Look, a new fictional crush!

You met him during routine business at one of his father’s companies, neither of them having any idea of your connection with Mr. Le Bail. That had been the point.

Damien had literally run into you in the lobby, an encounter—he told you later—that he had arranged, not sure how else to get your attention but desperately needing to talk to you. He’d pulled out all the stops, wining and dining you at all the best places. Whisking you away for weekend trips in various exotic locations.

None of it impressed you. How could it? But still you stayed. Continued to see him. Let him romance you. Perhaps, he was just that charming. Or perhaps, you were just that lonely.

You kept your true self hidden. Gave no indication you were anything but a wealthy heiress. Didn’t hint at your connection with Le Bail. You met his family, all smiles and warm welcomes. You didn’t trust it for a minute.

Sol joined you for dinner one night eight months into the relationship.

“He asked you to marry him.” It was a statement not a question.

You weren’t surprised they knew. You pursed your lips as you leaned back in your chair and sipped your wine. “He did.”

“You made him forget.” Amusement flashed in your oldest friend’s eyes. “Care to tell me why?”

“Because I’m not certain that he’s my choice.”

Sol arched a brow. “Then why waste your time with him?”

“I am not wasting my time,” you said and huffed with annoyance. “There’s something about him that doesn’t sit right. He’s hiding something.”

He hummed in agreement. “I’m certain he is. Is this why he knows literally nothing about you?” The knowing tone in his voice irritated you. Smug bastard.

You ran a hand down your face before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You rarely smoked unless it was to irritate others but this situation called for it. “I want a companion, Sol. Someone that sees me for who I am and still wants to wake up with me every morning for the rest of our lives. I’m not certain Damien Richards is up to the task.”

Sol stood, smoothing out his jacket as he did so. “Our benefactor suggests you pay your would be fiancé a visit. Tonight.”

Oh.

Well, that couldn’t mean anything good.

Rather than announce your presence by arriving via the front door, you appeared in the corner of Damien’s bedroom. He didn’t notice your entrance, too wrapped up in the redhead currently sucking his cock. Or maybe it was the blonde whose tits he was fondling. You weren’t hurt. You were angry, which answered any lingering questions you had about your feelings for the vermin.

You tilted your head and observed for a beat longer before snapping your fingers. The two women exploded in a satisfying rain of blood. The crimson liquid coated your ex’s naked form, drenching the bed around him. Blood dripped from his face and he sucked in a surprised breath before he screamed. When he continued to scream, pausing only to breathe, you snapped your fingers to keep the sound contained to the room.

The Lawyer appeared in the doorway, book in hand, as he surveyed the room in front of him. His gaze found you, taking a moment to assess your well-being. Apparently realizing you weren’t emotionally compromised, he turned back to face the bed. “Unfortunate.”

You hummed in agreement and moved to stand beside him. Damien quit screaming as he tracked the movement. His brow furrowed as he saw you beside The Lawyer looking like you belonged there.

“What do you wish to do? He is leaving the matter to your discretion,” Sol said.

“Is he now?” you asked, pleased but not entirely surprised. There were benefits to being the devil’s favorite.

“Yes. The family knew. They intended to have you sign over your assets and be rid of you whether there was a hunt or not. Though they were hoping for the hunt.” His voice was even, bored, as he explained the treachery of the Richards family.

You couldn’t blame them, you supposed. They were part of a devil worshipping cult and had no idea who you really were, but you didn’t care. And evidently neither did Mr. Le Bail. They would have been in for a rather nasty surprise on your wedding night had they attempted to sacrifice you. Well, you wouldn’t want to disappoint.

“They wished for a hunt. We should give them one.”

“Quite,” he agreed. “He’ll do nicely.”

“M-Me? You’re going to hunt me? You can’t do this. Do you have any idea who I am? I rule the world. I’ll have your head, you stupid—” Damien shouted, stopping only when you waved a hand, knocking him unconscious.

“And the rest of the family?” The Lawyer asked.

“Well, we do need a reason for the hunt.” Your tone was indifferent, matter of fact.

