is. It’s not like you aren’t close too. Just a little more. He bites hard on his bottom lip as your palms trail down to rest against his toned stomach and lift almost all the way up.

His gaze falls down, watching his length disappear inside of you once again, bucking his hips up hard to meet you as you come down on him. The buzz rips through you, your arms going weak as the feeling rushes through your body. Bradley wraps both arms around your middle as you collapse against his chest, continuing to rock his hips upwards as he chases his own high. The feeling seizes you, buzzing through your middle and all the way down into your core, thighs clenching around his hips, walls squeezing around him.

Bradley holds the back of your neck, keeping you close against him as he spills inside of you with a desperate grunt. His body shudders, exhaling deeply before he turns his head towards your jaw and kissing your skin once softly.

“Fuck me,” Bradley pants, brushing a hand softly over your messy hair, kissing your cheek. Briefly, Ames crosses his mind. He really wouldn’t mind this for the rest of his life. “How was that? — You okay?”

“Good,” You smile breathlessly, resting your head against his chest, hiding your face in his neck. “So good.”

You lift your hips and let him slip out of you but stay safely tucked against his chest for a while longer, just letting the two of you both catch your breaths. His fingers trail absently along the bare length of your spine.

“Hey, Bradley?” You hum, kissing softly at his throat.

“Hm?”

“We’ve still got a crib to build.” You remind him delicately, smiling as you feel his groan vibrate through his chest.

Soon enough, you’re up and both sitting on the nursery floor in your pajamas, staring silently at the instructions. Three and a half hours later, and a band-aid on Bradley’s beat up thumb, you’ve got a crib.

Bradley had heard of nesting, and he had been trying to prepare for it — but he didn’t think it would be as fun as this. Getting to sit on the ground with his best friend and playfully bicker over Part A and Screw C for almost four hours. Then, sliding into bed beside you and feeling you sleep more soundly than you have in days.

The results from the blood work were a good thing, it’s not Fetal Growth Syndrome, but you’re not out of the woods yet. He’s still behind where he’s supposed to be and now you’ve got no answers as to why. He knows that it’s been keeping you up.

So, if happily bending to your each and every whim is what gets you to finally rest, Bradley’s okay with doing that for the next few weeks until he gets to meet his kid.

The next morning, you wake up with him all over you again. He fucks you slowly, both of you laying on your sides, barely awake but smiling softly. Then, he begrudgingly gets up and starts to get ready for work. He hates leaving you naked in his bed in the mornings. If it was up to him, he’d lay there with you until the afternoon.

“I love you,” Bradley tells you, grinning as he darts forwards to press one last kiss to your cheek. As much as he enjoys watching the sky turn from burning orange to soaring blue over the runway, he’s sure that nothing will ever beat the sight of you in the first bed you ever shared, with one hand on your stomach, smiling up at him like this. He beams, leaning down and pressing his lips to your belly, just below your navel. “Both. I love you both.”

You lift your foot and kick softly at his thigh, “You’re gonna be late for work.”

As you push him away, he comes right back again, kissing your mouth like he’s taking in a breath of air. “I know, I know. But, I’ve got this girl at home who won’t listen to a thing I tell her, and how am I supposed to concentrate on, y’know, saving the world if I’m so worried about the troublemaker I’ve got at home?”

“You’re an idiot.” You scoff, pushing at his shoulder this time, grinning against his mouth as he comes right back in for another kiss. After maybe the fifth ‘last kiss’ in a row, Bradley pulls back enough to brush the tip of your nose with his. He exhales softly, his grin fading to a smaller smile.

“Promise me you’ll be good ‘til I’m back, okay?”

You lift your chin and kiss his cheek, wrapping your pinkie finger around his.

“We promise. No mischief ‘til Daddy’s home.” You tell him. He turns his head towards you and leaves you with one last kiss, for real this time, kissing your bump as he starts to stand up from the bed. He calls goodbye to you three more times total before he’s finally out of the door.

Laying in Bradley Bradshaw’s bed almost a year later, you smile to yourself. That dumb girl in his bed the night after Halloween would never have imagined herself here, giggling like an idiot with the guy that was meant to be a one night stand.

He’s gone for a while, probably about halfway to work, by the time that you decide to pull yourself up from bed and walk to the shower. It still counts as bed rest if your plan is to get clean, stretch out Bradley’s clothes and make the treacherous hike to the living room to sit on the couch.

Water streams over your hair, your face, warming your skin. Savouring the feeling, you stand there for a moment with your face towards the ceiling. Your backache is pretty much a permanent feeling at this point, but as you roll your shoulders back and stretch upright, there’s a sudden sharp pain in the small of your back, right the way through your middle.

Fuck. Bradley has been gone for less than an hour, and you’ve probably pulled a muscle. He’s going to be so much more annoying when he hears about this.

The water seems to soothe it. It doesn’t hurt too much when you’re reaching your arms up to clean your hair, or wash your body. But, the second that the water’s off and you’re leaning over to grab your towel, it happens again. The same, sharp pain, right the way through your middle.

Dressing yourself is always a chore at this point in your pregnancy, but this time you’re just mad about it. No trouble. Since when does no trouble equate to injuring yourself mere moments after he’s out of the house? — You’re growing sick of this helplessness. Even bending down to tie your own shoelaces is impossible at the moment, but Bradley hid all of your shoes that weren’t slip-ons like that would make you feel better about it.

