♡ Tropes:

#modernau #nocordycesoutbreak #officeromance #oldermanyoungerwoman #hatetolove #coworkerstolovers #confidentreader #twopeopleterribleatfeelings #emotionallyscaredjoel #sarahisalive(YAY) #smokerjoel #banter #hatesex #roughsex #semipublicsex #oralsex #semibratreader #bestfriend'sbrother #romantictension #heavyyearningandangst #flashbacks #lotsofplotbeforeandafterporn #abusive/toxicrelationships (not Joel/Reader) #trauma #mommyissues #pregnacyscares #pregnacydiscussions #mentalhealthstruggles #sucideattempts (not Reader) #slighthypersexuality

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♡ Clause 46 - coming July 11

♡ Clause 47 - coming July 25

♡ Clause 48 - coming Aug. 8

♡ Clause 49 - coming Aug. 22

♡ Clause 50 - coming Sep. 5

♡ Side Stories (Don't read if you want spoilers!) :

T&C: HOLIDAYS OFF

Christmas fluff, post-main story, slight spoilers if you really read into it, family fluff

T&C: FIRST LOVE

Prequel Story, Raymond's POV, so much fluff it hurts, pregnancy, baby Joel

T&C: DRESS HIM UP

Sequel Story, family fluff, date-night prep, Joel's POV

T&C: LEARN IN MORE WAYS

Sequel Story, family fluff, almost smut, SC's POV, graduation season, parental fluff

T&C: HOLD US

Sequel Story, family angst, first-time parents, Joel's POV, near-death experience

♡ Fan-Extras:

♡ Moodboards, Fan Spotify playlist by @broknedits ♡ Fan edits by @evcrmoree ♡ Joel and Reader's son fanart, baby!Sarah + young!Joel by @krispykattv ♡ Happy couple things fanart, Chapter 29, Young!Joel's animal, Raymond + Lorraine + Baby Joel, Clause 37 Flashback, 13years!Joel+Sarah (mostly oc x t&c!Joel) by @hoziersguitarr ♡ Family Tree (contains spoilers), SC's plane ticket by @honey-moon-13 ♡ Moodboards by @onlythehobi/@dilf-docs ♡ Fan Spotify Playlist by Justin

Piercing; loud. As if your wounded heart logged itself on your brain with it's broken fragments, dying pulse beating like a drum inside the confines of your worst enemy: your head.

Lola, look at me. Breathe.

You blink back tears at the memory. How much you'd give for him to come now, hold your trembling body down with his steady grip on your shoulder, speaking in that low voice of his for you to calm down, to come back to him. Look at you with those soft eyes he'd rarely show anyone else; bring you back from dark to light.

It's okay, just focus on me. Breathe.

The rasp and the fondness. The small chuckle at your hasty reply assuring you were fine.

Good. Can't afford to lose my best doctor.

You'd throw in a Take that, Langdon! for good measure, just to hear him laugh. Unguarded, like he didn't carry the weight of the world in his hands.

For a second, amid the chaos of the room, it was just two people in the staircase, sharing a laugh like the worst wasn't yet to come. As if you mattered enough to pull him out of the ship's helm, because saving all those people wasn't as rewarding as talking you out from the demons inside your brain.

You're good. Too good.

And you believed him like a lighthouse amid the storm; he was the anchor holding down this place from falling apart.

But he's not here anymore. You'll never feel the warmth of his comfort again.

Instead, all you feel is cold. So cold.

The ringing continues, crushing your skull down with the weight of raw, unprocessed feelings. You can feel them on your skin, all damp with sweat and dried streak of tears, that no amount of water can wash away.

The world doesn't stop spinning, not even when a familiar face shows up in the center, concern written all over her face.

"You alright, kid?"

You want to speak, but it's like there's a big knot on your throat pushing down all words. So you just shake your head softly, like any major effort will make you break apart.

She nods, comprehensive. Dana's always been like that.

"I miss him too, you know?"

You don't dare to say his name. It will only make it real.

That when you cross those doors, he won't be there to click his tongue with disapproval at the overly sweet coffee in your thermos. That he won't make fun of the Taylor Swift and pink stickers inside your locker. That in rooms, you won't be able to search his eyes again, won't find them staring back with a silent pride as you prove useful inside the ER.

And still, tomorrow would be another day and another shift at The Pitt; the sick don't rest. All the same but so painfully different.

Because life goes on, and yet, you can't imagine going back to a world where he isn't around.

Your voice comes out raw from the screams that never made it past your mouth. Tired of the sleepless night after the call.

"What are we going to do?"

She gives you half a smile. "What we always do: Find a way to make it work out."

You hold back a sob with a shaky exhale. She extends her arms in a silent offer.

So you let her hug you, trying to swallow the truth:

Dr. Robinavitch was gone, and there was nothing in this world that could bring him back.

"Imagine being abandoned twice at this age."

"Trinity!" Javadi calls out between her teeth, "don't say that."

The baby coos, looking adorable in her little black dress (courtesy of Dana's daughter) for a moment so grim.

"What? It's not my fault." She holds her finger out and the baby takes it, gurgling. "I'm not the one adopting knowing I'm going to kill myself."

Javadi's eyes wide in shock. Dennis gives her a hard look.

"It was an accident."

"Kahit anong sabihin mo," she mumbles under her breath. (whatever you say)

Whitaker crosses his arms. "I hope that means you're sorry."

"No. It means Congratulations, you just won a sad bachelor pad by default."

Before he can reply, Javadi elbows him. He looks confused and angry at the interruption for a perfect jab back before realizing what, or rather who, she meant.

"Glad to see your humor is still intact."

Trinity jumps slightly at the new voice that's joined.

She smiles tightly as she greets you. "Hey, Lola."

They all share a look. It's Javadi who dares to ask.

"Are you okay?"

You sigh, tiredly. "Been better."

They nod slowly, like any rougher movement might frighten you; shatter that mask that's holding back a broken woman. They most likely had seen you and Dana a few minutes before.

You avoid their careful gaze and look around. There are a lot of faces you recognize, some out of respect, like Dr. Adamson's family and Dr. Garcia; others devoted despite it all, like Jake and Langdon; conflicted, as Samira and Baran; bittersweet, like Collins, who drove all the way from Portland as soon as she got the news. Loving, like Dana: people who saw all your flaws and decided you were still worth of being cared for.

You wonder in which category you fall.

That's when you see him, the one you hadn't even dared to think about.

He moves through the crowd, greeting both coworkers and strangers alike, showing the manners of a perfect gentleman while wearing a face that says nothing except a composure years in the making, carefully crafted to keep every emotion in bay before buried wounds and old feelings drown him.

"Excuse me," you say as he makes his way to your group, fleeing the scene. You're glad none of the trio asks, much like the rest of the staff.

Golden Rule of The Pitt #12: Whatever animosity goes on between you and Dr. Jack Abbot, it's none of their business.

Theories have flown here and there, mostly from Perlah and Princess, but not one was close to reality. It was, if anything, a simple truth: opposites don't match well.

You thought his coolness didn't paint him as an emotionally intelligent man but rather a detached, unapproachable one. He viewed your optimism, naive and felt your need for control was a disrespect to the hierarchy and interrupted the seamless flow of teamwork. His purposelessness outside the hospital in which he carelessly and emptily lived his life made you think of him less. He found your need for approval pitiful, how you'd lie and hide your ambition behind false humbleness.

Jack knows he can't save everyone, even if he tries his best with every live that walks into the ER. You think you can, not only to prove him wrong, but because you've always thought that way.

You see Langdon by the food, trying to quiet down his kids by bribing them with the tray of pastries while Abby mingles with a group of people nearby.

He balances Penny on one arm while trying to stop Tanner from raiding the brownie tray Princess baked.

"Need some help?"

Langdon raises his gaze to meet you, eyes softening. You wonder if it's your palpable grief or the bond that despite everything that happened the last 10 months, hasn't been broken.

"Suit yourself."

You choose to carry Penny, because dealing with a toddler that'll cry if you say no isn't a thing you want to add to today's list of stress.

"How are you doing?" you ask before he gets the chance to question you first.

"Trying to swallow it," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I just came back... It's hard to believe. There's so much I wanted to say, but now he's-"

He trails off, reality speaking for itself.

"I know," you force the words out. "It's not easy."

"And how are you doing? I know this is..." he cuts off, trying to find an appropriate word. You avoid his gaze by bopping Penny's nose and attempt to distract yourself with her tiny infectious laugh.

"I'm fine," you interrupt smoothly.

"If you say so," he crosses his arms. "Hey, who do you think will replace Robby?"

No one. Never.

Other one of the things you rather not dwell on. Anybody else on his shoes feels... Wrong.

It's probably all over your face by the way he backtracks.

"I meant his position", Langdon clarifies. "You and I know that place needs an iron grip so it doesn't fall apart."

He gives you a look that's meant to measure you.

"Think Al-Hashimi is going to step in? Heard she petitioned for two attendings for the day shift, though. For better control or something like that."

You raise an eyebrow.

"What are you implying, Dr. Langdon?"

"All I'm saying is there's three senior residents about to finish their residency. Any chance administration might fish from their pool?"

"You're delusional," you snort, "there is no way you catch up to Cassie and me."

He raises his hands in mock surrender.

"I'm fast."

You chuckle, "All right, McQueen. Hit those breaks, will you?"

Frank doesn't desist. "Maybe Collins? I don't know if she got a job in Portland, but do you think they'll call her back? You know Gloria always favored her."

"Jealous?" you quip.

"Slightly." Langdon sighs. "Or hey, maybe it's you."

A small pressure settles in your chest.

"Me?"

"C'mon, Lola. No need to be humble," the young man teases. "Robby respected you. I wouldn't be surprised if he placed your name on his will somewhere," he jokes. When you don't laugh, he sighs. "I'm being serious. He mentioned you to administration almost on a daily basis. Hell, he probably already wrote your recommendation letter."

He says it with a bitter undertone, from his memories. It also brings some of yours too.

But they're fresh, exactly from two nights ago.

People are afraid of hospitals. You, having spent half your life in them, aren't. What you're scared of, is the dark. When the voices inside get too loud. And, a place you never thought you'd step a foot on if you could help it: a police station.

"I'm here for Dr. Robinavitch," you say, trying to keep your voice steady and emotions in bay.

You knew it from the start, that ugly feeling that sank right into your stomach. You came as fast as you could, interrupting your well earned bath after another week at The Pitt, trying not to think on anything and anyone.

But when the officer's face settles into a trained expression, your fears come true.

Motorcycle. An accident. Death.

"We found this among the wreckage. Our agent on the scene guessed it felt from his backpack," he sighs, "it's got your name on it."

In ink, the promise he made. One he'll never voice out. You don't know what hurts more: that he wrote it by hand or that these are his last words for you.

This wrinkled piece of paper: his last gift without meaning to.

No goodbyes. You know he hated them, but it'd be nice to get one.

To see him one last time. Maybe convince him to stay―try harder. Make up a case you need him on so he didn't go. Anything.

Anything if it meant Michael Robinavitch lived to see one more day.

"I'm sorry," is all the officer says.

When he finds you, your grief and shock have settled into silent tears. He calls your name softly, like that one time years ago.

You don't know what compells you to do it: the weight of emotions or the fact you're the only two people Robby had in the world, both contacts logged under emergency on his phone. Maybe you don't want to deal with this pain that cuts right through you alone.

So you fall into him, arms snaked around his body. He's strong; steady. And when he hugs you back, tentative and weary at first, fully when he realizes you need it, you think his hold is the reason you don't fall apart and break into million pieces right now.

"It's okay," Jack whispers, soothingly. His grip doesn't waver once. "We'll be okay."

"Maybe Dr. Abbot takes his place."

That snaps you out of your thoughts. You tried hard not to go back to it, but you did. Probably this is the real reason you didn't want to find him particularly today: you're embarrassed you fell into the arms of a man you hated because you were vulnerable. It doesn't matter it was just a hug.

The face you make must be very transparent, because when Frank replies, he says:

"Sorry, remembered you two aren't exactly friends."

The change of topic works to lift the pressure in your chest a little, annoyance overtaking pain. Regardless, you shoot a murderous look his way.

"He's fine in the night shift. Don't see why he'd be moved to ours."