“Are you certain? Nathaniel Richards holds the high seat.” His tone matched yours almost exactly. One would have thought you were discussing the weather as opposed to the destruction of an entire bloodline.

“They knew what he was up to. They should have known I wasn’t to be trifled with regardless of who they thought I was.” You sighed. “Though I suppose I should ask permission for this one.”

He shook his head once. “Your discretion for all of them, he said.”

“Oh.” You blinked once in surprise before smiling and rubbing your hands together. “In that case, blood or fire?”

He tilted his head to the side in thought. “Fire would be easier to explain.”

You snapped your fingers again and screams drifted to you from deeper in the house. Those in public would find themselves with combustion issues of their own later in the day. Unlike Le Bail, you preferred less questions, all things considered.

You grabbed Damien’s wrist and the three of you disappeared.

The Danforths agreed to host the hunt with no questions. After all, their property was extensive and they were loyal enough to do as The Lawyer asked with no stipulations.

Once the families had gathered, you sat in the corner while Sol stood in front of them, prepared to reveal why they had been called.

“Who is she?” Chester Danforth asked, his father telling him to be silent almost immediately after.

You turned your head to look at him. When you just continued to stare, he fidgeted in his seat and turned his attention back to the front.

“As everyone is here, we can now begin,” The Lawyer said.

“What about Richards?” Harold Wilkinson said with a sneer. “Or are we not waiting for the High Seat?”

“The Richards family violated their contract. You will be hunting the remaining member. Whoever kills him, wins the seat.”

There was a stunned silence before everyone started speaking at once, drowning each other out. Sol held up his hand and they immediately fell quiet.

“We will follow the rules of a traditional hunt. If for any reason the eldest member of the family becomes incapacitated, the next in line will enter the field. Etcetera, etcetera. Any questions?”

“How did they violate their contract?” Wilkinson asked.

Sol met your gaze ever so briefly, the edges of his lips lifting slightly. “They conspired against one of his favored.”

There was a beat of silence before Le Domas asked, “Who are we hunting?”

“Damien Richards, the eldest son.”

“And if he lasts until dawn?” Chester asked.

Sol opened his mouth to answer but you beat him to it.

“He won’t.”

Your friends eyes sparked with mirth. “My…associate will be on the field. Do try not to injure her.”

“She’s not one of the families. What are the consequences if we do?” Chester. Again. Well, he was a curious thing, wasn’t he?

“She’ll get rather cross.”

Your lips curled into a smirk as you stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I have prey to prepare.”

Damien lasted longer than you thought he would, but you couldn’t say that you were disappointed. It was just that much longer for him to live in fear. The fact you kept appearing and disappearing from his line of sight wasn’t helping his paranoia. This was the most fun you’d had in ages.

You’d also had the opportunity to watch Chester Danforth ambush his father and take the chance to be rid of him. He left the field only long enough to sign the book then he was back.

“I like him,” Le Bail whispered in your ear.

“You would.”

A low chuckle was the only response.

You had appeared before Damien, taunting him again, when white hot pain lanced through your abdomen. Your hand pressed against your sudden injury and came back soaked red with blood.

Chester Danforth stepped into the clearing, moving his weapon from you to Damien. “He’s my kill. Not yours. Mine.” And then he placed a bullet between the other man’s eyes.

Chester Danforth had just won the high seat.

“You shot me,” you said finally, your tone a mixture of disbelief and fury.

“And yet, you’re still standing. I didn’t anticipate that.” He turned his ancient weapon in your direction again.

You snarled and flames danced in your eyes. “Take your prey or die with him, Chester Danforth. We’ve had one hunt. We can always have another.”

He backed away from you so fast that he tripped over his own feet. His eyes never left you as his hands scrabbled for purchase on his prize. Stayed locked on you as he dragged the larger man from the trees and into the open where his kill could be proclaimed.

“Asshole,” you muttered only to hear that low chuckle again. “Oh, fuck you, too.”

“My father shot you?” Titus asked in stunned disbelief.