Sighing as you pull the shorts up around your hips, you flinch at the sound of rushed knocking at the door. Salespeople. Another groan as you start to walk, your swollen ankles taking the brunt of your anger as you start to stomp towards the door. Just to make your worsening day that little bit more insufferable, halfway through the living room, you kick your toe into the back of the couch.

Grabbing onto the back of it for leverage and jolting forwards, you’re met with another sharp pain. You’re supposed to be taking things easy, shit. At least it’s an excuse for Bradley to use his years of knowledge from playing sports and massage your back for you later.

By the time you make it to the door, the knocker is already turning and walking away. From behind, you don’t recognise him. The second that you turn around, instinct tells you to slam the door in his face. It’s what Bradley would do if he saw his Uncle Pete standing on your doorstep at 7am on a Thursday.

One hand on your stomach, you’re visibly disgruntled, but Maverick knows it’s too late to just walk away without saying anything. His eyes dart from your swollen stomach and back up to your face. It’s clear that your pregnancy makes him uncomfortable.

“Sorry, I was… I was looking for Bradley, I’m… I’m a family friend.” The aging pilot on your doorstep explains awkwardly. He brings one hand up and scratches at the back of his neck. His blue eyes drop down to your stomach again.

“I know who you are.” You reply softly.

Pete swallows, then nods. It takes him a second before he remembers to speak again, giving a disoriented shake of his head as he steps towards you and extends his hand. “Right. Um, I wrote this, and I’d really appreciate it if you could give it to him. I just want a chance to explain.”

Looking down at the folded letter in his hand, your face softens. You glance quickly between him and the bundle of paper, your mouth twisting into a frown as you give a slow shake of your head.

“I can’t make him read it.” You explain quietly, lifting your arm and reaching out for the paper. Maverick sets it in your hand, his head bowed, eyes on the concrete outside. Maybe that’s just easier than looking you in the eye. “I’ll give it to him, though.”

That alone is more kindness than Bradley has showed him in the last two years. Maverick lifts his head quickly, blue eyes glassy as he searches over your face. You can see him fighting not to overreact, or frighten you.

“Thank you,” The pilot breathes out finally, like you’ve personally lifted the weight from his chest. “I apprecia—“

A sharp gasp and your hands fly to the small of your back. You crane your body, moving with the pain and stretching up straight. “Ow, fuck.”

Maverick freezes. He watches you for a few seconds, the searing pain that you seem to be going through. Suddenly, all he can think of was the time that Carole almost broke his hand when she went into labour with Bradley.

“Are you… okay?” Maverick broaches the topic cautiously as you seem to come down from the pain with a few deep breaths.

“Yeah. I think I pulled a muscle or something, it’s killing me.”

“Just… a muscle?” Maverick asks quietly. Brows furrowing, you stare at him. His eyes flicker down to your stomach once more. Finally, it dawns on you.

“Oh. No,” You shake your head quickly, “He’s not due for another three weeks.”

The aging pilot just stares at you. You could go into the ins and outs of it. That he’s a little small for this stage of the pregnancy. That they told you specifically that you were likely to be overdue as a result. Overdue. Like past his due date. Not three fucking weeks early. He’s not big enough yet

The front door’s still wide open. The two of you just stand there, silent, staring at each other. Equally unsure of what comes next. You gulp, smoothing a hand softly over the swell of your stomach. Maverick watches the tears start to well in your eyes.

“Should… Do I call Bradley?”

Pete doesn’t remember Carole looking this young, or afraid, but he knows she was. He was. Goose was the only one who seemed to know what he was doing, even though he hadn’t either.

Christ, he shouldn’t be here. Bradley should be here. Or Goose. Or someone who could help you. Anyone but him, he just knows that he’ll screw it up further — and Bradley’s going to hate him even more than he already does.

“Yeah. Call Bradley.” Pete croaks out, still standing awkwardly on your doorstep. He’s meant to be leaving today. He’s supposed to be back in Miramar by noon their time.

“What if it’s nothing? — He’s flying today.”

“Try him. He won’t be in the air yet.” Pete answers. If he’s good for nothing else, at least he’s got knowledge about what Bradley’s day at work should look like. “And your Mom. You should call your parents.”

“I — I don’t speak with my parents,” You’re already stumbling back, turning away from him, your voice trembling. Pete’s heart thuds in his chest. “It’s just Bradley.”

And Jake. You wish Jake was here. He would know what to do.

Maverick watches from the doorway as you disappear down the hall. He doesn’t dare take a step forwards. He’ll move if you start screaming for help or something. You reappear quickly and wave him inside, phone pressed to your ear.

The letter isn’t in your hand anymore but that doesn’t seem important now. You've met with Bradley’s voicemail three times in a row. Pete stands just inside the doorway, feeling like his knees are about to give out.

Closing your eyes, you will yourself not to cry in front of this stranger. You silently plead with this little boy to just hang on a little longer. Just until he’s bigger. Until he’s a little more ready. Until you’re a little more ready.

“Is there anyone else I can call for you? — A friend, or… a boss? — Anyone?” Maverick tries. You lift your head to look at him and he freezes as your eyes gloss over.

“No,” You whimper. Not down here, there’s not a single soul that you could turn to. Not with Jake being away. “Just Bradley.”

“Okay, um…”

You’re both standing on opposite sides of the room now, separately and silently freaking out. Finally, it occurs to you to check the time.

“Wait, I just — I went fifteen minutes without any kind of pain. If they were contractions, they’d be regular. Right?”

“I’m not sure.” Pete’s already shaking his head. He doesn’t know a lot about babies. Or pregnancy. Or families in general. But, if there’s any time to be cautious, it seems like that time would be now. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor. Just in case.”