You'd never hear the end of it if anyone in the hospital found out. You willingly hugged Jack Abbot, even if you weren't exactly completely clear in the head.

You did, and that's that.

(You obviously won't mention the fact that his smell―of clean laundry and wheat soap, had rubbed off on you, smelling him hours after that horrible visit to the Central, strong enough to soothe you into sleep. Or that his arms had caged you, letting you bear all your weight on him, despite initial reluctance on his side. Nope, you're taking it to your grave)

"Okay, princess, relax. Did using the F word piss you off? My bad."

You lean to Penny, whispering. "Your dad is being dumb."

She laughs because your breath tickles. The eldest too since the word dumb sounds fun.

"Don't discredit me in front of my kids!" he loudly whines.

It is then when Abby rejoins you, probably drawn by the sound of laughter. After small talk with her, she takes Penny from you as you excuse yourself.

This time, you walk to the front yard. Most people are inside, mostly coworkers, some patients even. You sigh, unpacking a box of cigarettes and lighting one with trembling hands.

You take a drag while looking back at the house. You wonder if Robby ever felt alone, between walls so big and empty. If when he bought it, he thought about a wife and kids.

"Didn't know you smoked."

You turn around, finding Jack staring at you, hands on his pockets. He looks weird, seeing him only on scrubs so far, maybe the military attire once or twice, as he now wears a plaid formal shirt and black slacks. The top strains on his arms and over the middle, due to his muscles and thick body.

You want to say Thank you for helping me set this up, or anything remotely similar to express your gratitude, but no words push past your mouth. Except a quick, dry retort.

"Just in emergencies," you reply cooly.

He nods. "I see. Didn't pin you for a smoker, thought."

You take a drag. "Is that so?"

"You love control," he chuckles dryly. "My idea of an addiction is quite the opposite."

"I said it was occasional," you bite.

He shrugs, "Never said otherwise."

You're about to argue back when you realize the day's already been as awful as it is and you don't have the energy to keep up a fight.

"What will happen to the house?" you ask.

He tilts his head, taking in the big suburban building.

"Probably will go on sale. It's too expensive," Jack says. "Must be written on his will."

"What the hell was Robby thinking about when he bought it?" you muse out loud.

Jack chuckles. "Only he knows."

You think of the times you've been here: the way the living room catches the first rays of sun on its wooden floorboards, the kitchen full of too many compartments for a single solitary man, the garden with plants he did water but only because you set an alarm on his phone, or the bedroom door that creaked each time it got stuck. The soft thick sheets of his bed.

"Perhaps because it felt like a home," you say softly, throat tight.

Jack chooses wisely to not add anything to your comment. But it sits right there, at the tip of his tongue. Before Abbot gets to even open his mouth, another person disturbs your one on one time.

"Thank God I found you. Someone told me you'd be here."

You both turn at the same time to where the voice comes, from the front door.

The woman smiles, wide, like no amount of misery could kill her professional image.

"Just the two people I was looking for."

You exchange a look.

"Can we talk inside?" she asks.

Abbot replies. "After everyone leaves. Do you think we can do that?"

She shrugs. "I have time."

"Good," the older man smiles, all ease and manners. "Do you want a brownie?"

Noelle Hastings isn't a bad person, but you can't bring yourself to like her.

Her presence unnerves you: because where others see reassurance in her confidence, they see ego behind your own. She was an excellent case worker and you were just a resident who thought of herself a little too high.

And she doesn't like you either, judging by how, as she talks, she only addresses Jack. Rarely throws a look your way; it's fleeting at best.

"I'm sure this is a very difficuIt time for you, obviousIy. Everyone at PTMC," she motions with her hands, "We'll miss Dr. Robinavitch very much."

You squirm in the sofa. As of now, its soft leather isn't providing any comfort.

"Now. you must have many questions."

"Why you?" you cut in, brash. "Robby must've had a lawyer."

"He did. Does," she winces after correcting herself. "They just thought it would be better to have a familiar face deliver the news."

You laugh under your breath in disbelief. She ignores you.

"The house," Jack speaks first, not before shooting a look your way that reads Behave.

"Right, finances. The estate will cover the mortgage, and since Michael had some savings of his own, well, I think that'd make easier the custody."

You both nod, understanding.

Wait.

"Did- Sorry, did you just say custody?"

"Don't worry, I have aIready arranged for her transfer. After today, her foster famiIy will take her until next morning. Then bring her to CPS."

What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening.

"Child Protective Services?" you gasp, brain running a mile while trying to process what she's talking about.

This better be a joke. A sick joke, but a prank nonetheless.

Yeah, in any minute, Mateo will jump from the big plant pot near the door and Santos will laugh as she records from her phone. Javadi will upload a TikTok making fun of you. There's no baby or whatever Noelle is saying. Nothing can get any worse.

"They feeI she'II adjust best in her own environment... So, first, she needs to be picked up and brought back in here."

You remember the baby on the crib as you interrupted the trio. Was that the one Noelle is talking about?

"I'm sorry, Noelle, but I have to stop you right there," Abbot, who had been awfully quiet, resumes. His voice sounds even, not quick like your own, panicked. But, on the color of his eyes, you pick up the all too well glint of adrenalinen; the way he's containing his rage, surprise, confusion and like your own, fear.

"Why? Is there a problem?"

It's you who speaks, "This doesn't make sense."

She gives you both a look that's too much like concern, and then settles back on her couch as if she just figured something out.

"Oh, wow. Okay... I see."

As she fixes her hair off from her face, Abbot speaks again.

"Can you enlighten us, if you're so kind?"

"I'm sorry. Did Robby not tell you anything about this?"

You're afraid of the answer. "Tell us what?"

"Guardianship arrangements."

Okay, this day could definitely get so much worse.

Guardianship? Baby? Robby involved? Jack and you on the mix?

There better be an explanation that's not you going insane from grief.

Your answer comes at the same time: "No."

She presses her lips into a thin line.

"Well, according to his lawyer, Robby sat him down earlier this week to fix his will, about who would take care of the baby in the, um, unlikely event that, you know... He passed."

A heavy silence settles. She breaks it.

"Well, he named you. Both of you."

It's a nightmare. When you wake up and walk into your shift, a text from Robby and where his motorcycle has taken him will arrive. No mention of a mysterious baby or anything crazy like that.

"But, Noelle..." Jack's voice pauses, like his brain too is stuck trying to function and at the same time, understand what's going on. "Robby- He didn't have any kids..."

For the first time, she addresses you directly.

"Do you remember baby Jane Doe? From about four days ago."

"Baby Jane Doe?" Jack parrots.

Your brain scrambles for information.

Baby. Triage. Bathroom. Pedes. Dana asking who could foster her.

"Shit," you curse. "Wait, what does this have to do with her?"

Abott throws his arms up with exasperation.

"Who are we talking about? Seriously."

"Day shift shenanigans," you fake disinterest, pretending to check your nails. Then, you ask Noelle. "What about her?"

"Robby adopted baby Jane Doe."

You feel you're about to throw up.

"I know this is overwheIming, beIieve me. Even I advised him against it-"

"When did this happen?" you interrupt.

Noelle sighs.

"Before he left for his sabbatical. He probably didn't want her to end up going to any family, I don't know. So he started the adoption process, at least enough to leave her under his name so she'd stay in foster care while he was away but guaranteed she wouldn't end up going anywhere else."

Jack nods silently. Your hands clasp over your lap with a force so tight, your knuckles are turning white.

"You know what I told him before he left?" she speaks again, "see you in a week. I knew he'd be back, and perhaps sooner because of the baby. And now, he's-"

She doesn't finish the sentence. It's better for everyone. Taking a deep breath, she forces herself back into professional mode.

"But there are options. You can say no, because this is a big deaI. This is a chiId. Big commitment."

"No shit," you snort. "Tell that to Robby and his altruistic bullshit or whatever compelled him to pull this trick."

Abbot looks at her, as if telling Noelle to focus on him and ignore you.

"Options. You mentioned them. What are some other options?"

"His parents could be a good one," she suggests.

"Perfect!" you clap your hands together, like that ends the conversation and transfers the problem to someone else.

But Jack shakes his head slowly, heavily sighing.

"I'm afraid that can't happen."

You want to ask why, but it feels invasive to. While he knew a lot about your life outside the ER, Robby never really spoke about his. It's a topic you learned to avoid since you saw how his face hardened when you reminisced fondly of your family, like he was holding a long grudge or grief he didn't know what to do with.

"Cousins? Any other family?"

Jack shakes his head again. Noelle and you look equally surprised.

It falls in the room, heavy: both of you never knew who Michael Robinavitch really was.

"What if..." you break the silence, "one of us, on our own, by ourseIves... Chose to honor Robby's wishes?"

Jack adds, "Or both of us. HypotheticaIIy."

You roll your eyes. Not only is the prospect of having a baby in less than 24 hours very much real but also Jack Fucking Abbot wants to insert himself in the picture. With you. Side by side. It's ridiculously infuriating.

"They named you," Noelle explains, "so I just set up a court hearing. In the meantime, may I suggest something?"

You snort, "Can't be any worse than what I've already heard."

"I imagine, logically, your apartments aren't child safe. So, can I suggest the two of you move in here in the interim? For the baby."

Alright, you've had enough. By the way Jack's hand find your thigh and pats it, he probably can tell you're about to explode. It's amazing he remembers the telltale signs after three years.

"You want us to Iive together? Here?" your eyes widen in disbelief at the nerve as you laugh, incredulous. "What makes you think Robby's sad bachelor pad is any better than our places?"

"He had started making the modifications," she replies, defensive.

"Oh, wow. Did he also tell you the color he'd paint the baby's room? So we can buy the correct shade."

She ignores you. "It's the best for the baby, or at least, until you decide what you want to do."

Noelle grabs her briefcase and pulls out a neatly graped file.

"All you need to do is sign here."

It tumbles out of your mouth before you can even regulate it.

"You're fucking crazy if you think I'm going to sign it."

"Lola-"

Why the fuck did she call you that? It feels a profanity to the nickname. Did Robby tell her the story behind? On his bed or just passing by?

Your grief―the sadness you've felt all day now turns into something uglier, meaner.

"No, I'm sorry. You're not guilt tripping me into doing this because Robby decided to have a last minute heroic moment," you scoff. "What kind of sick fucking cruel farewell gift is this?"

Noelle adopts the tone she uses when patients are being stubborn.

"I think we should calm down-"

"Calm down? Calm down?!" you shout. "You are about to drop a baby on me and expect me to be understanding and sweet?"

"I said you could not-"

"Right. So then I have everyone up my throat because I didn't respect Robby's last wish? Because I let a poor baby end up with God knows who?" you spit. "And why do you keep calling her Jane Doe?"

"Not all her papers were done by the time he left," she answers flatly.

You feel frustration bubbling up your throat.

"Oh, okay," you laugh bitterly. "So, Robby has time to fill out paperwork that legally dumps this burden on us but can't bother to name her?"

Jack says your name like a warning.

"No!" you reject his order to calm down. "I'm a senior resident, weeks away from finishing my residency. I barely have time to take care of myself, let alone a baby," you speak with quick, angry words. "A-And Jack here- He's fifty. He works the night shifts and has a penchant for getting shot at on his second job as a SWAT physician."

"Stop talking like I'm not here," he cuts in, tone neutral. Still, the icyness in between doesn't go unnoticed by you and Noelle.

"What I'm trying to say," you focus back on her, "is that we're not fit for this. We don't have time or the necessary skills to do it."

"I think," she speaks carefully, "that he chose you both for a reason."

"The fucking reason being he didn't have anybody else!" Jack tries to make you sit down, but you roughly swat his arm away. "Don't you see? They're trying to put a baby on us like it's just another one of his sad stupid house plants to water. This is a kid, for God's sake. That's- At least eighteen years taking care of someone!" you burst. "Like, a person. A whole ass person. And you want me to sit here, smile and accept it like I'm some martyr? Fuck you," you spit, "whatever this circus is, I don't want to be part of it."

Noelle stands too.

"Those were his wishes, Lola."

Not only does she use the nickname again, but this time with a tone that oscillates in between demeaning and condescending. It gets under your skin.

"Forgive me I'm not a saint for accepting a child with open arms," you scoff. But it doesn't stop there. You feel the venom pour out, little having to do with today's emotional burnout. "Also, why do you care? Because he fucked you a couple of times?"