The two of you were laying in bed in your hut on the water. You curled into Titus’ side, head on his chest while your fingers traced absent shapes on his skin. His arms were wrapped around you while he pressed the occasional kiss to your head.

“He did.”

He pulled back slightly to look down at you. “Where? Show me,” he demanded, frantic as if you’d just been shot rather than merely recounting the tale.

You rolled to the side and pointed at the unblemished flesh where the injury had been. Titus ran his fingers gently across your skin. “Nothing.”

You shook your head and returned to your original position. “There wouldn’t be. It healed almost instantly.”

Titus knew that weapon. Knew the damage it could do. His sister had been using it for most of their lives. It should have torn your insides to shreds. Not for the first time, he thanked Mr. Le Bail for his blessings when it came to you.

“And he didn’t remember you because…”

You shrugged. “Le Bail protects his own. None of them remembered me once the hunt was completed.”

His hand found yours and he linked your fingers together. His mind raced as he thought of everything you had told him. Of the trip the two of you were taking at the end of the week. Of the box hidden in the back of his drawer.

“Marry me.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. This was not how he intended to ask you. He had a plan.

You jerked back to look at him, eyes running over his face. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Is this because I scared the shit out of your father?”

He laughed and patted your back with his free hand. “Let me up, princess.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname that had been Sol’s suggestion, telling Titus only “It’s fitting.”

You moved back, gaze never leaving him as he rolled out of the bed and headed to the dresser. He opened the second drawer down on his side and moved the clothes aside to retrieve the small velvet box tucked in the back corner.

He returned to the bed and sat with one leg folded, the other hanging off the side. Opening the box, he took out the ring and held it out to you. You plucked it from his fingers and examined it before looking back to him, a question in your eyes.

“I had a plan involving more clothing and me on one knee, but I don’t want to wait any longer.” If he was being honest, he’d admit it was a visceral reaction to hearing that you’d been shot with a weapon that should have killed you. “Say yes. Please.”

You hesitated just long enough that he started to panic. Then a wide grin covered your face and you slid the ring onto your finger. “It would be my honor to be your wife, Titus.”

He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours as he laid on top of you. Your laughter filled the air.

The decision was made to deliver the news to Chester in person. Titus had suggested a phone call. Maybe after the wedding. You’d insisted on the in person meeting with that little smile that said you knew more than you were letting on. So, the two of you headed to Rhode Island and the main family estate. Ursula was also in residence. Fantastic.

Once the two of you had placed your things in Titus’ room, he was ready to head to his father’s office. He just wanted this conversation out of the way. He linked his fingers with yours to pull you toward the door but you stopped him.

“You should do this on your own,” you told him as you patted his chest.

He blinked once. Twice. You were the one that insisted on this and now you were abandoning him to deal with his family on his own? “No.”

You smiled before kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’ll be fine. Trust me?”

“Always.” And because he did, he left you behind and made his way to his father’s study. He entered without knocking as he’d been expected since he stepped foot on the property. “Father. Ursula.”

“Titus. What are you doing here with that woman?” His father sat behind his desk, Ursula standing beside him with her hands clasped in front of her.

“That woman is my fiancée,” Titus answered with a small smile.

“Excuse me?” Fury threaded through his father’s words.

“My fiancée. The future Mrs. Danforth. So on and so forth.”

Chester slammed his fist onto the desk. Ursula startled and took a step away from him. “I won’t have it.”

“I’m afraid that’s not up to you. The union has already been approved by Mr. Le Bail.” At least that’s what you told him. And it wasn’t as if Chester could call up the devil and ask.

His father stood and Ursula stepped around the desk to put more distance between them. She was rarely the target of their father’s rage but she was smart enough to stay the fuck out of the way.

“I won’t stand for this defiance,” his father said. “I am the head of the council. I will contact The Lawyer and see that this engagement is dissolved at once.”

Titus stared at him for a moment and then he laughed. The sound was quiet at first, more of a chuckle than anything but quickly grew. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, father. You have no idea what happens to those that get in her way.”

“Is that a threat?” Ursula snapped, taking Chester’s side as always.