Wiping at your eyes, you sniffle softly. “No, it’s — I’m — we’re fine. I’ll call my doctor, and I’ll wait for Bradley to come home.”

“Are you sure? — I mean…”

“I’m sure. Thanks. For being here. I’ll make sure he gets the letter.” Everything in your tone is telling him that he has overstayed his welcome and that you would like him to leave. That’s not really the case. You don’t mind him. But, he has just royally freaked you out, and you would like the privacy to continue to freak out in peace.

“Sure. Alright,” Maverick bumps into the wall behind him as he steps towards the door. Maybe he should stop by the base and try to find Bradley, let him know that he needs to come home early. “My number’s on that letter. If you need anything, I’m nearby. Just call me.”

One hand on your stomach and the other gripping the kitchen island so tight that your hand starts to lose feeling, you give him a tight-lipped smile. Maverick mumbles a quick goodbye and closes the door behind him.

Admittedly, he lingers just outside of the door for a while longer than he needs to. He just can’t help but wonder if this is the last he’ll hear from Bradley, or you — or this baby. He wonders if he’ll ever know this child at all.

The weight of it sits on his shoulders. Just a little extra, sitting on top of what’s already been there for the past twenty years. He bows his head as he walks back to his car.

Unlocking the driver’s side and pulling the door open, he doesn’t hear the front door fling open behind him.

“Mav!”

He stops and turns, brows drawing together. His jaw falls slack. You’re gripping onto the doorframe with one hand and your stomach with the other. Your legs are soaked.

“Fuck.” Maverick breathes out.

…

…

The drive home in silence just gives Bradley’s anger time to multiply, growing until he’s so restless that his car door is open before the engine is even off. He slams it behind him, knuckles white around the strap of his bag as he walks around to the front door. That slams too.

It startles you, making you flinch and almost drop the mug in your hand. The now lukewarm coffee that you’ve been trying to sip at for an hour spills down onto the white of your sweater. It’s just a small mark, easy enough to ignore.

His brows knit together slightly as he catches sight of your face from the other end of your open living space. The whole way here, it had felt like he practically had steam coming out of his ears. His palms are still reddish and warm from how tightly he was grabbing the wheel. But, he sees it in the way you’re looking at him and knows that his thing — all of the anger, resentment, blinding rage that Mav brings up in him — it doesn’t matter.

Immediately, he lets his bag, and everything that seeing Mav had just stirred up within him, go.

“What’s wrong?” He’s already rushing forwards, heading for you.

You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t do this and that you wouldn’t freak him out by crying. It just happens. A soft, heartbroken squeak as he reaches you and you throw yourself against his chest.

“Did something happen at the appointment?” He breathes out, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing.

“It’s — it’s not that bad, but he…” You have to pull back and force yourself to breathe to even attempt at the words. “He’s smaller than he should be, and the doctor gave me this pamphlet, and I’ve just been freaking out all day.”

Bradley secures you against him with one arm and turns his attention to the little orange leaflet on the counter with a smiling baby girl with glasses on the front of it. He presses his lips softly to the top of your head. With his free hand, he cautiously opens up the front page.

Your hands curl into the fabric of his khakis, breathing him in, pulling him closer to you. It takes him a few moments, to read what it says and to process it. He never once lets you go.

Just giving a small shake of his head, he exhales and squeezes you closer. “Okay. What did the doctor say we need to do?”

“I need to go for a blood test on Friday and another ultrasound on Tuesday. She said that I should be eating healthy, and more frequently, um — eight hours of sleep, rest. If it’s fetal growth restriction then he could have issues during birth or even after.”

Bradley cups your face in his hands and nods slowly. You can feel his heartbeat in his chest and it just doesn’t make sense that he’s able to appear so calm when you know that he isn’t.

“Okay,” He nods, his voice low. “Alright. When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a sandwich for lunch but I just don’t feel hungry, I’ve been crying all day.” You mumble out as he presses closer to you, smoothing a large palm down your back. You nuzzle your cheek against his shirt, exhaling slowly.

Both of you stand in the kitchen, holding each other close, shit scared of what this means. This future that you have committed absolutely everything to, this little thing that you’re so ready to love, and the fear that there could be absolutely no way of protecting it.

Bradley closes his eyes and turns his face towards yours, hugging you closer. His memories of his dad are fuzzy. His memories of his mother back then are fuzzy too. He doesn’t remember her crying much. He remembers them laughing a lot. Standing here, he wishes he had at least one clear memory left — just so that he’d know what to do now.

Most people probably get to share these worries with their parents, to ask them these questions. You’ve just got each other.

He doesn’t know what to do. The silence is setting in and the orange on that pamphlet feels like it’s becoming more obnoxious by the second.

“Well, I’ll cook tonight, and I’ll be really offended if you don’t finish what I make you.” It’s half playful, he presses his lips to your cheek and pulls back to look at you, fingers trembling against your sides, “It’s just been a stressful couple of months, you just need to relax these last few weeks. ‘M gonna take care of you.”

Crowded against the kitchen counter, you take a few seconds to just be held by him, tucking yourself back in against his chest.

You imagine your mother, probably staring at those six missed calls and feeling smug with herself — knowing that you’d have come crawling back for help eventually. You’re an idiot for thinking that she would’ve been able to help. You tug Bradley closer and press your face into his shoulder. Maybe she’s not really doing that. Maybe she’s sitting there and wondering if she should call you back. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Everything you’ve given up and gone through, this new family that you’ve scraped together, it’s all that you need.