Jack's voice cuts through the air like thunder.

"Enough!" he shouts. You'd never seen him this angry before. Not even in the ER, back to when he was still your boss, able to keep calm among the chaos. Now, there's a vein on his forehead and disapproval written on his face to the point it darkens his features. He's even angrier than that time, three years ago. "I know you're frustrated, but this isn't the right thing to do. Noelle isn't to blame."

She looks like she silently thanks Abbot's intervention. Out of shame, you refuse to meet her eyes, but you catch the shade of red humiliation on her face anyway.

"If you don't want to follow what's stated on his will, you'll have to go to court, like I said" she speaks firmly. "That's the way it is."

At your silence, Jack takes the floor for both of you.

"Thanks for speaking to us. We... We will talk about it," he stands up, offering his hand for her to take, "and I'll let you know when we're ready to have a proper conversation."

He casts a sideway glance at you.

"Right now... Maybe it's not the best time."

She nods curtly, taking his hand.

"Of course, just let me know. You have my number."

Noelle walks out the house with Abbot following behind. Then, she stands at the door and looks back one last time.

"I'm sorry."

Before you ask her for what, Hastings is gone.

Jack sighs, closing the door. He then turns to you.

"Do I need to tell you how unprofessional and rude that was?"

You get up, making a beeline to where Robby kept his stash of whiskey.

"Save your lectures for someone who cares, Abbot.".ñ

You feel it coming back, but you push the throbbing to the back of your head.

"There was no reason for you to lash out on her like that. She's not to blame."

"She'll survive a few mean words, Noelle's a big girl," you scorn. "Besides, it's not her life that's getting ruined."

"You didn't want kids?"

You take a long sip from your drink. "Not like this, and not with you. No offense."

A faint smirk adorns his lips as he raises his hands in mock defeat.

"Can't blame you."

A beat passes before he continues.

"So, what do you think?"

"That even when gone, Robby keeps finding ways to fuck me up," you mumble through a humorless laugh.

Your eyes sting. The left side of your head begins to pulse.

You can't breathe, falling from light to dark. Jack's face becomes blurry, and all you see through tear stained eyes is him, frantically moving, trying to get to you.

But you're far, deep inside. You can't speak, chest constricted, as if you're underwater.

You're drowning.

Because nobody tells you one day you'll say goodbye to a person without knowing you'll never see them again. That one day they're here, and next, they're gone.

That you'll have to organize his funeral because he's got no one else left in this world.

That you'll have to take care of a baby he decided to adopt without knowing he'd die before he even got to name her.

That the one person you thought you could trust didn't tell you this.

If you can't relate to him, then who are you related to?

You're alone in this world, left to rot―let it fester in a city where his face haunts every corner.

"Hey. Hey! Focus," he calls you. "Look at me!"

Your eyes blink, taken back by the scream, and there he is.

Among the fog: Jack Abbot. A light. Steady in ways he shouldn't be. Forcing himself to act strong because you can't, even if the fear circles inside his eyes, and someone has to.

You feel his hand on your shoulder, with the warmth of a mentor. A friend.

"I told you we'll be okay before, and I mean it." Jack takes your hand in his and whispers your name like a promise. "We'll get through this."

Nobody tells you what to do when there's light at the end of the tunnel, but you know you won't make it.

When you can't compartmentalize your feelings any longer because things keep getting worse.

When those feelings explode and you're left a crying mess, gasping for air on a world that doesn't let you breathe.

But, most importantly, nobody tells you that, one day, the only person who sees you, is the one you hate: The one who cradles you into his arms because you'll fall apart if someone doesn't hold you, and whispers in your ear assurances like he means them, as if hugging you is natural and not a favor.

As if he cares about you enough to forget all diatribes and snarky comments. To forget he once used to be your mentor before it went sour. Before the bitterness and the distance. Before you changed nights to days. Before you forgot how easy it was to read him and know what went in his head. When he could tell what went through yours.

It's good he's forgotten or chosen to: Dr. Jack Abbot must not know this might be the last thing keeping you sane on Earth.

When Jack pulls away, standing as if to put some distance after being too close twice this week, you feel a tiny flutter store itself between your ribs.

"C'mon," he extends his hand your way; a second chance, "we have to prepare this house."

"Then when?" he pressed. "’Cause I know if we go back down there without sayin' a word, we never will."

"And how can you be so sure?"

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that reminded you of the man he was fifteen years ago.

"Jen must be downstairs wondering where you are," you pointed out.

Letting go of his shirt buttons with a tired sigh, he closed the distance between you in three short strides.

Joel reached up, his hand cupping your chin. You didn’t pull away.

"I ain't regrettin' this," he said. "And I’d do it a hundred times over."

You huffed. "This makes us cheaters. It can't be right."

"It’s us."

"So?"

"I'd do it a hundred times over."

"Joel," you said, bringing your hand up to rest against his wrist, "you have a girlfriend, and I have a boyfriend. We're terrible people."

Your eyes stung at the thought of Dean. Somewhere back in Austin, he had an image of you that had absolutely nothing to do with who you were after tonight. He didn't deserve this.

"Jen and me, it’s all pretty new," he shook his head. "I ain't even sure she’s only seein' me."

You frowned. "Right, sure." You pulled out of his grip. "You men always have those kinds of excuses ready for situations like this."

"It’s the truth," he insisted. "We met two months ago, and we’ve barely been a thing for three or four weeks. She’s a client's sister," he scowled, "please, you gotta believe me."

"Someone's little sister, then?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes, looking away.

"It doesn't matter," you continued, taking a step toward the door. "We can't talk now. We better head back down before someone notices both of us are missing."

"Alright," he gestured with both arms in defeat. "You're right."

"I know."

You watched him walk over to where you stood. He stopped right in front of the door while your hand rested on the knob, just looking down at you in silence.

He tilted his chin up slightly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?"

You nodded. "Tomorrow."

After Joel left, you stayed in your hotel room for at least fifteen minutes, reflecting on what the hell had just happened.

Not only had you become a cheater, but you had enjoyed it so much. Like a guilty pleasure, like tasting water after months of thirst; being with Joel had ignited something inside you that you hadn’t felt since the last time you saw him.

It was unfair. This didn't make you any less guilty, nor did it ease the fact that you had cheated on your boyfriend, who just happened to be a sweet, good man who had never treated you badly. But it had brought you back to life, making you realize that this whole idea of having moved on and loving Joel less was a complete fucking lie.

You didn't love him any less. It didn't matter how much you had tried to convince yourself that you were on the right track to moving on with your life. You loved Joel. You loved him the exact same way you had two years ago, five years ago, ten or fifteen years ago. What you felt for him hadn't faded one bit.

Maybe lately, while being with Dean, your emotions had been quieted, buried under the pretext of moving forward. But it had only taken two days of barely any contact for all of that to go out the window.

Unfair. Of course it was. That’s why, when you went back down to the party and noticed everyone was a bit too drunk to spot anything unusual, you headed straight to the bar and ordered a strong drink.

"Make it a double, please," you said, leaning an elbow against the wooden bar.

Out on the dance floor, Jo and Cillian were dancing, completely lost in their own happiness and tropical drinks.

You didn't see Joel (or Jen) for the rest of the night.

People usually say that a morning hangover has to be one of the worst things that can happen to you when you're over thirty.

Well, they’re wrong. Because imagine having a hangover and the very first thing you feel as you start to wake up is a bright, aggressive beam of sunlight hitting you straight in the eyes, because apparently last night you forgot to close the curtains properly. And not only that, but your whole body aches; hips, knees, legs, even a spot on your ribs, and above all, you just know you messed up somehow.

Guilt-ridden, you sat up in bed feeling exhausted and like an absolute wreck. You didn’t even have the energy to get up and take a shower, so you clung to the excuse of your aching body to stay tangled in the sheets with your eyes shut and the blanket pulled over your head. Just for a little while longer.

A little while longer might mean fifteen minutes, half an hour, or an hour for some. For you, it meant three hours, and the only reason you were forced out of bed was because of a persistent knock rattling the wood of the door over and over again.

You had no choice but to groan and get up in the worst possible mood. You walked toward the door, but stopped dead in your tracks two steps before reaching it.

"Who is it?"

"Kat! Open up!"

You winced at the muffled shout through the door and turned the handle.

"Don't yell," you complained.

Kat stepped into the room and frowned.

"Oh, first things firs, hello. Just came to see if you were okay since I didn't see you at breakfast," she tilted her head, "but now I know why. Did you drink too much?"

You looked down at the floor and closed the door. "No."

"Alright. I have Advil in my bag."

You smiled softly. "Yes. Thanks. That’s exactly what I need."

With a small hop, you threw yourself onto the bed, landing flat on your back.

Shit. You shouldn’t have done that; your brain slammed against your skull, hurting like hell.

You pressed both hands over your eyes and let out a groan.

"Okay, what is up with you?" Kat asked, and you felt the mattress sink right beside you with her weight.

You let out a heavy sigh. "I don’t wanna tell you."

"Why? What happened?"

A heavy aching groan escaped you while you kept your eyes covered.

You knew that if you said it out loud, if you confessed it to Kat of all people, it would carry a whole different weight. It wouldn’t just be about spending a night with Joel—which hadn't even been a night, it had been what? Twenty, thirty minutes? It wouldn’t just be that; it would be going back to something that had cost you so much to walk away from. You were weak.

You pulled your hands away from your eyes and stared up at the blank perfect white ceiling.

Just spit it.

Spit it out.

"I slept with Joel."

You could practically hear how loud her silence was.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at her. Kat was staring at you in silence, her mouth slightly open, blinking in disbelief.

"Kat."

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "You're kidding."

Oh.

"No."

She opened her eyes even more. "When? How?"

"Last night. I went down to the beach and ran into him on the way. We just… kissed."

"Just kissed? Yeah, right, and then?"

"And then I told him to meet me here in ten minutes," you sat all the way up. "And he did. I came up here and waited for him. He came, and we did it. Then we went back down to the party and I guess nobody noticed."

"Well, I certainly didn't," she shook her head with a resigned sigh. "And Jen?"

"I dunno," you covered your face again. "Neither she nor he were downstairs when I got back, but I didn't hear them come into their room either. I’m a terrible person."

"Don't say that, you're not," she placed a hand on your leg.

"Of course I am. I have a boyfriend. A really good, sweet boyfriend, and I just cheated on him. And you know what the worst part is?"

Kat pressed her lips together. Tears started to well up in your eyes.

"It felt so good," you confessed. "Being with him again. It was like no time had passed at all, like we were the exact same people as before. But different, y'know?"

She nodded.

"I thought I was over him."

"Hey," she gave your leg a gentle squeeze, "breathe, alright? This was… this was something that maybe, I dunno, maybe it was bound to happen. The alcohol, the warmth, the wedding, it’s all too romantic and perfect for this kind of stuff to happen. A lot of people hook up at weddings. For instance, last night I hooked up with Cillian’s cousin and we’re going out for a walk later." She winked.

You smiled faintly. "Well, good for you. I get your point. But it’s not the same. I should’ve known better," you shook your head. "It’s just… god, Kat, you should’ve seen him. After the rehearsal dinner, we had this argument on the beach and he said all kinds of things that no matter how hard I try to push them out of my head, I just can’t!"

"Like what?"

"Everything! That he wanted to try again, that he loved me, that he didn't understand what we were doing, that he was sorry for everything, that he was scared… and so many things about our last year of marriage. All of it. That he didn't care about anyone else, that he thought of me when making decisions like buying a damn house. That he has all this money now and he doesn't care about it because it makes no sense if we aren't together anyway, so what does it matter, right?"

"Oh God."

"What did he expect me to say to that?"

"What did you say?"

You shrugged. "That we couldn't. Too many things happened, and besides, I’m with Dean. Oh God, Dean…" You covered your face again.

"Break up with him."

Your eyes locked onto her face in shock. "Kat."

"What? Are you listening to what you’re telling me?"

"You really think it makes sense to ignore everything else? Things with Joel were intense, but it also ended for a reason."

"Neither of you wanted that divorce and you know it. And you know I’ll always support whatever you want, but I think you can’t just ignore your feelings because it’s not the right thing to do right now. Dean is great, and he’s a good guy, but is he really what you want?"

"What guarantees that Joel and I will work out now? It could be a disaster."