Titus cut off his laughter and turned his gaze to her. “If needs be.”

She raised her arm to slap him as she had so many times before. Titus didn’t move to stop her but a voice coming from the chair in the corner of the room that had been empty moments before did.

“Don’t.” Your voice was ice cold, and Titus would swear that the temperature in the room dropped with it.

Ursula’s confused expression quickly morphed into fear when she shifted her gaze to find you sitting in the chair, legs crossed.

“How did you get in here? Who do you think—”

“Father.” Ursula’s voice held a barely detectable tremor as she moved back to stand beside him. “Perhaps we should simply congratulate Titus on his forthcoming nuptials.”

Ah. Ursula had been the one to talk to the others then, the families that you’d visited. The ones who had seen their own glimpses of who you were.

You moved to stand beside Titus, cigarette hanging from your lips. He pulled out a lighter and offered you the flame. You stared at Chester as you lit the end. And, for just a moment, his father looked horrified and Titus knew you’d shown him a flash of your true nature. The next moment his father shook it off, obviously convincing himself the flames in your eyes were merely a reflection from the lighter.

You took a deep pull of your cigarette and blew out the smoke before speaking. “By all means, call The Lawyer. I’m sure he has a few things to clarify for you.”

Titus’ lips twitched before he gave into a smile at the sight of his terrified sister and furious father. This went better than he could have hoped. He took your free hand in his and headed for the door. “We’re only here for the night, father. We’ll take dinner in our room.”

When you stepped into the hall, Titus spun you and pressed your back against the wall as he leaned into you. His lips brushed yours as he spoke. “I love you, princess. I should have known you’d have my back.”

You smiled against his mouth. “You’re mine now, Titus. You’ll never be alone again.”

You smiled when courtiers bowed. You held your chin high when the noblemen brought flowers. You let them dress you in silk and gold and call you their jewel.

Eventually, a prince came, kind, well-dressed, with promises of safety and security.

You said yes. What else was left?

But at night, when the halls were quiet and your bed was too wide, you still reached for someone who wasn’t there.

A man in armour. A man who never said much, but who made you feel like no one else ever existed.

You dreamed of him. You never stopped.

Then one day, the palace shook.

It was not an army.

It was him.

Older. Scarred. Cloaked in darkness and fire.

The bounty hunter who once loved you like a man starved had come back, not as a ghost, but as a king. A ruler of Tatooine, armoured and unbending. And when his helmet lifted, his eyes found yours like they had never stopped looking.

You didn’t run to him. Couldn’t. Not when you wore a ring that belonged to another man.

He didn’t speak. Not at first. Just looked. And when your fiancé reached for your hand, Boba stepped forward.

“She doesn’t belong to you.”

“She said yes to me,” the prince said.

“She said yes because she thought I was dead.”

Silence fell.

Your heart beat like thunder.

The prince turned to you. “Is that true?”

You couldn’t answer. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. Your hands shook.

Boba looked at you, softer now. “Tell me, cyar’ika. Tell me if you love him, and I’ll walk away.”

Your throat tightened. “You left.”

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t choose it. But I’m here now. I built something for both of us. I came back for you.”

You closed your eyes. “It’s too late.”

He stepped closer. “It’s not.”

“You don’t get to say that.”

“I know. But I will. Every day, if I have to. I’ll wait outside this castle until you ask me to leave. Or until you come home with me.”

You turned to the prince. He was silent. He knew. Maybe he always had.

Later that night, you left.

Not through the grand doors. Not with fanfare or servants.

You walked quietly into the desert, where he waited, a ship behind him, humming with warmth and promise.

He held out his hand.

You took it.

Now, your days are warm again.

You live in his home, a fortress carved from sand and steel. He makes you tea in the mornings. You press kisses to the scars no one else ever sees. He sleeps beside you without armour, but never without holding you. And sometimes, when he thinks you’re not listening, he whispers your name like a prayer.

“I thought I lost you,” you tell him, one night beneath twin moons.

He brushes his thumb along your cheek. “You never did. I just took too long to come back.”