“You wanna come to the store with me or you wanna take a nap?” Bradley asks you, smoothing his hands down along your middle.

Your answer is immediate, filling the air before silence has a chance to set in.

“I don’t want to be on my own.” You admit, exhaling softly into the warmth of his chest. Bradley nods and kisses your temple. He keeps it to himself that he’s pleased with your answer. After the mood he was in and the day that you’ve had, he just wants you where he can see you.

So, the two of you take your car. It’s easier to get into than trying to haul yourself up into the bronco these days. It’s more of a family car. It’s crazy, actually, how much you’re starting to look like a family. Him, in his uniform and an arm draped around you, your hand resting on your swollen stomach.

He drives with his hand on your thigh, your arm looped through his. Then, once you’re in the store, he pushes the cart with you at his side.

“I could ask you what you want, or I could surprise you. What are you two in the mood for?” Bradley asks, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as you hug his arm.

“I’m not hungry, I don’t know.” You shake your head softly.

“Surprise it is.” Bradley decides, taking his arm out from the loop you’re holding it in and draping it around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in against his side and presses his palm over both of your eyes, covering your vision with a sudden darkness.

“Bradley, I’m seriously going to fall break my face!” You gasp, grabbing at his hand. You don’t even notice it. He beams with pride as you smile, finally.

He nudges you in front of him, between him and the cart, laughing softly as he guides you forwards, blind. “Have a little faith in me, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Just can’t risk you seeing my ingredients and ruining my surprise.”

“You’re an idiot,” You giggle, grabbing tightly onto the cart to steady yourself. He grins, kissing your cheek. “I’m so scared right now.”

“Scared? — C’mon, Mama, you’ve gotta start trusting me. I’ve got you.” Bradley teases, pressing his mouth to you jaw, pressing his chest into your back and making your laugh harder. He slows you, then stops. “Stay there, I’m grabbing something. Don’t open your eyes.”

Your heart flutters as his hands briefly leave you. There’s a chill in the supermarket without his body crowding around you to keep you warm. He’s back quickly anyway, something clatters into the cart.

“What a beautiful family you are!” The voice is soft, pleasant sounding. An older lady. You peek one eye open and find her beaming at you from a few feet away.

“Thank you.” Bradley answers, surging with pride as he puts a polite amount of space between you and him, still close enough to keep you bracketed between him and the cart.

“You’ll do just fine, making each other laugh like that,” Her eyes as crinkling at the corners, a smile spreading across her aged face. She looks fondly between the two of you, then nods. “Congratulations on the little one. How lovely. Your first?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Bradley answers. You almost sigh in relief that he’s not choosing now to try to make funny jokes.

“How lucky they will be, to have parents so in love.” She smiles. Bradley’s hand covers yours over the top of the cart, knitting his fingers through yours. Neither one of you says a word, at first. You’ve not said that yet. Technically, you’ve only been together for a few weeks. “You two have a lovely day.”

“You too, thank you.” Bradley remains polite, smiling at her softly. She looks the two of you over, fondly, almost reminiscent, and then she walks away.

Bradley catches you off guard, tearing you back away from your own thoughts as he covers your eyes once more. His lips press to your earlobe as he growls playfully, “You better not have checked out my ingredients, Seresin.”

“You’re paranoid.” You tell him, blinded under his palm, grinning dumbly as you let him guide you forwards again.

He hums playfully, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, “Mm, I just know what Seresins are like.”

“Your baby’s going to be one,” You point out. He chuckled behind you. “You’re gonna be outnumbered.”

He uses his hold on your face to turn your head, leaning over your shoulder and kissing your lips. “Can’t wait.”

So, like the love-sick fool that you are, you let him lead you blindly around the grocery store, whispering jokes into your ear and planting playful kisses onto your neck. Your heart’s swollen and you’re so confused about how it could ever have been hurt by this same person.

Finally, after making you promise not to look several times, he uncovers your eyes and hands you the keys. Your feet are sore and there’s no point waiting in the checkout line with him. He watches you waddle out of the store with a dumb grin on his face.

It makes him want to grin as big as he can, watching the changes that come with your pregnancy. Not being able to tie your shoe laces anymore, knocking things off of the bathroom counter with your belly — waddling is a new one. It’s a special type of adorable, he’s certain that he’ll never grow tired of seeing it.

Loading your items onto the checkout, he pulls his phone from his pocket and waits, unaware of the eyes on him.

It was made abundantly clear earlier, that Bradley had no desire to speak to Maverick. He had turned, looked, and swiftly walked away. That familiar red flush covering his face and neck. He’s had that since he was in diapers, blushing a deep shade of pink whenever he was upset about something.

But now, for Maverick to be standing in a grocery store, staring at the kid that he hasn’t seen in almost two years, for the second time in the same day — it feels like fate.

He drops his items down onto a random shelf and silently walks towards the checkout as Bradley loads his groceries back into the cart.

“Bradley?”

Bradley looks up, finding Pete staring at him again. His face goes blank, and he straightens up like a cat raising its heckles. Pete doesn’t move. Bradley turns swiftly and walks out of the store without a word.

You get out of the car as you see him coming, your smile fading slightly as you notice the look on his face. That hardened, terracotta flushed look.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, let’s just go home.” Bradley practically tears open the trunk. Your brows draw together as you watch him load the groceries into it.

There’s a feeling, something in your peripheral that makes you turn your head. There’s a man standing by the edge of the parking lot, the colour drained from his face, staring right at you.

Pete’s head spins, heat flooding his nerves.