"Or it might not be."

You stared at her in silence, caught off guard by what she was telling you. Kat had never said anything like this before. She had quietly supported you through the divorce and had been genuinely happy when you told her about Dean.

"And where is all this coming from?" you asked.

Kat sighed, looking down at her feet.

"You know I love you, right?" she said.

"Yeah."

"Well," she looked up at you, "then just keep in mind that everything I’m about to say comes from a place of love for you, appreciation for him, and complete honesty. I’m not planning to be subjective, okay?"

You nodded.

"I don't think you two should be apart," she stated flatly. "I’ve known both of you for a very long time, and I think I can safely say I’ve secretly been waiting for something to happen between you. You’re the most in-love couple I’ve ever known, and when you got divorced, it was a shock to everyone. I know it happened for a reason, and I know you drifted apart and stopped understanding each other, but I also know you were going through something incredibly painful, and that was hard for so many reasons. You lost each other, but I don’t think you stopped loving each other for a single second since."

"Kat," you groaned her name like a complaint, blaming her for making you cry as you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

"I’m your friend, and I love you, and if he were a jerk, I’d tell you and want you nowhere near him. But he isn't a jerk. Is he an idiot for showing up here with a twenty five year old girlfriend? Yeah, he is."

"Why did he bring her? He says it’s new and nothing serious, but why? What was he trying to prove?"

"He wanted to prove he’s doing fine, that he has someone. You have Dean, and he couldn't just show up alone. He probably thought you'd bring him along."

"He didn't know about Dean."

"Of course he knew," she shrugged.

You frowned. "How? I'm sure none of the guys told him anything."

"Not the guys—my brother," she raised her eyebrows.

"Ari?"

"Yeah. They see each other every week."

"And why did he tell him about Dean?"

"Because he asked. Joel always asks Ari about you," she confessed, "and a few months ago, he asked him if trying to reach out was crazy or not. Ari told him you had a boyfriend."

You frowned. "What? And you're telling me now?"

"What did you want me to say? I couldn't just go running to tell you that if you were finally at peace with Dean."

"What else did he say to Ari?"

She sighed. "Questions. If you were doing well, how your life was going, stuff like that. And then he told him he wanted to talk to you again, if maybe it was crazy to ask you out to dinner or something—"

"Really?" you asked, incredulous. "After everything that happened over the last three years?"

Kat shrugged. "I'm just telling you what I know. Ari told him it wasn't a good idea because you were seeing someone, and that was that."

"When was this?"

"About three months ago?"

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten as you suddenly realized how every single word Joel had told you over these last two nights was starting to click. Did it actually make sense?

"I’ll always support you," Kat said, sliding her hand over yours, "no matter what you do. If you want to stay with Dean, I’ll support you. But if you want something else, even if that something else is Joel, I’ll be there too. I just want you to be true to what you feel, because I’ve known you for a long time and I know there’s probably a moral chaos inside that head of yours right now. And morals don't matter all that much when it comes to who you love."

You smiled bitterly. "My moral side is telling me right now that I’m a terrible person."

Kat laughed. "You didn't commit a crime, be gentle with yourself. Cheating is wrong but it’s not the worst thing you could do to someone."

You pursed your lips. You knew Kat was right about a lot of what she was saying, but you also knew that betrayal hurt people deeply. The fact that there were worse things didn't take away the weight of what you had just done. You had never understood people who constantly cheated on their partners without a shred of guilt; you certainly couldn't do it. It would show on your face, in your every gesture, every time you opened your mouth.

Right now, sitting on the bed looking like a total wreck, you looked guiltier than ever. And you knew that the moment you got back to Austin, Dean would notice immediately. And then what?

You would simply have to face it.

Dean called you. Downstairs, right as you were stepping out of the lobby. And you ignored his call like a coward. You knew the guilt would leak through the cracks in your voice, and he would ask, "What happened? Is everything okay?"

You had always been somewhat neurotic. It wasn't your prettiest trait, nor was it the easiest to live with, so you knew you had to relax; distract your mind a bit and just stop overanalyzing everything.

The beach was waiting for you, gorgeous and ready, all to yourself. The walk down there was peaceful and soothing. Beneath your bare feet, the stone path felt cool and delicious, and a few minutes later, the warm sand slipped between your toes as you looked for a place to rest.

Near the bar, a short row of chairs rested under the palm trees. It was the ideal spot if you wanted to unwind and relax; the sun wouldn't hit you directly in the face, you could get your drinks without any trouble (or let them serve you, which you rarely did), and the shoreline was only a few feet away.

This place was paradise. It was time you actually enjoyed it like one. You had bumped into a couple of Jo and Cillian’s friends in the lobby, and they’d told you they just got back from snorkeling, and Kat had vanished somewhere nearby with Luke—Cillian’s cousin whom she’d met last night and, apparently, it had been love at first sight. You had missed out on all that gossip because you’d been too drunk to face it; it was post-Joel.

And speaking of him, you hadn't seen him anywhere. Not when leaving your room, not when going downstairs, and not on the walk between the hotel and where you were now. You hadn't heard any voices through the thin wall of your room either, nor any slamming doors, or anything that could give you a sign of what might be happening between him and Jen.

You had a lot to think about. Because Kat was right: what did you want?

You wanted Joel. You loved Joel. You craved Joel. But maybe all these intense emotions were just a product of your surroundings; the romantic beach, the wedding last night stirring up old memories, seeing him after all this time…

You needed to think, to think rationally. To know how to tell the difference between an impulsive choice and a well thought out one.

Your love for him wasn't questionable. Nothing either of you felt for each other was. But this was about going beyond that, because sometimes love isn't enough. Would he and you have what it takes to go through something like what you’d lived through all over again?

Once back in Austin, would this feel just as fragile as it did now?

But that didn't matter right now. Don't think about it. The only thing that mattered to you right now was your iced tea and the book in your lap.

You slid your sunglasses off, pushing them up onto your head, and opened to the first page.

July 14

I don't know why I'm writing this.

That's not true. Maybe I do know and just don't want to admit it to myself. I don't even know how to call it—this thing I'm writing. It feels a little pretentious to call it a diary—

"Hey."

Your eyes snapped up.

"Hey," you echoed, feeling your heart give a sudden sharp thud from the mild jump scare.

Joel was looking down at you from his full height, wearing dark sunglasses, his hair looking a bit messy. He was wearing a red T-shirt with the Coca-Cola logo across the middle (which you recognized instantly) and dark blue shorts.

Without asking for permission, he sat down in the chair next to yours and let out a tired sigh.

His mere presence made your stomach do a flip.

"I’ve been lookin' for you," he said.

"Yeah?" You ran your thumb along the page of your book, mentally re-reading the same line two or three times.

"Yeah. You didn't show for breakfast."

"I was hungover. I raided the bar last night," using your fingers, you nudged your sunglasses back down to the bridge of your nose.

"Uh. You always did have a good tolerance."

You turned to look at him. Joel tilted his head back, closing his eyes beneath the dark lenses.

"Not so much anymore."

He smiled. "Yeah, we're gettin' older. It’s funny what the passage of time does to a person."

You nodded in silence and brought your attention back to your book.

It feels a little pretentious to call it a diary. It's not like I have anything to say. Anne Frank kept a diary—not someone like me. Calling it a "journal" sounds too academic, somehow. As if I should write in it every day, and I don't want to—if it becomes a chore, I'll never keep it up—

Joel said your name.

You looked at him again.

"You alright?" he asked.

You bit your tongue. "Yeah. You?"

"I’m good."

You nodded and shifted your gaze back to the page.

"I ended things with Jen," he confessed then. "This morning."

You froze completely for a second. Entirely too still.

A sigh escaped you.

"What did you tell her?" You looked back at him.

"About us? Nothin'. I just told her the truth," his chest rose with a sigh as he looked back out at the beach.

"And what’s the truth?"

"The truth is, we ain't compatible."

You smiled, enjoying it just a little. "That's quite a revelation."

He groaned, shaking his head gently. "I know."

"Twenty five," you pointed out, watching him cringe at the reminder. "You remember what we were like at twenty five?"

"Course I do," a small smile traced his lips.

"Are you one of those men now? You remember? When we used to go to bars and those older guys would come up to offer me drinks. You used to say they were creeps. And they were probably at least forty."

Joel’s cheeks flushed as he shook his head.

"Don't remember, or you're not one of those men? One of those is a lie."

"Course I remember," he frowned. "But I ain't one of those men."

"Sure you are," you said, turning the page of your book, even though you hadn't finished the previous one. It just felt right to do it. "A guy in his forties who dates a much younger girl and brings her to his friends' wedding—friends who are also older."

That seemed to irritate him. "It’s over, anyway."

"How is she? Is she still here?"

"Yeah," he rubbed his stomach. "She was understanding about it. In fact, I don't even think she cared all that much. She told me I was a jerk, but she understood and that she was gonna enjoy her time here anyway, and then she went off to do I don't know what before I could even tell her I’d move to a different room."

"Mhm."

"But you know that ain't the only reason I had to break it off," he looked at you, his posture turning more serious, more still. "You know that, don't you?"

You closed your book. "There's a lot to think about."

"Then let's think."

"Joel."

"What? What is there to think about? Tell me," he slid his sunglasses up, nesting them in his hair. "We’re sober now, we're calm, and I feel the exact same way I did yesterday and the day before."

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the chair.

He shifted forward in his seat, turning toward you. He was closer now.

"I love you. I always have, and I ain't ever gonna stop. Lettin' you go was the worst mistake of my life. Please, just let me make it right."

Without looking at him, you sat up and got out of the chair.

Leaving your closed book behind on the seat, you simply walked away from him.

Joel called your name immediately, but your heart was beating too hard for you to stop. You needed to get away, to run, and yet at the same time, you wanted to hear him out.

Choosing a bit of both, you walked all the way to the shoreline, where your feet were washed by the waves dying on the sand. You stared out at the deep, vast ocean, waiting for him to catch up to you.

"Please, don't run from me," you heard him say, right on cue, stopping just behind you with a tired edge to his voice.

You turned around to face him, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

The sun hit his face hard and warm, illuminating the brown strands of his hair and turning the darkness of his gaze into a warm caramel.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for not bein' there. I know there ain't a valid excuse for it. I was scared, and I didn't see that I was doin' the exact opposite of what I should've been doin'. But you gotta know that at no point did I feel any less for you. Never. Not once did I question what we were. I still don't. Even when you asked for a divorce, I—I never questioned us."

"Then why did you give it to me?"

"Because it was what you wanted. If you didn't want to be married to me anymore, I couldn't force you to stay."

An angry fire flared up in your chest.

"Joel, I thought you didn't care about me anymore," you spat out. "Beyond your absence, you accepted everything so easily. The separation, the divorce; you never fought back against any of it. You never resisted."

He shook his head. "I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore. If every time I tried to get close to you, you pushed me away, what did you expect me to do when you asked to separate? What did you expect me to do when you asked for the divorce? I knew things were hard on you, and I thought if I refused or asked to try harder, it would just make it worse. Is that my fault then?"

You swallowed hard.

A beat.

"No," you let out. "Not entirely."

He took a step toward you. His face looked broken.

"I know you’ve moved on with your life and that you’re with someone else. But I know what happened last night wasn't just nothin', and I ain't gonna make the same mistake I already made," he gestured with his hand. "You're the love of my life, you're the only woman I want to be with. I don't care about anyone else. Just you. That’s how it was fifteen years ago and that’s how it is now, and it’ll be the same in ten, twenty, thirty more years."

Before you could even realize it, tears were streaming down your flushed, warm cheeks.

"How can you be so sure about that?"

Joel huffed a humorless laugh. "How could I not be?"

Your eyes dropped to the wet sand beneath him as you struggled to swallow your doubts and fears.

"What if we mess it up again?" you asked, shifting your gaze back to him.

Joel sighed. "We won't."

"Joel, be realistic."

"I am," he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you even more. "I ain't makin' the same mistake as before, and if we see things gettin' hard in any way, we’ll fix it together."

"That’s easy to say."

"I know," he reached up to your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tear on your damp cheek. "But if you give me another chance, I’ll prove it to you."

Your vision blurred as you looked at his strained face; his shiny, wet eyelashes, and that deep, sorrowful gaze that pierced right into your soul.