And this time, you will never let each other go again.

---

Morning came slowly on Tatooine.

Not because the sun was kind but because in the walls of Boba’s home, time moved softer now.

Slower. Safer.

You woke to the scent of tea and something warm pressed against your back. His arm, draped around your waist. His breath was steady, warm against your shoulder. You shifted slightly, and he stirred.

“Stay a little longer,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

You smiled into the pillow. “You said that yesterday.”

“And the day before.”

You turned to face him. His eyes were open now, lined with years and memory. There were days he still looked tired, but never when he looked at you. When he looked at you, he softened.

“Did you make breakfast?”

“Sort of,” he said. “Didn’t burn it this time.”

“That’s not saying much.”

He kissed your forehead, a slow, reverent thing. “Go on. Before it gets cold.”

You put on one of his shirts, walking barefoot into the kitchen.

The fortress was made of stone and old metal, but he had turned it into something that felt like home.

Plants you didn’t know the names of hung in shaded corners.

A sand-worn rug curled beneath the table. His weapons were stacked on a bench by the door, but they no longer felt threatening. They were part of him, just like you were now.

He brought out a tray, toast, fruit, and what looked like nerf sausage. The tea was strong enough to wake the dead. You sat together at the table, the early heat creeping in through the slats of the wall.

“You still don’t like the sun,” he said quietly, watching you shield your eyes.

You nodded. “It’s too harsh.”

“I can have the windows shaded. All of them.”

You smiled, reaching for his hand. “You don’t need to fix everything, Boba.”

“I want to.”

Later, he took you to the rooftop.

It was one of your favourite places, high above Mos Espa, where the noise of trade and engines faded into a steady hum. You watched the twin suns dip into orange, your head on his shoulder, his fingers tracing idle circles on your arm.

“I used to imagine this,” you said softly.

“This?”

“You. Me. Quiet. Safe.”

He said nothing for a while. “I didn’t think I’d get to have this.”

“You do.”

His gaze met yours, steady as ever. “You’re not afraid? Of the life I lived?”

You turned fully to him. “I was afraid of a life without you. That’s worse.”

He kissed you then, not like a conqueror or a bounty hunter, but like a man who had been lost and found. Like he’d waited too long for something that was finally his.

That night, you bathed together.

He was quiet as you helped him out of his armour, setting each piece down with care. You washed the dust from his skin, the old scars and the new. He let you.

In the candlelight, he looked younger. Not because time had changed, but because love had softened him.

You traced the lines of his brow, the set of his mouth.

“You still think I’ll leave?” you asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No. But I still wake up afraid you won’t be here.”

You took his hand. “Then let me stay, every day. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you until the end.”

And in your shared home, with the stars shining over Tatooine, you believed him.

Because Boba Fett didn’t make promises lightly. And when he held you close, heart to heart, you knew.

You were his.

And he was yours.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

“Hey, sweet girl.” His voice was gentle as always, soft. “How are you doing?”

You stared unseeing at the TV. “I’m okay.”

It was the same answer you always gave him. The same lie you told him and yourself every day. Your pain had dulled into something more manageable, but your life was still disrupted, too damaged for you to feel happy with it.

“I was calling because I wanted to see you. Maybe have you over for dinner tomorrow night? I can make your favorite.”

Your grip tightened on the phone as you considered the invitation. “At the house?” you finally asked.

“Yeah.”

“And will Robby be there?”

The silence stretched for a beat, then he said, “That’s the idea.”

“No.” The word came out sharp, irritated.

“No?” He managed to sound almost offended.

“Did I stutter?” You immediately regretted snapping and took a deep breath. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not upset with you. You did nothing wrong. I’m glad you went home and you and Robby made up. But if he wants to fix this, he has to fix it. Not you.”

You could picture him running a hand through his curls, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he considered his response. “I’m just trying to—”

“Make things easier for him?” you finished for him, though you were positive that wasn’t what he was about to say. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You try to fix things. It’s one of the many things I love about you. But this actually has nothing to do with you. Something you made very clear when you went home. I accepted that and you need to as well. I’m sorry you’re stuck in the middle. If it’s too much, don’t feel like you owe me anything.” The words caught in your throat. “I need to go.”