Looking at Bradley already feels like he’s got to be eye-to-eye with a ghost. Now, he’s standing there and suddenly it’s the summer of 1984, and his best friend’s about to have a kid. The picture’s fuzzy now, as it sits in Pete’s wallet, but it’s clear as day in his mind. Goose and Carole on the end of the Santa Monica boardwalk. She’s so pregnant that she could barely walk, but she was beaming — she had demanded to go to the beach that day.

He studies the crystal clear image before him now. Bradley in his khakis from work. The pregnant girl who’s smile has just faded, staring back at him.

Bradley takes one look at your face and then turns, following your gaze.

“Do you know that guy?” You ask gently, glancing up at Bradley.

“Wait in the car for me.” He answers you, slamming the trunk shut and turning. His pace is purposeful, storming across the parking lot until he’s almost nose-to-nose with Pete.

“What do you want?” Bradley spits.

“You… You’re having a kid?” Pete breathes out, confused, shaking his head. The reality of it hasn’t quite set in yet.

“I said: what do you want?” The same angry kid as he knew before stands in front of him again. Pete shakes his head again.

“You’re not ready to be a parent.”

“Just like I wasn’t ready to be a pilot?” Bradley answers back. You watch from beside the car as he steps closer to the older man, squaring his shoulders like he’s about to hit him.

“Think about your future! I mean — have you even thought this throu—“

“Don’t talk to me about my future after what you did.” He barks, loud enough for you to hear finally, eyes ablaze, shoulders squared. Maverick always forgets how much Bradley has grown. He looks up slightly as Bradley walks closer to him.

Maverick looks now to you, with one hand on your stomach and a confused look on your face.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you.” Maverick admits quietly. He’s not sure what makes him say it, it’s already too late, you look pretty far along. But, he says it anyway. When it comes to Bradley, there’s this intense need to do the right thing that usually propels him into doing the wrong thing.

“I didn’t mean — I shouldn’t have —“ Maverick stutters, shaking his head. It always ends like this. He always does the wrong thing. He sees the worry in your eyes. He always upsets Bradley without meaning to. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t give a shit what you want, Mav,” Bradley shakes his head, disbelief. He stops walking finally and points a finger into Pete’s chest, deadly serious — less emotional than last time. “Stay the fuck away from me, stay the fuck away from my family.”

Blue eyes widened, serious, Maverick stares back at the boy before him. Bradley’s always had a temper, that’s nothing new. The sincerity in his tone is. He’s serious about you, it seems.

“Bradley?”

Both of them turn their heads to look at you at the same time. You swallow. His mouth sets into a hard line and it almost makes you wince. You’ve seen this before; it almost always winds up with you getting hurt.

It’s growing colder now that the sun has set. After the day you’ve had, you miss the days when you could take a hot bath. Going home and crawling under your covers would be enough at this point.

“I’m serious,” Bradley says slowly, giving his uncle a quick once over, and then taking a step back with a shake of his head. “You will never be family to me. Leave me alone.”

Without giving the man who had raised him time to argue, Bradley turns and walks back to the car, grinding his jaw.

“Who was that?” You frown.

“Come on,” Bradley sighs, shaking his head as he tugs open the passenger side door and motions for you to get in. “I’ll tell you later. I just want to go.”

You’ve seen Bradley angry — you’ve seen him being an asshole just for the sake of it. This isn’t that. You’ve never seen him rattled like this. So, you get in the car and you let him take you home, pretending not to see the way that the dark haired man watches you car pull out of the lot.

You let him cook for you and tell you about his week. You eat everything he makes you and he grins, proud of himself. After that, he insists that you spend the rest of the evening in bed. So, you do.

You spend it laying sideways with your head resting on his stomach and your legs dangling over the edge, his fingers toying with stands of your hair.

“So, who was that guy?” You ask finally.

And so, he tells you about Pete Mitchell for the first time. The man who raised him. Uncle Pete who let him stay up late and eat pizza, who came over on the days that Bradley’s mom just couldn’t stop crying. Uncle Pete who sometimes forgot that he promised to come to baseball games or pissed off an admiral and wound up in the middle of the ocean for a couple of months, so couldn’t come to that birthday party anymore.

The let downs and the wonderful memories weigh each other out. For every upside, there’s a downside with Maverick. And then it gets to Bradley’s senior year of high school, when Mav betrayed him. They hadn’t spoken since, other than at Carole’s funeral, briefly. That had gone worse than today had.

You squeeze his hand softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bradley says quietly. He smooths his hand down across my stomach. “I’m sorry that I did that in front of you. I’ve been trying to—“

You turn your head, pressing your lips gently to his knuckles. “I know.”

He exhales slowly. You know exactly how hard he had been trying for you.

“I love you.” You decide finally, leaning your head back so that you can look at him. Bradley raises his eyebrows. He’s had a couple of girls say it to him before, he’s never felt inclined to say it back. He would’ve never told them about Maverick, about his mother. He wouldn’t have ever been lying here with them, like this.

“I love you too.” He takes his hand away from your hair and strokes it along your jaw instead. You push yourself up, turning slowly towards him, kissing his lips chastely.

“We’re going to be alright. Right?” You ask quietly, resting your hand against his bare chest. His eyes soften just slightly as he gives you a calm nod.

…

…

A little past 1am, legs stretched out ahead of you, draped across Bradley’s legs. Some old straight to TV movie playing, giggling like a couple of teenagers. Bradley loudly voices his complaint as he picks up a m&m that had been thrown at his forehead.