You nodded, knowing there wasn't much else you could do against what you were feeling.

You wanted him back, more than anything in the world.

"I need to process this," you said, and you noticed how your words caught him off guard.

Joel's eyes flickered, searching your face rapidly.

"I love you, Joel," you assured him, "and I always have. But I need time to think about what to do right now. This… this is not easy—"

"Hey, it's alright. I understand," he nodded.

Your eyes searched every micro-expression on his face, uncertain. "You do?"

"I do. Baby, after everything we went through, how could I not understand you?"

Your eyes filled with even more tears.

"I'll wait for you," he nodded gently, "until you're ready, you just tell me. But please, just tell me you're gonna think about it."

You smiled faintly, brushing away a strand of hair that the wind had blown across your face.

"I will."

Smiling faintly, Joel took a step toward you, cupped your cheek, and kissed it sweetly.

During the final dinner in Maui, things were different.

Joel and you sat at opposite ends of the table just like that first day. But this time you didn't avoid his gaze; maybe you even sought it out.

Between bites of food and sips of wine, you would find his eyes locked on yours, watching you in silence. They were brief glances, but comfortable enough to feel intentional. Around you, nobody noticed anything unusual except for Kat, who knew everything and used her not-so-subtle looks to speak volumes to you.

After dinner, she just straight up asked.

"So, is it official? Are you two back together?"

You were walking toward the elevator when she asked, and without a shred of subtlety, you spun around to check that nobody else had overheard her.

"Kat, watch it."

"Sorry," she smiled. "Well?"

You pressed the elevator button.

"No. I told him I needed time."

"And what did he say?"

"That he understood. And then he walked me to get my book and let me be alone on the chairs by the bar."

"How understanding," she nodded.

"Yeah," you rolled your eyes, smiling. "And then I stayed out there for two hours. Ask me if I read a single page of that damn book."

Kat laughed. "Did you?"

"No. I couldn't focus because the only thing I could think about was everything he told me."

The elevator doors slid open, and luckily for you, it was empty.

Kat and you stepped inside immediately, and she hit the button before anyone else could show up.

"And? What did he say?" She raised her eyebrows. "Please don't make me drag it out of you! You gotta tell me!"

Laughing, you looked up at the elevator ceiling; the massive light fixture illuminating you both had a strange shape.

"He asked for another chance. He said I was the love of his life, and that he loved me just like he did fifteen years ago, and just like he would in ten, twenty, or thirty more years."

Kat made a weird choking sound. "Oh my God, are you kidding me?"

"No!"

"That is the most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life," she turned entirely toward you. "I had no idea Joel could say things like that."

You smiled shyly. "Yeah. He was always good with his words."

"Damn. What do you even have to think about? If I were you, I’d be with him right now."

You crossed your arms. "Well, I dunno if you've noticed, but I have to talk to Dean. He’s picking me up from the airport tomorrow and I don't even know how the hell I'm gonna hide it."

"Are you gonna tell him about what happened last night?"

You winced, twisting your mouth. "I should."

"Should you, though? It’s not like it’s gonna change anything. I mean, you’re breaking up with him, aren't you?"

A heavy sigh rippled through you. "Yeah."

"Then don't do it. You’re just gonna hurt him for no reason. Break up with him and spare him the grief. Whether you tell him or not, what's it gonna change?"

"I don't know. I’d like to be honest with him, y'know?"

"I get it, but I don't see how it changes the outcome. If you're gonna leave him, at least save him the pain of knowing what happened."

The guilt swelled, turning into a massive, looming ball of negative thoughts.

Apparently, you had become that kind of person; the kind who cheats and lies, right? Or could you defend yourself by saying he was your ex-husband whom you loved, and therefore it was a little more justifiable?

When you got back to your room, you took a shower and crawled into bed. You looked for something entertaining to watch and ended up picking a random episode of Modern Family.

Next door, there was nothing but silence.

Jen wasn't at dinner for obvious reasons, and later you found out that it hadn't been Joel who had switched rooms, but her. It made sense. Joel paid for another room for her in the hotel and that was that; what did it matter anyway? They would be heading back to Austin the following morning.

That meant Joel was right next door; not causing any trouble, as quiet as a kid who'd been grounded. And you thought he would stay that way for the rest of the night, and through the morning too. But right then, just as your eyes were about to close completely, your phone vibrated on your nightstand.

Reaching out your hand to grab it, you read an unregistered number on the screen, and in the message bubble:

goodnight, sleep well x

Joel - you didn't block me

The next morning, the Maui airport was crowded but you barely noticed.

Sitting across from the boarding gate with a lukewarm coffee between your hands, you watched people pass by, dragging suitcases, carrying sleeping children, or talking about their plans for when they got home. Everything seemed strangely distant, as if you were watching other people's lives through a pane of glass.

You had tried reading for a bit. Then you tried to distract yourself by looking around the airport shops. Neither worked. Every time your mind was left free for more than a few seconds, it drifted back to Joel.

To the conversation on the beach, to the way he had looked at you when you told him you needed time, to the sensation of having him buried inside of you. You had been thinking entirely too much about that over the last few hours.

When they finally announced boarding, you felt a wave of relief. At least for a few hours, you’d have an excuse not to think too much.

It didn't work. During the flight, you slept little and poorly. Every time you closed your eyes, you ended up remembering something different. A comment during the wedding, a smile, an argument. The sound of his voice. At one point you tried to watch a movie, but when you checked the time, forty minutes had passed and you had no idea what it was even about.

Was it even worth trying?

When the plane began its descent over Austin, you rested your forehead against the window.

The sky was gray.

After the bright colors of Maui, the city seemed dull. Heavy clouds blanketed the horizon, and the damp asphalt reflected a flat light that made you feel even more exhausted. There was no harsh sun and warm sand here, at least not in the landscape outside your window; the impending rain was about to fall.

You picked up your luggage and followed the stream of passengers toward the exit. The moment you walked through the arrivals doors, you saw Dean waiting for you.

He smiled as soon as he spotted you.

"There you are."

Before you could answer, he wrapped you in a hug. You hugged him back.

"I missed you. Look at you," he smiled, looking at your face, "you're tan."

You felt a sharp stab of guilt.

"I missed you too."

Dean took your suitcase and started walking toward the parking lot while telling you something about his trip to the airport. You only half listened, responding when appropriate, trying your best to seem normal. He seemed happy to see you. Relaxed. As if everything were exactly the same as before you left. As if you were the exact same person as before, but of course, how could he possibly know?

On the drive back to your place, he talked about work, a movie he wanted to see with you, and a new restaurant that had opened near his apartment.

"We could try it sometime," he said as he made a turn.

"Yeah, sure."

"Everythin' alright?"

You looked up.

"What?"

"You look tired."

The question caught you off guard, but you quickly realized that was the only thing he had noticed.

"I’m just exhausted. I didn't sleep well last night."

Dean let out a short laugh.

"Yeah, I guess crossing half an ocean has that effect."

You nodded and looked back out the window. The sky had broken open a few minutes ago, and the rain was falling dense and heavy onto the slick asphalt and damp grass. Tiny droplets clung to the car windows, racing each other down the glass.

When you arrived at your house, you felt a strange sense of relief stepping inside. You walked in with wet shoes, the fabric of your jacket a shade darker around your shoulders.

Dean set your suitcase down by the couch.

"So, what are the plans for the lady?"

"Sleep for about twelve hours straight, maybe? I really need it."

He smiled.

"Well, after you wake up, we could go out for dinner."

The proposal made something tighten in your chest.

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. If that works for you. I can pick you up at seven. I have some good news to share."

You forced a smile.

"Really?"

"Yeah. But don't ask now, I ain't sayin' a word."

You huffed. "You know I can't handle the suspense. You can't just tell me things like that."

Dean laughed. "Tonight. At seven, alright?"

You gave a faint smile. "Yeah. Okay."

"Perfect."

Dean stepped closer, placing a hand on your waist before leaning in to kiss you. The kiss was soft and comfortable. You knew him so well you could have replayed it from memory.

When he pulled away, he was still smiling.

"Get some rest."

You smiled back. "I'll try."

"See you later, yeah?"

Nodding, you watched him walk toward the door and waited until you heard it click shut behind him.

Then silence filled the house. You stood completely still for a few seconds, staring at the spot where he had just been standing.

You had no earthly idea what you were going to do.

With a sigh, you pulled your phone from your pocket and unlocked the screen.

The text message had been sitting there for the last eight hours and a half.

[J]: Boarding my flight. Let me know when you get home. Joel x

You stared at the words for several seconds.

Then you rested your thumb over the keyboard, and wrote nothing.

The following weeks passed with an almost absurd sense of normalcy.

Three and a half weeks had gone by since your return from Maui, and life seemed determined to carry on as if nothing had happened.

You got up early, opened the workshop before eight, and spent most of the day surrounded by the scent you loved so much; cut wood and varnish. Some days you had breakfast with Nora, your business partner, at a café near downtown, though lately the smoked salmon they made was making you nauseous, which was a shame because you used to love that dish. Other times she’d show up unannounced at the workshop with two coffees and some new gossip she insisted on telling you while you both worked. On weekends, you visited the local market, caught up on backorders, or stayed home watching shows you barely paid attention to.

You kept yourself busy, in short, because it was easier that way.

Dean was still in Norway. Yes. Fucking Norway. Because as it turned out, that was his big news, and that’s why he had reserved a table at that new restaurant he’d mentioned.

Of course he had it all planned out, because that’s just how Dean was; a man who made plans and followed through on them.

He’d been promoted. You remembered perfectly the excitement in his voice as he explained that the company was sending him to oversee a project in Oslo for a few weeks. And obviously, you had been genuinely happy for him, because you knew he was a hardworking man who deserved every bit of recognition he was getting. And you certainly couldn't bring yourself to ruin his night with bad news.

The truth was, you had been trying to end the relationship for weeks.

You had been determined to do it the moment you got back from Hawaii. Then you thought it would be better to wait until dinner. Then the trip came up. And then one week turned into two, and two into three. And there was no way you were going to do it over the phone. After everything you two had shared, you owed him better than that. So you kept putting it off, promising yourself that you’d talk when he got back to Austin.

So, three and a half weeks later, you were finishing up a walnut dining table ordered by a young couple who had just bought a house on the outskirts of the city. You had been focused on the details of the finish for nearly an hour when your phone vibrated against the workbench.

You didn't even have to look at the screen to know who it was. Even so, you smiled when you saw his name.

[J]: Tommy just tried to convince me that a wrench works as a hammer too

A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

[You]: And does it?

The reply came almost immediately.

[J]: According to Tommy, yeah

[You]: And according to you?

[J]: According to me, I’m two minutes away from drivin' him to the ER

You shook your head as you set the phone aside.

Five minutes later, it vibrated again.

[J]: In case you were wonderin', he just hit his thumb

This time, you laughed out loud.

At first, it had been sporadic messages. An occasional question, a comment about the trip back. A random picture sent here and there. Then you started writing to each other every few days. Then every day.

Now, it was rare for more than a few hours to pass without talking.

Sometimes the first text would arrive in the morning, a simple "good morning" that opened up a casual conversation lasting the whole day, or a picture of the coffee mug he’d just brewed, until a "goodnight" closed it out.

Daily updates; things you’d seen or done, even complaints about the traffic. You would reply while opening up the workshop or waiting for the coffee maker to heat up, making excuses to go to the bathroom or the kitchen or whatever. At no point, however, did an offer to meet up ever show up. Joel didn't suggest it, and you certainly didn't either. The physical distance that texting provided felt much safer than seeing each other in person.

In the afternoon, some absurd story involving a friend or sometimes Tommy would pop up, a photo of something that had caught his eye, or a completely random question.

What was the name of that Mexican restaurant we used to like?

You think forty is too old to start playin' the piano?

There’s a dog outside my office that personally hates my guts

And at night, the conversations grew longer.

Nothing major. Nothing that should have meant anything. You just ended up talking about how each other's day had gone. About unbearable clients, about movies. About memories that resurfaced uninvited. About anything at all.

Yet, you were starting to notice certain things: the way your hand shot toward your phone the moment you heard a vibration, the irrational disappointment when you discovered the message was from someone else, the ease with which you ended up telling him details of your day that you didn't share with anyone else; not even Dean, obviously.

Now, the phone lit up again as you stood admiring the finished table.