“Wait—”

You ended the call before he could say anything else and dropped the phone into your lap. You turned off the TV, plunging the room into near-darkness, the only light in the room filtering in from the kitchen. The phone buzzed in your lap. You glanced down to see a text from Jack. I love you. We both do. You didn’t bother responding.

You tried to force your mind to think about anything but Jack telling you he was going home. But Robby’s angry face the last time you’d seen him. But your thoughts kept circling back. What else could you do when your whole world had collapsed but remember the end?

You’d gotten your revenge on Chelsea and her minions, publicly calling them out, making sure everyone knew what they had done. The boys had insisted on celebrating, so you’d sat at Sam’s bar and smiled and laughed at the appropriate moments. But it had all felt hollow. Because at the end of the day, you still went home to an empty apartment. Still woke up in the middle of the night reaching for someone that wasn’t there.

You weren’t angry at Jack for going home. For choosing his partner that he’d been with for years, that knew him more intimately than you could ever hope to. Not really. But sometimes, just sometimes, you wish he’d chosen to stay here with you. That you had been worth even a second’s hesitation on his part. Maybe it was time to just move on from it all.

Robby sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed as Jack paced the length of the living room. The call had gone as badly as Robby had feared it might. The silence that followed was thick with tension.

“This is all my fault,” he said finally, dragging a hand down his face. “Sit down, Jack. You’re going to hurt your leg.”

Jack stopped pacing and dropped into one of the chairs. “I shouldn’t have pushed her. We should have known she’d react like this.”

“It’s not your fault. She’s mad at me,” Robby insisted. “I’m the one who fucked up.”

“I knew she wasn’t ready. I just…” Jack sighed. “I miss her, man. I miss the three of us together. I thought if we could just get you two in the same room maybe you could start working things out.”

Robby leaned back. “I know. I was hoping for the same thing. What if I’ve lost her, Jack? What if she never forgives me?”

Jack was quiet for a long moment. “She loves you. I know she does. But what you did…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“I know. I know how bad it is.” Robby closed his eyes, shame washing over him. “I hurt her so badly. I hurt both of you because I was too terrified she would hurt me first.”

“Yeah, you did. But you want to fix it. You’re trying to fix it. That counts for something.”

Robby turned his head to face him. “Not enough, apparently. So, what do I do now if she won’t come over for dinner?”

“You need to show her you’re serious. That you’re willing to put in the work. Hell, we both do at this point. I’m pretty sure she’s no happier with me at the moment,” Jack said.

“So what? Flowers? Candy? Hell, I’ll buy her fucking pony at this point if you think it would help.” The words came out more bitter than Robby had intended.

Jack rolled his eyes. “No ponies. No animals period while we’re on the topic. Gestures. Things that show you’re thinking about her, that you listen to her. The kind of things she always does for us without being asked.” He leaned forward to make sure his partner was really listening. “She loves making people feel seen. That’s why what you did hurt so much. You made her feel invisible. Like everything she thought you knew about her was wrong.”

Robby swallowed hard. He had reduced you to the worst possible version of yourself based on nothing but his own insecurities. “Where do I start?” His voice was little more than a whisper.

“You start with little things. Show her you’re paying attention. That you’re thinking about her. That you’re trying to be better.”

“And then what?” Robby was desperate for a map, instructions that might get him back to where he’d been before he threw it all away.

Jack shrugged. “Then you hope it’s enough to get her to give you the chance to do the big things.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then you keep trying.”

The knock came just after eight in the morning. You were already up and drinking your second cup of coffee. Sleep had been restless as of late, and you’d rolled out of bed just after five when it became clear you weren’t getting anymore rest. You grabbed Jack’s hoodie draped over the back of a chair and slid it on as you headed for the door. Through the peephole, you saw a delivery person holding a large bouquet of flowers. Your heart did that traitorous leap again as you opened the door.