He’s in just a pair of shorts, his hair dry now and his curls a little shorter than normal. Navy regulations. You kind of miss the length that he used to have on the back and sides, but this look suits him too.

“I’m just saying, you’re the one who fucked my roommate.” You shrug, mock-nonchalantly, and pretend to focus back on the movie in front of you. It’s some dumb story of a small town cowboy.

In the mood for dramatics tonight, Bradley throws his head back and groans.

“Before I even met you!” He chides, sitting forwards and snatching the candy from you before you have opportunity to turn any more of them into projectiles.

“Then you texted her after you’d already knocked me up.” You remind him, playfully calm.

“Ah, ah — She texted me, it’s not like I would’ve fucked her again — and let’s not forget that you had a whole boyfriend until you were in your second trimester.” Bradley points out.

“And stop saying knocked up. Makes me feel weird.” Grumbling like a discontented teenager, Bradley nudges your leg with his so that you have to look at his face and see his little frown.

All of that seems so far away now. Ryan. Your roommates, who you’ll probably never see again. Christmas with your family. You’ve barely even thought about it all since you got here.

“I’m sorry, Bradley — how should I be phrasing it?” You tease.

His lips tug at the corners, threatening to disrupt his dramatic frown and disarm his little act. A small shrug of those broad, tanned shoulders.

“All those couples at the parenting class keep saying ‘when we found out we were expecting’. That works.”

“Mm, but when I found out I was expecting I cried for three days and when you found out you implied that I was a whore and offered me money. Our story doesn’t really sound like theirs’.” You remind him. He presses his lips together in a line. That feels so far away now too.

He remembers the anger he felt towards you back then, which is a complicated thing in itself. He remembers why, and how — and everything about that first week, actually. He remembers being so furious at you for making that choice without him. A complete stranger, complicating his future when he had just stepped out of his complicated past.

The anger still makes sense to him. He doesn’t feel it anymore, he isn’t proud of the way he acted, but he can look back now and know that it was all just fear.

Going from being a scared little boy and looking after a sick mother, to being an adult and having nothing to care for but himself, to then meeting you. It hadn’t felt fair to have that all stripped away before he had started it.

But now, when he thinks of this living room being empty, or that small room being an office instead of a nursery, it makes this all seem so much more bleak.

The movie credits roll, leaving you even more confused about what the plot was supposed to be. Bradley sits up and pushes himself onto his knees, then parts your legs for him to dip between. You’re sighing softly now, contented as he presses his lips to yours.

“I don’t think you’re a whore,” He mumbles against your mouth, making you chuckle softly against him. “And I’m glad that I knocked you up, for the record.”

Another soft chuckle. He presses his lips warmly to your skin. Cheeks, jaw. A gentle tour of your face.

“You are?”

“Yeah, you’re hot pregnant,” Bradley beams at you, earning himself another little laugh. “And — y’know, I’m excited for the kid too.”

Looking up at him, your fingers circle over his smooth, freckled shoulders. A few moments of silence pass between the two of you before a commercial comes on and disturbs the bliss.

“Time to put the baby to bed, don’t you think?” He asks. You glance down at your swollen stomach and back up at your new boyfriend. Smiling at him, you give a defiant shake of your head.

“We aren’t tired.” You decide.

A soft groan and he cups your belly in his hands, feeling soft fluttering kicks to unfortunately support your claims. Smile growing into an embarrassingly amused beam, you watch Bradley as he pushes your shirt up and peppers kisses across your stomach.

“Tell him to give his old man a break, some of us have to be up in a couple hours,” Bradley murmurs into your skin, earning himself an applause of his new favourite sound. He looks up grinning at your laughter. “What?”

“You, being somebody’s old man,” A quick scrunch of your nose and a shake of your head, laughter still bubbling through you. “Weird to think about.”

His cheeks redden like the tops of his ears, then he grins. Sitting back on his heels, his hands slide along your stomach to rest at the very bottom. Again, he feels a soft little kick against his palm.

“Y’know, I think he’s nocturnal. I barely felt him this morning and now he’s wide awake.” You explain.

Another shrug, smiling as he leans down and kisses your stomach once more. “Wanted to stay up and watch a movie with his folks.” Bradley muses, making you smile. Absentmindedly, you card your fingers through his fluffy, air-dried curls. His lips press warmly to the underside of your belly, “No harm in that.”

Fingers trailing from his auburn curls, down over the tanned muscles in his shoulders as he peppers kisses across your stomach.

“He’s got you wrapped around his finger already. Old man.” You tease, nudging at his leg with your foot. He chuckles softly, cool breath tickling your skin. Another kiss, then he looks up at you.

“Me? — Mama’s the one letting him stay up late.” Bradley prods, sitting up and bringing his mouth to yours once more. The kiss is slow, lazy, his hand cupping your hip. When he leans over you now, your stomach always bumps into his middle. He’s going to miss it when it isn’t there anymore.

Turning his head, he presses his face into your neck and nips softly at your skin. You hum, keening towards the feeling. It becomes growingly tender, lips replacing teeth, tongue soothing over the warm spots left behind.

Finally, he sits back up and kisses your lips chastely. “Will you come to bed with me?”

“You can go ahead, I won’t wake you up.” You promise.

“I know, but I like falling asleep with you.” He squeezes softly at your hips, remembering to be gentle with your sore joints these days. He sits forwards and kisses your mouth again, then again after that. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that he isn’t going to stop until you agree.

Pushing against his bare chest, he sits back on his heels and raises his eyebrows at you.