[J]: You done with that project yet or still fightin' it?

You snapped a photo of the completed work.

[You]: I won

The reply arrived seconds later.

[J]: 😏

[J]: you always do

And for some reason, that simple phrase managed to keep you smiling for the rest of the afternoon.

Dean was coming back in four days. The thought had been occupying a corner of your mind ever since he called you three nights ago to let you know.

You had been sanding a bookshelf when the phone rang, and at first, you thought it would be Nora or a client, or even Joel, but it was him, calling from Norway with a ridiculous time difference and a voice so cheerful it made you feel guilty before you even answered.

He was coming back in a week. That was all the time you had to figure out what the hell you were going to say to him. A week, nothing more.

And then three days flew by, and now there were only four days left. Four days to tell him it was all over, four days to find the right words and tie your tongue so the raw, pure truth wouldn't slip out.

Because the reality was that you didn't want to be with him anymore. Not since Maui. Maybe even before then. Maybe you had known it for weeks, but every time you tried to gather your thoughts, you ended up feeling like the worst person in the world. Because Dean was good; he was wonderful. But being completely honest, what was the real reason you had felt so comfortable with him?

Your relationship with Dean was peaceful, without exaggerated passions or overwhelming feelings. You cared for him, sure, but you weren't head over heels in love with him. With him it was easy because the relationship felt diluted; it didn't burn your heart the way it used to in other cases. Ahem.

He had been good to you from the start and didn't deserve a phone call from the other side of the world. He didn't deserve a rushed excuse or a convenient lie; he deserved the truth, but your main problem was that the truth was horrible.

You couldn't stop imagining the conversation. Sitting in your kitchen, him asking you what was wrong, you trying to explain that you had made a mistake, that you had seen Joel, that you were still in love with Joel. But in reality, it wasn't a mistake, and you didn't regret it. And good god, that made it different.

The mere thought made your stomach turn. The stress was eating you alive; you had been feeling strange in every aspect for several days, unable to shake off the heartburn, occasional dizziness, and headaches. Your shoulders were tight and knotted, and your lower back ached; a persistent exhaustion that seemed to follow you even after sleeping eight hours.

This secret was corroding you from the inside, and if you put this off for one more week, you were going to lose your mind.

What else could it be?

You had a relationship that needed to end, an ex-husband who had installed himself back into your life, and a workshop full of backorders. Anyone would be exhausted.

Your phone vibrated against the workbench and you grabbed it before you even realized what you were doing.

[J]: Last night I watched the worst movie in history

The reply came on its own.

[You]: You say that all the time

[J]: No

[J]: I’m serious this time

[You]: Was it really that bad?

The three dots appeared.

[J]: A giant shark fights a giant octopus

[J]: Worse than Sharknado

You stared at the screen.

[You]: That sounds amazing

[J]: I thought so for the first ten minutes

[J]: Then a French scientist with an Australian accent showed up

The laugh escaped before you could contain it.

[You]: I’m starting to think you watched it voluntarily

[J]: Greg picked it

[You]: And who chose to stay until the end?

A few seconds passed.

[J]: ...I ain't answerin that question

You shook your head, smiling, as you tucked the phone into your pocket.

"Joel?" Nora asked.

You looked up. She was walking through the door, holding a brown paper bag and two coffees.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "You're smilin' at a screen."

"People do that."

"People in love do that."

"Nora."

"Just sayin'."

You snatched one of the cups from her.

"Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome."

Nora smiled with pure satisfaction. She was the only other person you had told about Maui, making it just her and Kat. There was no way you could have hidden it from her anyway, since she watched you texting him and acting strange every single day. She guessed it wasn’t Dean within two days, because you had never been like that with him. And luckily for you, she didn't judge.

Fortunately, work gave you something more interesting to talk about.

The massive oak table taking up half the workshop needed to be assembled before today's delivery. Between the two of you, you managed to lift the tabletop and place it onto the supports.

"I swear, if Mr. Harrison makes me carry another piece of furniture this size, I’m gonna murder him," Nora muttered.

"You're not gonna murder him."

"You know how many times he called me this week?"

"I think seven."

"An elevation to nine."

"Nine is concerning."

"Nine times to ask me things that were already answered in the emails."

You smiled. "Maybe he’s just really excited about his table."

"Maybe he’s sixty five and thinks he still knows how to flirt."

The laugh caught you off guard. Mr. Harrison was a client who had ordered two oak tables and twelve chairs. One for his dining room, and the other for his newlywed daughter's. He was an older, charming man, and particularly weak to your business partner's charm.

"Come on, admit it. You had a little fun," you said.

"I did not have fun."

"Nora."

"I didn't have fun."

"You winked at him."

She laughed. "Because he offered me a discount at a golf club!"

"And that warranted a wink?"

"It was an involuntary reaction, alright?"

You shook your head. "Sure."

"Besides, he’s nice."

"Uh-huh."

"And pretty elegant."

"Uh-huh."

"And he has a huge house."

"Nora!"

She burst out laughing. "Okay, okay."

"It’s funny that you—that… uh…" You tried to reply, but suddenly the workshop seemed to tilt.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Three... six times.

The sensation vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

"Hey, hey, careful," Nora held the table with more force so the weight wouldn't fall on you. "You alright?"

"Yeah."

She frowned. "What happened?"

"I just got a little dizzy."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

"That’s the third time this week."

"I know. I’m tired, that’s all."

Nora sighed. "You're stressed."

"Exactly."

"And that doesn't mean you should ignore it, by the way."

"I’m fine. It's happened to me before, don't worry," you narrowed your eyes. "A few months ago the same thing happened, and I'm fine, aren't I?"

Nora hummed, completely unconvinced.

You both went back to work. Or at least, you tried to.

For the next twenty minutes, you managed to focus on the details of the finish, but the discomfort crept back bit by bit. A buzzing behind your eyes, an uncomfortable pressure in your temples, and when you both started moving the table to leave it by the workshop door, you felt another wave of dizziness. Stronger this time.

The room spun, you heard Nora say your name, and you tried to answer. And the next memory was the impact; the cold floor beneath your back, the sharp pain in your shoulder, Nora's terrified expression leaning over you.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed.

"I’m fine," you stammered.

"You are not fine."

"I just got dizzy."

"You fainted."

"I didn't faint."

She frowned. "I just watched you drop to the floor, what are you talking about?"

You tried to prop yourself up, but the pain in your shoulder made you grit your teeth.

"Shit."

Nora forced you to stay seated and patted your shoulder.

"Yeah, shit, exactly," she said. "We're going to the hospital."

"Nora, seriously, it's not necessary. I didn't eat very well today, my blood sugar must have dropped."

"Of course it's necessary."

"Nora..."

"I am not arguing about this with you. Let's go."

By the time Nora managed to park in front of the hospital, you had already convinced yourself that the whole thing was an exaggeration.

Your shoulder hurt, that much was true. You also had a pretty nasty scrape on your elbow and likely a sizeable bruise forming on your hip. But you were still convinced you could have gone right back to the workshop after sitting down for ten minutes and having a coffee.

Nora did not share that opinion.

"Stop making that face," she scolded you, looking over as she gripped the steering wheel.

"I’m not making a face."

"You’re making the exact face you make when you think you’re right."

"Because I am right."

"You fainted."

"I didn't faint."

Nora turned off the engine and faced you.

"I watched you hit the floor."

"I got dizzy."

"And then you fell."

"Details."

She let out a sigh so exaggerated it almost made you laugh.

"If it turns out nothing is wrong with you, dinner is on me," she proposed, full of confidence.

You raised your eyebrows. "And if something is wrong?"

"Then dinner is still on me."

"Well, that doesn't sound like a fair bet."

"Because it isn't," she huffed. "If something's wrong, I’ll be right, and I don't know how good that would be at a time like this, you know?"

You shook your head.

Two minutes later, you were following her toward the main entrance when a new wave of dizziness forced you to check your pace. It wasn't as strong as the last one, but it was enough for Nora to notice.

This time, she didn't say a word, which was much worse.

A nurse greeted you at admissions and started asking basic questions; name, date of birth, medical insurance, reason for the visit.

You felt ridiculous as you answered.

"I fell at work."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

You opened your mouth. "No."

"Yes," Nora answered at the exact same time.

You glared at her. She stared right back without the slightest hint of regret.

"She definitely lost consciousness," she assured the nurse.

"I didn't. I just felt a little weak because my blood sugar dropped, but I didn't faint."

"She did," she said, "put it down right there. She did."

The nurse looked like she had witnessed similar arguments hundreds of times, and, being highly experienced, chose whom to believe without a second thought.

She typed something into the computer, and after pursing her lips, looked at you and said, "I’m going to put down that there was a fainting episode."

Finally, she handed you an ID bracelet and sent you both to the waiting room.

The place was surprisingly packed for a Tuesday afternoon. A child was crying in some corner, a TV mounted to the ceiling was broadcasting a game show with the volume too low to understand what was happening, and across the room, an older man was sleeping with his arms crossed over his chest.

You dropped into a plastic chair.

"I’m wasting a whole afternoon over this. We could have delivered Harrison’s order today, it was finished," you complained. "And my body is just tired, that’s all."

"Your body needs a vacation."

"That too," you smiled.

Nora smiled back.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke.

You pulled out your phone. There was a new message.

[J]: You finish the table?

Your lips curved up before you could help it.

[You]: Yeah, it turned out beautiful

The reply came right away.

[J]: Did Harrison survive?

[You]: For now. We haven't delivered it to him yet.

[J]: Shame. I was rootin for Nora.

A laugh escaped your throat.

"What?" Nora asked.

You showed her the screen, and she read the message.

She smiled. "I like him."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Definitely yes."

You shook your head. "You are impossible today."

"I wasn't the one who fainted, excuse me. And why shouldn't I like your ex?"

You laughed. "I’m just messing with you."

Before she could answer, a nurse appeared at the door and called your name.

Nora walked with you to the examination room, where they were waiting for you. The doctor was a man in his fifties with rectangular glasses and a tired look, but very well-groomed hair. He reviewed the admissions note while asking you questions.

How did the fall happen? Did you hit your head? Any history of fainting? Are you taking any medication?

As you answered, he examined your shoulder and the movement of your arm.

"It doesn't look like a fracture," he finally said. "It’s likely a contusion."

"Oh."

"I'm going to order an X-ray just to be safe."

You sighed. "Alright."

The doctor began typing something into the computer. "Now, let’s talk about the dizziness."

"Yeah, it’s been happenin'. But the same thing happened to me a while back and they told me it was stress."

The look Nora shot you could have pierced through concrete.

"She’s been havin' dizzy spells for weeks," she said. "And headaches, and exhaustion."

You nodded, looking at the man. "I work long hours."

"And she almost fell asleep sitting up during lunch last week," Nora added.

You snapped your head around. "That didn't happen."

"It happened."

"I was thinking."

"With your eyes closed?"

The doctor hid a smile.

"How long have these symptoms been going on?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. A few weeks."

"Has anything changed in your routine?"

For a split second, you thought of Dean, in Norway. Of Joel, in Maui. Of the conversations you were actively avoiding.

You gave a faint smile. "It’s been a complicated month."

"I understand." The doctor nodded gently. "It’s likely stress, but I’d like to run some basic tests just to rule out other possibilities."

"It really isn't necessary," you shook your head.

"Don't worry, they’re just routine tests."

"But seriously, I'm fine."

"Yeah? Then the results will confirm it."

You couldn't argue with that logic.

Half an hour later, a nurse led you into another room. You watched as she prepared the vials for the blood draw.

"Do you ever get lightheaded with needles?" she asked.

"Only when I'm forced to come to the hospital."

The woman let out a laugh.

The pinch was quick and almost insignificant. In fact, what was far more annoying was the fact that Nora watched the entire procedure with a smug expression.

"You happy now?" you teased.

"Thoroughly."

"I’m gonna fire you."

"We're partners. You can't fire me," she shrugged. "But if you do, at least you'll be healthy when you do it."

You rolled your eyes.

However, as the nurse labeled the vials and placed them on a tray, a strange sensation began to settle deep in your chest.

The wait turned out to be worse than you had imagined.

After the blood draw and the X-ray, a nurse led you both back to the waiting room and assured you it wouldn't take too long. However, forty minutes later you were still sitting in the same plastic chair, checking the wall clock every few minutes.