The woman said your name and once you’d confirmed, handed over a massive arrangement of spring flowers. The scent of lilacs invaded your senses. “For you.”

“Thanks,” you managed, taking the flowers from her. “Just a second, let me get you a tip.”

She waved you off with a smile. “Already taken care of. Have a nice day.”

You stood in the doorway for a moment, arms full of flowers. You set the bouquet on the counter and searched for a card amongst the blooms. The only thing you found listed only your name and address, no greeting, no message. No apology. You snapped a picture and sent it to Jack. You or Robby?

Mike. Mine will be there later.

You rolled your eyes and set your phone on the counter beside the vase. The flowers were gorgeous, no question, but they meant nothing. Not really. A generic arrangement he could have ordered by calling almost any flower shop in town. A phone call where he’d evidently provided your name, address and his credit card number but couldn’t be bothered with a message.

You received another smaller arrangement of tea roses from Jack that afternoon. Peach and pink along with a lovely message apologizing for the dinner invitation. All of it signed off with an I love you, Jack. You sent a simple thank you text as your gaze turned once more to the arrangement from Robby. You sighed and wandered into the living room to get some work done.

The next morning started the same way, with a knock on the door and a delivery. Breakfast this time. You texted on and off with Jack and had a brief call with him before he started his shift.

Another morning and another knock. This time, when you opened the door, you were surprised to find your landlord. He handed you a piece of paper. “Here.”

You glanced at the paper and frowned. “What is this?”

“Rent’s paid. Three months.”

You blinked, certain you’d misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your rent. It’s been paid in full for the next three months.” He tapped his fingers on his thigh obviously already done with the conversation.

“By who?” you asked, though you were certain you already knew the answer.

He leaned forward and tapped the paper in your hand. “Says right there. M. Robinavitch.” You tried not to cringe as he horribly butchered the pronunciation of Robby’s name. “The boyfriend, right?”

“Not the boyfriend,” you corrected automatically. “Thanks for letting me know.”

He nodded but was already on his way down the hall. You closed your door and leaned against it, mind racing. “Michael Robinavitch, you’re a fucking idiot.” You grabbed your keys and headed out, pushing the thought from your mind. An apology delivered via money order wasn’t an apology at all.

In the days that followed, you continued to talk with Jack both by call and text. He didn’t mention Robby again, instead simply checking in, asking how you were, filling each other in on your days. Robby, by contrast, remained silent. No calls, no texts. Just more flowers and gifts that never seemed to quit coming. A first edition of your favorite book. A bottle of an expensive whiskey you’d mentioned loving the taste of. A scarf in your favorite color. You accepted them all, used them even. But you didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t acknowledge the gifts in any way. It wasn’t out of spite or anger, not anymore. It was simpler than that. You were waiting. Waiting for the one thing you hadn’t received yet. A sincere apology.

A week after the flowers had arrived, a small package was delivered to your door. It was wrapped in plain brown paper with no shipping label, just your name written across the front in Robby’s distinctive handwriting. You took it inside, staring at it before curiosity won out. You tore open the paper to find a small box. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet was a silver chain with a small caduceus symbol.

You lifted it carefully, the metal cool against your fingers. It was beautiful, delicate. Simple but elegant and exactly the kind of thing you liked to wear every day. He certainly knew your taste. It was the kind of gift that showed thought, that acknowledged who you were and what mattered to you. You closed the lid and set the box on the shelf beside your tattoo fund jar that you kept for some reason despite no longer having a need for it. You left the gift there without another glance.

A knock sounded late afternoon of the next day. You’d gotten used to the pattern by now. A knock followed by a delivery with no note. You opened the door without checking the peephole first. Instead of a delivery person, you found a man in a suit holding a manilla envelope. He read your name off the front.

“That’s me,” you confirmed.

He handed you the envelope. No sooner had your fingers closed around it then he snapped a picture with his phone. “Consider yourself served. Have a nice day.”