“Fine…” You huff, extending your arms for him. Slipping his hands into yours, he’s on his feat with an annoying level of ease that you can no longer manage. He tugs you up with him.

“I’ll lock up.” Ducking around you and kissing your neck, he leaves you with a gentle pat on the ass and then moves to make sure all of the doors and windows are locked and that the lights are off. You pad along the hallway to your shared bedroom and peel your shirt over your head.

Over the past month, you seem to have really popped. The kid is really making himself known in there. Enough so, that you’re well into the stage now of wearing exclusively maternity clothes or stretching out Bradley’s old gym clothes. Tonight, given the lingering heat, you opt for an old basketball shirt that Bradley hasn’t fit into since high school. Before he grew a foot and lost eighty pounds in his junior year.

It’s not huge on you at this stage of your pregnancy, but gives you the reprieve of a waistband pressing into your stomach.

Bradley’s chest hits your back before you even feel him approaching, turning his face into the crook of your neck, almost knocking you over with his weight.

His hands skim under the shirt and up over your stomach, making an all-too-familiar beeline for your breasts. He groans softly into your skin, growing half-hard against your back.

“Mm-mm,” You’re smiling and shaking your head at him all at once. “You need to go to bed, remember?”

“Fuck,” He breathes out, eyes closed, soft skin under his palms. If he pressed any harder into your back, he would knock you onto your front. “I do.”

Your palm slips between the two of you, reaching back to cup him over his shorts, stroking just loosely over the length of his hardening cock.

“Would be pretty difficult to sleep with that, though.”

“You’re such a tease.” He mumbles into your neck, kneading softly at your breasts. He rolls his hips forwards slightly, using your hand for friction on his increasingly hard cock.

“Are you flying tomorrow?” Your head falls back to rest against his shoulder, his lips sucking softly at the curve of your neck. His realization courses through him like relief, you can practically feel it.

His head shakes quickly. “In a classroom all day.”

Your palm squeezes softly around the tent in his shorts, a quiet hum, mock consideration, leaving your lips. His hands push at the shirt, slowly dragging it up your middle and tugging it over your head.

His eyes feel heavy on you, hands trailing featherlight along your sides. Bradley reached out slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he takes hold of the band in your hair. He’s especially gentle as he takes it down and turns his face towards your hair.

Illuminated by the soft light of the bedside table, Bradley’s becoming increasingly gentle with you — each time that you’ve slept with him recently, you can feel that he’s being more careful than he would normally be. He knows that you’re sore and more tired than you would normally be, but he never once declines the opportunity to have you.

Today is no exception as he turns you towards him, palms skimming along your back, squeezing at your ass as he holds you against him. Laying you down slowly on your shared bed, he notices your lips quirk softly as he covers your body with his.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You give a small shake of your head and lift to kiss him, still smiling when you pull back. He squints at you, studying the amusement on your features. It just makes you want to smile, is all. Him being so wordlessly soft; knowingly gentle. It doesn’t take a conversation or a warning. He knows your limits.

He knows you so well these days. The kind of shampoo or deodorant to pick up. Exactly which spots to press his fingers harder into when he’s giving you a foot rub. Exactly how to make you scowl at him and melt into his arms moments later when he’s being annoying. Your chest heaves with a particularly deep breath.

Bradley’s lips are on your chest, his hands skimming along your thighs, kneading at the flesh.

“Tell me you want me.” It’s a pant, really, just breathless. He rocks himself against your core, sitting back on his knees and squeezing at your hips. He takes that plush, pink bottom lip between his teeth and just stares down at you with the prettiest mahogany coloured eyes you’ve ever seen.

Teasing at an almost smile, you bite the inside of your cheek to contain it. A soft shake of your head and he smiles back at you. You glance down, watching him palm over the tent in his shorts. Finally, you meet his gaze once more. “I don’t think your ego can handle being any bigger than it already is.”

“It can take a little more,” Bradley hums. He exhales, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he watches his ring and index fingers dip through your folds, gathering your excitement on the digits. “Tell me you want me.”

You do. So badly that it makes you hot. Makes your muscles go tense. Makes your chest tighten.

“I want you,” It’s an admission that you never would’ve given him months ago, weeks ago even. There’s a lot about you now isn’t the same as it was a few months ago. It’s right on the tip of your tongue. I love you. It’s insane — terrifying, actually. You swallow and stick to what you know, “I want you.”

It would slip so effortlessly off of your tongue. When he’s buried into you, breathing hard into your ear, your face buried into the curve of his neck and god — he still smells exactly like him, now mixed with your body wash that he’s adamant he doesn’t steal. So natural, just another breathless, meaningless exhale in the middle of sex.

“You feel so good,” Bradley groans out, his thick fingers sliding along the nape of your neck and up into your hair. He curls them into your roots and flexes his fist just softly. Just the right amount of tug, a gentle pull that has you moaning against his jugular. “Fuck, baby… you…”

He turns his head, lips grazing your jaw and working lazily along to your lips. When he gets there, finally, it feels like your heart is going to explode out of your chest. He kisses you slowly, his tongue in your mouth and his hand in your hair. In your shared bed.

The mattress is softer here and he never wakes up with a sore neck because of the shitty pillows. Sometimes he wakes up with a sore neck because of how his body is wound around yours, but he doesn’t mind that as much. Moaning into his mouth as he fucks into you slowly.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

A breath catches in your throat and you aren’t sure whether it’ll turn into a laugh or a cry. Ultimately, it settles into a soft moan, your breath tickling his earlobe and making him shiver. Then, it becomes a laugh. He sits back on his knees to get a good look at that grin on your face.