Your shoulder still ached, though thanks to the medication they had given you, it was now nothing compared to before. It was bearable, almost.

Nora had disappeared in search of coffee ten minutes ago, and she returned with two paper cups that looked capable of melting a table.

"Here," she extended one of them toward you.

You took the cup from her hands. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, honey."

For a few minutes, you remained in silence. The TV kept playing absurd shows while Nora checked her phone. A nurse crossed the hallway pushing a gurney, someone laughed behind a closed door, and life kept moving right along while you remained trapped in this place you hated so much.

You didn't like hospitals. You didn't like the smell, how pale everything was, and how bright the lights were. You had spent a lot of time in hospitals a few years ago, and it had never been a good experience; it was always bad news, always painful situations.

You wanted to leave already.

You unlocked your phone and started typing.

[You]: Mr. Harrison called us three times today to ask if the oak was still oak

A few seconds passed.

[J]: Well, it’s a reasonable question

[J]: I’m on his side

You shook your head.

[You]: Traitor

[J]: Sorry, us confused old guys gotta stick together

You let out a soft laugh that made Nora raise an eyebrow.

"I’m not making a single comment," she said.

"I didn't ask you to."

"Exactly."

You looked back at the screen.

[You]: What did you do today?

The reply took a little longer.

[J]: Meetings

[You]: How exciting

[J]: I know

[J]: My life is a constant adventure

[You]: And after that?

[J]: Had lunch alone

You didn't know why that phrase caused a strange sensation in your chest.

[You]: Why alone?

[J]: Everyone was busy

[You]: That sounds suspicious

[J]: You think they got secret friends?

[You]: I’m considering the possibility

[J]: I’ll have to investigate

A new reply appeared seconds later.

[J]: Now I’m workin' until four

You checked the time. There was still a ways to go before that.

[You]: How sad

[J]: Thanks for the support

[You]: Always

The smile lingered on your lips for a few more seconds, and then you locked the screen.

You tried not to think about the fact that you had grown used to talking to him every single day. You tried not to think about how he was the first person you wanted to text while waiting in the hospital. You tried not to think about a lot of things. It didn't work.

Finally, a nurse appeared at the door and called your name.

"Don't worry," Nora said as she stood up. "Everything's gonna be fine."

You didn't say anything, and you both followed her down the hallway until you were standing in front of a gray door with a small, square window in it.

The doctor was waiting for you in the same examination room as before.

As you walked in, you saw he had an open folder in front of him. He gestured toward the chairs.

"Have a seat."

You did, and Nora sat down too.

The doctor reviewed a few papers before looking up.

"Well. The good news is, officially, there are no fractures."

You exhaled softly. "Alright."

"The shoulder should improve in a few days."

"Good."

"And the rest of the lab results look normal."

You nodded. That made sense. So you were right, just as you’d known from the very beginning. Stress and exhaustion, exactly what you had said.

The doctor lowered his eyes to the results once more. "Except for one thing."

You felt something tighten in your chest, and Nora seemed to straighten up in her chair as well.

"What thing?" you asked.

The doctor raised his eyes.

"Your blood work shows that you're pregnant."

For a split second, you didn't comprehend the words; you just heard them, as if they belonged to another conversation. To another person, to someone else.

"What?"

The doctor maintained a calm expression. "You're pregnant."

You stared at him, waiting for him to smile, waiting for him to correct the mistake, waiting for anything. For him to say that, oh, he had the wrong patient.

It didn't happen.

A nervous laugh escaped your throat. "No."

The doctor frowned slightly.

"No," you shook your head. "That can't be."

Beside you, Nora had gone completely still.

"There's been a mistake," you insisted.

The doctor looked back down at the results. "There doesn't appear to be any mistake."

"No, yeah. There has to be." You felt the words spilling out on their own. "I can't get pregnant."

The doctor rested the folder on the desk.

"Have you been told that specifically?"

"Well... not exactly."

Now you didn't even know how to explain it. Years of trying, of tests with dozens of different doctors. Hopes crushed by painful losses over and over again—how could you even begin to tell him that?

All of that compressed into a single, impossible thought.

It can't be.

"It can't be," the phrase came out softer this time in your voice. More broken.

The doctor spoke calmly. "The tests are quite clear."

You looked at Nora, but she was just sitting there in silence. Jaw dropped, literally jaw dropped.

"Nora."

She looked at you. "I can't believe it."

"Nora."

Her eyes began to fill with tears. "Oh, my God."

"Nora."

She covered her mouth with both hands. "Oh, my God."

You looked back at the doctor. "Are you sure?"

The question sounded ridiculous even to you, but you needed to hear the answer.

"Yes. Take a look," with his index finger, he slid the paper across the desk toward you.

You felt the air vanish from the room.

You took the paper and read through the whole thing, your eyes darting quickly across the lines.

You looked back up at him. "Completely sure?"

"Yes."

"One hundred percent sure?"

A faint smile appeared on his face. "There's no such thing as one hundred percent in medicine. But yes, I’m very sure."

You lowered your gaze to your hands; your fingers were trembling.

Pregnant. The word didn't feel real. It didn't fit; it didn't belong in your life. You had spent so many years convinced you would never hear that news that now you didn't know what to do with it; you didn't know what to feel, you didn't know what to think. And suddenly, another thought crashed in.

Fear. Paralyzing fear. Because the last time this happened, it broke you completely.

You and Joel had been trying for nearly three years, and no matter what you did, the tests were always negative. Different positions, different methods, hormone treatments; you injected yourself with gonadotropins every single night for weeks on end, pinching the skin of your stomach and thighs, leaving behind a pattern of tiny tender bruises. He underwent tests too. His always came back fine; yours, not so much.

But the chances were never zero, so the ordeal stretched on and on until one morning, like so many others, you just had a feeling.

In the bathroom, you kept a small drawer with a few pregnancy tests ready to go. You took one and followed the routine: you urinated into the plastic cup, waited the necessary minutes while pacing the floor as a ball of nerves, feeling everything at once. And when the timer went off, you lifted the stick and stared at two perfectly defined lines in a deep stark pink.

You were pregnant. After so much effort, after so much heartache, you were pregnant.

When Joel came home just after noon, you couldn't wait to tell him. You tried to be mysterious (you had planned to be) but the second you saw his face, you couldn't hold it in.

You jumped into his arms, and he held you against him so tightly you felt like you were fusing with his body. His face was flushed, his eyes brimming with tears, and he kissed every inch of your face, repeating over and over how much he loved you and how happy he was. It was one of the most beautiful days of your life.

At first, everything was normal. A pregnancy like any other, peaceful and healthy. Your house back then was a dream: afternoons on the couch with Joel, watching movies and eating sweets, long mornings in bed when he decided to skip work just to stay with you—things only being your own boss allowed him to do. Nighttime runs for ice cream, walks through the park under the sun. But before you could pass the four-month mark, the trouble started.

You suffered a premature rupture of the membranes, a tiny leak in the amniotic sac caused by a random stray bacteria that had reached the placenta. It was a freak accident, entirely out of your control.

You were confined to strict bed rest to try and seal the leak and keep the baby safe. And you didn't care, you really didn't; you would have stayed in that bed for as long as it took to protect your baby.

Joel worked and took care of absolutely everything, and whenever he could, he spent hours by your side, whispering promises to your belly. But one night, at nearly five months along, while you were trying to sleep, everything shattered.

An abrupt, tearing pain ripped through your lower abdomen, waking you with a gasp. The infection had turned aggressive in an instant, triggering violent contractions. You gasped for air, and Joel was awake in a second, his own face twisted in instant panic. His hands were shaking violently as he tried to help you adjust in bed, trying to find a position that would ease the agony. But his voice completely broke, turning into a trembling, horrified whisper when he pulled back the covers and saw the sheets heavily stained with dark red blood.

You were shivering violently, your teeth chattering as a sudden fever spiked, your body throwing itself into septic shock.

He called for an ambulance, his voice desperate as he screamed at the dispatcher, but when he realized they would take too long, he didn't waste another second. He scooped you up in his arms, holding your trembling body against his chest, and carried you out to his truck.

He drove like a madman, breaking every speed limit through the dark streets toward the nearest hospital. You were losing too much blood, slipping in and out of consciousness, on the very brink of leaving for good.

Joel was an absolute wreck, sobbing open mouthed against the steering wheel, begging you not to leave him, to please stay with him, screaming your name into the quiet cabin of the truck as he watched the life draining out of you.

The frantic rush of the truck tires against the hospital asphalt was the last sound that registered. After that, everything blurred into sterile white noise.

When you arrived, the ER doors flew open, and Joel’s voice echoed through the corridors, demanding help. Medical staff swarmed you immediately. You were rushed into an operating room for an emergency surgery to stop the massive hemorrhage and clear infection before the sepsis could shut down your organs. They gave you blood transfusions, pumped high-dose antibiotics through your veins, and fought for hours just to keep your heart beating.

You didn't wake up until nearly three days later.

When your eyes finally cracked open, the intense heat of the fever was gone, replaced by a hollow freezing numbness. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead felt blinding, but the first thing you anchored onto was Joel. He was slumped in the plastic chair beside your bed, his head resting against your mattress. He looked twenty years older. His clothes were wrinkled, his knuckles white as he held your limp hand against his cheek, snoring softly from pure exhaustion.

When he felt you stir, he bolted upright. His eyes, bloodshot and heavy with unshed tears, searched yours. He didn't even have to say the words. You looked down at your abdomen, entirely flat, and the devastating silence in the room told you everything. The baby was gone.

You choked on a breath that felt like inhaling glass, and Joel immediately crawled onto the narrow hospital bed beside you, wrapping his large frame around yours, holding you as you broke.

The recovery was a long agonizing blur. You spent the next two months confined to your bed at home, too weak from the blood loss and too paralyzed by grief to even move. You were a ghost in your own skin, refusing to eat more than a few bites of whatever Joel brought you. And he never left your side.

He learned how to change your dressings, how to help you sit up to take small sips of water, and how to spoon-feed you broth with a patience that broke your heart. He carried the entire weight of your existence on his shoulders while you stared at the wall, wishing the darkness would just swallow you whole.

By the third month, your body had mostly healed, but your mind was a battlefield. As the numbness faded, an unbearable suffocating tension took its place. Joel returned to work, but the man who came back to you every evening had changed. The trauma of almost losing you had twisted into a fierce obsessive overprotection.

It started with small things. He wouldn't let you carry a single grocery bag, snatching them from your hands the moment you reached for them. If you stumbled slightly over a rug, his hand would instantly clamp onto your elbow like a vice, his chest heaving as if he had just watched you step off a cliff. But then it bled into the un-casual things. He stopped letting you cook, terrified you’d burn yourself or stand for too long. If you mentioned needing to drive down to the local market, he’d find a way to do it for you, or insist on driving you himself. If you sneezed, he was checking your forehead for a fever.

You began to resent him for it. Every time his eyes swept over you, you didn't see love; you saw a man staring at a fragile, cracked vase that he was terrified of shattering completely. You felt asphyxiated, trapped under the weight of his constant vigilance, and a bitter anger began to fester beneath your ribs. Yet, the cruelest part was that you still needed him so desperately. You loathed the cage he was building around you, but you were terrified of what would happen if he ever let go.

To escape the toxic friction building between you, Joel began losing himself in his work. He’d come home late, the heavy thud of his boots in the hallway signaling his arrival past eight, then nine, then ten. When he did walk through the door, he was a ghost. He barely spoke, moving around the house on tiptoe, keeping his distance as if he were afraid his very presence would upset your fragile peace.

One afternoon, while he was out, you walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door that was supposed to be the nursery. You reached for the brass knob, but it wouldn't turn. It was locked. Joel had quietly cleared out the crib, the small clothes, and the painted toys while you were still bedridden, hiding the evidence of your grief away so you wouldn't have to see it.

When you confronted him about it that night, your voice cracked with frustration.

"I’m fine, Joel. Please. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Stop looking at me like I’m about to break."

He had stopped in his tracks, his shoulders rigid, his eyes dark with a desperate buried pain. "I can't do that," he whispered. "I almost watched you die on that mattress. I can't just pretend I didn't."

That was when the real cracks widened. The love between you was still there, vast and consuming, but it had become an instrument of torture.