He didn’t even give you a chance to respond before he turned and walked away. You closed the door and tore into the envelope, having a suspicion of what was inside and you were correct. Your family was suing you for what they felt was their due from your grandfather’s estate. They were alleging undue influence and diminished capacity claiming pops hadn’t been in his right mind when he changed his will to leave everything to you.

Your eyebrow ticked ever higher as you read through the papers. They were claiming you had isolated your grandfather from the rest of the family. That you’d manipulated him into changing the will. That you’d taken advantage of an elderly man’s confusion for your own gain.

Fucking assholes. You headed to the corner where you kept your printer/scanner and fed the papers into it. You called Max as you watched the document feed through the machine. He answered on the third ring.

“As anticipated, I’ve been served. They’re contesting the will.”

There was a moment of silence before he sighed. “I see. They’re stupider than I thought. Was there anything surprising in the filing?”

“Not that I could see. I’m scanning it to send to you as we speak.”

“Good. I’ll read over it and get back to you. Like I said, this is nothing to be concerned about. There were provisions in place for all of this. Your grandfather was thorough.” After a beat, he added, “I am sorry for this, though. You deserve better.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. “The universe seems to disagree with you at the moment. I’ll get this sent to you in just a bit. Thanks, Max.”

Your phone rang just after ten that night, Jack’s name lighting up the screen. You didn’t hesitate to answer, knowing he was at work and likely wouldn’t have long to talk. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, sweetheart. How are you doing?” His voice was warm, though he sounded tired.

“I’m okay. Just a lot going on.” You had no intention of sharing any details about your grandfather’s estate. Not when they were still unaware you’d even inherited it.

Someone called his name in the background. “Just a minute,” he said before returning his attention to you. “Listen, I just have a second but I was wondering if you wanted to meet for breakfast tomorrow after my shift.”

“Just us?” you asked.

“Yeah. Just me and my girl.”

“Seven thirty at the usual place?” you asked, not even thinking of declining. You’d missed him.

“Sounds great. See you then.”

The diner looked the same as always, not that you’d expected anything different. You’d arrived a little early, content to get in an extra cup of coffee. You just taken the first sip of your second cup when Jack walked in. He’d stripped his scrub top leaving him in cargos and his t-shirt. He looked tired but his face broke into a wide smile when his gaze landed on you.

He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before sliding into the booth across from you, reaching for the menu. How he didn’t have it memorized by now, you had no idea. “Sorry I’m late. Got held up.”

“You’re like five minutes late. I got here early,” you told him.

He nodded, gaze flicking over you, taking you in. “You look tired.”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Well, I’ve been sleeping like shit so…”

The waitress appeared and took your orders before disappearing once more.

Jack leaned forward slightly. “I miss you.”

Your fingers tightened around your mug. “I miss you too. Both of you, if I’m being honest.”

Something flashed in Jack’s eyes. Hope maybe, or relief. “Mike’s trying. The gifts, the rent, he’s doing everything he can think of to show you he’s sorry.”

You sighed and pushed your mug away from you. This is what you’d been afraid of when you accepted his invitation. It’s why you hadn’t pushed to see him sooner. “No, Jack. He’s trying to buy me. He called me a whore because I took things from you and then slept with you. He’s not going to get me back by spending his money.”

You stood, grabbing your bag from the seat beside you. You stopped at his side of the table and leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, deliberate embrace. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide, a flush creeping across his cheeks.

“I love you, Jack.” Your voice was steady despite the tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. “But this isn’t fair to you. Maybe we should just put all of this on hold for a while.”

You turned to leave but his hand shot out, catching your wrist. His thumb moved in a slow circle against the inside of it, his touch gentle but insistent.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low and urgent. “Please don’t do that. I’ll shut up about Mike.”

You looked at his hand on your wrist then back to his face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His grip didn’t loosen. “Then stay.”

You hesitated before nodding once. “Scoot.”

He hastily slid over, still holding onto your wrist, not letting go until you settled in the seat beside him. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about him. I asked because I wanted to see you. Because I’ve missed you. Every day without you feels wrong.”

The honesty in his voice had you swallowing a lump in your throat. “I’ve missed you, too. So much.”