Stretching out his shoulders, he guides your thighs over the tops of his. He gives them a soft squeeze and slows down a little, giving a breathless nod. “I mean it. You’re so fucking perfect, just like this.”

He wets his lips with his tongue, eyes trailing ever so slowly along your body, rocking his hips forwards tenderly. Briefly, you think that he’s going to say it. It doesn’t happen. Just more expletives, shallow breaths, eager grunts. More kisses, his hands on your skin.

After, when you’re settled into his old basketball shirt, under your sheets, and he is wrapped around your body from behind, his big palm sprawled out over your stomach — you’re okay with it. The silent knowledge that he must be on the same page.

The next morning, he has to be up before the sun is even halfway risen. He’s growing proficient at doing it without waking you. Showering silently and dressing in the bathroom, laying his clothes out the night before. It always makes you stir when he slips back into the room and leaves you with a chaste kiss on the lips, and a soft peck at the top of your rounded stomach. Still, you’re okay with that too.

You squirm a little, laying back against that perpetually uncomfortable plastic-leather mix exam chair. The gel is a lot more uncomfortable when you’re still hot from the mid-day Florida heat than it had been on those snowy mornings back in Virginia. Still, it’s all routine by this point. The cold jelly on your stomach, comfy pants that can easily be pushed down a little, warm sweater to combat the always high air conditioning.

You’re missing the part of your routine that has always made you comfiest: Jake sitting outside in the waiting room. He’s states away, Bradley’s stuck in work, you’re all on your own. It’s just a routine check up — just to check if he’s breach. You’ve been telling yourself that all morning. It hasn’t stopped you from sitting on the carpeted floor of his nursery and staring at his crib, still in the box.

Your heart swells at the idea of meeting him. You’ve been picturing him a lot recently. Your nose, Bradley’s lips. Soft morning cuddles, sleepless nights, constant diaper changes — it’s easy enough to tell yourself that you’re ready, it’s just more of a complicated thing to be certain that you are. Even if you’re not ready, he’ll be here in a few short weeks. You need to remind Bradley to pick up screws for his crib.

The doctor’s brows knit together, she adjusts her glasses and wiggles the wand a little bit, then looks back to you. “Hm, have you been experiencing reduced movement at all, Miss Seresin?”

The question throws you. Blinking at her, chilled from the whir of the air conditioning, you shake your head. Your throat squeezes. “No, not at all. He was kicking a lot last night.”

Both of you look back to the screen. He’s moving now. Little legs just kicking softly in that familiar black and white hue. A quick glance across, you stare at your sweater on the chair where Bradley should be sitting. It’s too cold in here. You’re not sure if you’re allowed to move to get the sweater.

“Hm,” She nods her head slowly. Her face is calm enough, her tone doesn’t give you any clues. The thought that crosses your mind hits you like a speeding semi. Blunt force, speeding — out of left field. Six and a half months of no contact and all of a sudden, sitting alone in this exam room, too cold, you want your Mom.

It’s clear that you’re panicking, and the doctor continues with as much caution as she can. She speaks to you like she’s trying to soothe a crying child, but it isn’t patronising. Her neatly groomed brows raise at you, “Any fatigue, bleeding, stomach pains?”

“I’ve been tired, I guess.” You squeak. She softens, reaching out and placing her hand into yours. Your throat tightens. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s just looking a little bit smaller than we would have expected for this stage in the pregnancy,” Your heart sinks, and the side of the exam table suddenly feels especially empty without Bradley there. The doctor continues on as comfortingly as she can. “I’d just like to run a few tests while you’re here — just to make sure that we’re prepared to make the end of your pregnancy as safe and comfortable as possible.”

As she turns and leaves you trapped in that little grey room with the closed blinds, shutting out any semblance of sunlight, all that you can think about is the first appointment that Bradley ever came to with you. Everything going on back then and how badly you had wanted him to not even show up. How confusingly nice it had felt to have him holding your hand through it. Your head falls back against the exam chair and your eyes burn with tears.

You leave the office with a pamphlet on fetal growth restriction, potential causes and side-effects. It might not be that, she tells you, some babies are just smaller and that’s just fine. They just want to keep a close eye on you these last few weeks. Early delivery is a possibility.

You’re dialing the number out of pure instinct. Flowing tears, running to Mommy — there’s a natural link there. Some kind of hardwired impulse, probably. Chest heaving, blinking back searingly hot tears, you listen to it ring and ring. It’s just a Wednesday morning, maybe she’s at the office. It just keeps on ringing.

Bradley frowns as he listens to the busy dial tone, pulling back and checking his phone. You’d promised to call him when you got out of the appointment. He checks down at his watch. Maybe Jake got a couple of minutes to call you. He has to be back in class. He texts you that he’ll catch you at home and turns.

If his mind were clearer, he might have noticed the stare on him as he turned. The familiar blue eyes, blown wide open. Maverick pales at the sight of the boy at the end of the hallway. Familiar sandy brown curls, a brief look at Bradley’s face. The mustache he had been trying to grow when Mav saw him last has grown in now. Maverick swallows.

He hasn’t seen this kid in almost two years. Not a single phone call or text. He hadn’t even known where Bradley was living after he moved out of the house in Norfolk. And now he’s here, standing at the end of a hallway in a random Navy base that Mav wasn’t even supposed to be at this week. Dressed in his khakis, he’s a kind of familiar that makes Pete Mitchell’s stomach churn.

“Bradley?”

…