Seeing him suffer broke you, because no matter what you did, you couldn't fix the hollow space in his chest. You felt like a permanent draining burden on his life, an anchor dragging him down into the dirt.

Eventually, he stopped calling to say he’d be late. The courtesy texts disappeared, replaced by a cold, unspoken routine of empty hours where you sat alone in the quiet house, waiting for the sound of his truck in the driveway.

By the time he finally came home, your grief had hardened into an armored shell of fury. You treated him with a biting razor-sharp distance. Whenever he stepped close, trying to bridge the gap, you rejected every single gesture. You turned your cheek away from his kisses and pulled your shoulders out of his warm embrace, using your anger as a shield to hide the bleeding, unhealed wound underneath.

The erosion happened in increments, small and silent, until the warmth completely drained from the house. You stopped sharing the same bed, sleeping on opposite sides of a vast, freezing distance. You stopped making dinner for two. The silence between you grew heavy, thick with everything you were both too terrified to voice, until the air felt so tight that even breathing became difficult.

The breaking point arrived on a Tuesday evening over something entirely trivial.

He had left his muddy work boots by the kitchen island instead of the back door, leaving a dark trail across the clean tile. It was nothing, just a small carelessness he had done a hundred times before, but under the crushing weight of months of unsaid grief, it felt like an act of war.

"Can you, for once in your life, put your things where they actually belong?" your voice snapped.

Joel paused, his shoulders tense as he stared down at the floor. "I just walked through the door. I was gonna clean it up."

"You always say that, and you never do. You just leave your mess for me to deal with. I’m tired of it, Joel. I’m so tired of everything."

He looked up then, his jaw set, his eyes dark with defensive exhaustion. "It’s a pair of boots. Why are you always lookin' for a reason to be angry at me?"

"I'm not looking for a reason! You're never here anyway, and when you are, you treat me like I’m an invalid or you completely ignore me! I can't live like this!"

"I’m workin' to keep us afloat while you sit in this house and treat me like the enemy!" he yelled back, his deep voice shaking the walls. "I don't know what the hell you want from me anymore."

The argument escalated instantly; a violent eruption of old wounds, bitter recriminations, and months of built-up agony. Every cruel thought you had harbored during those dark months came spilling out, and his defenses went up like a wall of stone. Finally, the words tore from your throat before you could stop them, born from desperate hurt.

"Then maybe we shouldn't be doing this at all! If being in this house is such a chore, if it’s so damn hard for you, maybe we just shouldn't be together!"

You expected him to fight back. You expected him to deny it, to take you by the shoulders and tell you that you were being ridiculous. Instead, Joel just stood there. The anger drained from his face, leaving him looking hollow and utterly defeated.

He let out a ragged breath and looked away. "Yeah. Alright. Maybe you're right. I think the same thing."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your heart shattered right then and there, the pieces agonizing in your chest. You wanted to scream, to take it back, to beg him to stay, but your pride and your pain locked your jaw tight.

You just swallowed the lump in your throat and whispered, "Okay."

Three nights later, he packed a single duffel bag and left the house. A month after that, you filed for divorce, and he signed the papers immediately, offering no resistance, no arguments over assets, nothing. He just let you go.

Curiously, two months after the final signatures were dried, he came back to the house to pick up a few remaining tools from the garage. Seeing him after all those weeks of separation was jarring, but without the suffocating pressure of marriage and shared grief hanging over your heads, something strange happened.

The defensive walls were gone. You ended up standing in the kitchen, talking normally for the first time in over a year. A small smile here, a soft laugh there, remembering an old inside joke. The familiar ease of us bled back into the room, and before you knew what was happening, his hand was on your jaw, his mouth was on yours, and you ended up on the living room sofa, clinging to each other with a desperate breathless hunger.

That afternoon started a cycle that lasted for nearly a year. A year of casual encounters, late-night arrivals, and secret afternoons spent wrapped in each other's arms, hiding from the reality of your divorce. Until finally, you had to say enough. You had to end it because it was tearing you apart. You loved him too much to just be his secret habit, and every time he walked out the door after holding you, the wound reopened.

It was deeply unfair, you often thought. Your relationship with Joel had always been a dream. From the very first moment you met, through years of marriage, it had been perfect. You had been partners, best friends, lovers. But the tragedy of losing the baby had broken the foundation. It wasn't a lack of love that separated you; it was the raw, unyielding trauma. Both of you were too terrified, too wounded, and utterly incapable of communicating through the fog of your own grief.

Since cutting him off completely, you had been going to therapy every single week, trying to untangle the knots in your mind. You knew he had been doing the same, because he had mentioned his own sessions during one of your brief post-divorce conversations.

Joel had always respected your boundaries. He had given you space, given you the divorce, given you the silence you asked for. Until now.

You knew that you were different now. You were okay, you felt whole, and you were no longer the fragile version of yourself that had broken into pieces all those years ago. And you knew that the man you had just spent time with in Maui was a healthier, more communicative Joel, too. The Joel in Maui had said everything you had desperately needed to hear back then—everything you hadn't heard simply because you hadn't been ready to listen.

Being with him again had felt so effortless, so right, like finally walking through the front door of your own home.

And his name kept echoing through your mind, a relentless loop against the backdrop of the doctor's quiet office, while you stared at the paper and thought that this all had to be some sort of mistake, or a dream.

Pregnant.

A cold spike of fear and absolute terror shot through your chest, but right alongside it, blooming beneath the panic, was a feeling of pure happiness.

Yeah, you knew exactly who the father was. Who else could it be? Dean had a vasectomy five years ago; he’d gotten it because, according to him, he didn't plan on bringing babies into such a broken world. And you knew it was true because he had shown you all the photos his friends took of him when he left the hospital.

No, it wasn't him.

And just like some beautiful, cosmic joke, your phone vibrated in your lap.

[J]: how’s your day goin?

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Jo and Cillian had truly outdone themselves.

The Ritz-Carlton was a masterpiece of teakwood and volcanic stone nestled along the Wailea coast, and the view was absolutely breathtaking. Massive sliding glass doors revealed everything, from the Pacific stretching out like a deep blue silk shroud in the distance, to an endless line of palm trees swaying in the breeze.

It was an enviable location for anyone wishing for a dream wedding, and if this was your room, you couldn't help but wonder what the newlyweds' suite looked like. High, plush beds with comforters as soft and white as cotton, blue and earth toned accent pillows resting against fluffy inviting pillows, and a delicious clean scent permeating every corner. Opposite the bed sat a delicate console topped with a large TV, and next to it, a small sofa just as pristine white as everything else.

You smiled to yourself and kicked off your shoes; a welcome relief after a ten hour flight. Your lower back ached slightly, the back of your neck was slick with sweat, and a faint headache was beginning to brew. But you were in Maui. Finally.

It was the first time you had left Austin in a very, very long time. God knew you needed it; after so many years cooped up within the same few miles, any escape offered to you was welcome. Besides, you could consider this a reward.

When Jo and Cillian first sent the invitation, you thought they were out of their minds. There was absolutely no way you had the time or the money to jet off for an entire weekend wedding. You were buried under work and had recently taken out a loan just to keep your workshop afloat, so you didn't RSVP right away. You figured the best you could do was send a lovely gift to their address. Perhaps one of those custom armchairs you crafted, the one Jo had loved so much. No, two of them. One for her, and one for him.

Fast forward a few months, and you already had the plane tickets in hand. Business had started doing much, much better, and you had finally gotten your head above water, so you could actually afford a weekend away. Plus, the room was already paid for; how could you possibly say no to that?

You walked toward the sliding glass doors, your bare feet relaxing into the floor as the scenery unveiled itself behind the glass. The wind seemed to be blowing hard, and when you slid the door open, the rush of warm humid air brushed against your neck and cheeks.

The scent of plumeria blossoms was intense, and the sound of the ocean crashing against the black rocks made you smile. You stepped out onto the balcony, feeling the sun warmed wood beneath your feet, and pulled out your phone. It only rang for a few seconds.

"Hey, Dean… Yeah, I just walked into the room," you said, leaning against the railing and closing your eyes to block out the sheer vastness of the paradise in front of you. “It’s unreal, honestly. Jo and Cillian picked the best place on earth… I miss you too. A lot.”

You sighed, catching your breath. Dean’s voice was a bit muffled on the other end.

"Sorry… I can’t hear you very well," you said, pacing from one side of the balcony to the other. Dean asked something. “I think the signal’s terrible out here. Can you hear me?”

You pressed your other hand over your free ear, as if that would actually help. Obviously, it didn't, so you clicked your tongue and frowned.

"I think I’ll call you back in a moment, yeah?" you said, raising your voice for some reason as if that would do the trick. It didn't. "I’ll text you now. I love you."

You pulled the phone away from your face and glanced at the screen. Shit. Okay, no big deal. You’d just send him a text.

Signal is bad here, I'll call you in a bit :) <3

"You gotta head down there, closer to the palm trees, off to the right. Stand right about there, and the boy'll hear you a whole lot better."

The voice came out of nowhere, drifting over from the nearest edge of the balcony. To your right, just on the other side of the dividing wooden partition, was a voice you knew better than your own.

Your heart gave a violent shudder, but you forced yourself not to jump. You turned your head by fractions; the movement felt absurdly careful. None of this was funny.

Joel.

Joel was standing right there, leaning against the railing and peering just slightly around the edge of the wall. He held a glass of water in one hand and his phone in the other.

He turned toward you, his mouth curving into a relaxed smile. He looked exactly the same, yet so, so different. The sun had etched fresh lines around his eyes, and his beard carried more gray than you remembered. His features seemed softened somehow, though they were still just as rugged.

"Joel," you said, your tone far too polite. "I… I had no idea you were staying next door."

“Guess that’s just bad luck,” he replied, a half smile brushing his lips without ever reaching his eyes. "How you been?"

You bit your tongue and your jaw tightened. “Really good. You?”

Really good. Great. Thriving. The best you had been in years. Your business was doing well, you looked good (maybe the best you had ever looked in your life) and every single night you went home to a man who respected you and loved you, but above all, a man who was actually there. Dean.

"Doin' alright myself," he answered, shifting his gaze out toward the horizon, watching the blue ocean and the palm fronds swaying back and forth.

The hair on his forehead drifted with the breeze, and he squinted slightly against the sun. A fine sheen of sweat coated his brow, and the tips of his ears were flushed pink.

Two years. Two whole years had passed since you last laid eyes on him. You had sworn to yourself that it would be the final time, and you had kept that promise. That morning, you slipped out of his bed while he was still fast asleep, leaving absolutely no trace behind. It was the hard stop to a cycle that had once seemed endless.

But that was just how you and Joel were; it was how you had always been. Ever since you crossed paths by pure chance at a bar fifteen years ago. Your eyes had locked with his, he was the one to approach you first, and you spent the entire night tangled up in each other, talking about everything and everyone until the sun came up and he had to head off to work without a single wink of sleep.

Two years of dating, ten years of marriage, and one year of seeing each other off and on post-divorce. Walking away from him had been agonizing; after signing the papers, you ended up in his bed more than once, and he was in yours far more often than you cared to admit. Until that one morning you finally walked out; you left a brief note on his kitchen counter telling him that enough was enough, that you needed to leave this behind, and then you blocked his number and left for good.

Two years had passed since that day. You hadn't seen him since.

You offered a faint smile and nodded, dropping your gaze to the planter beside the window.

"Alright. Uh, see you around," you said, not even waiting to see if he would answer. You immediately stepped back inside the room and slid the glass door shut.

Through the glass, you watched as his hand disappeared from the balcony railing.

Your feet sank into the sand and tiny grains scattered with every step you took.

You had to do something, and fast. Talk to Jo, beg her to swap your room with someone else or pay out of pocket for a completely different one if you had to. You needed to act.

Ever since you ran into Joel two hours ago, your heart had been pounding harder than usual. Tachycardia, maybe; as if he were a massive, undiluted cup of black coffee, far too strong, messing with your anxiety and sending your blood racing through your veins.

You hadn't even called Dean back. There was no earthly way you could speak to him without the emotions tearing through you right now bleeding into the tone of your voice. He would know instantly that something was up, that you were hiding something. And the second you told him it was about Joel, that he was right here, separated by nothing more than a single wall, you knew he would catch the very first flight out to Maui. Because Dean knew everything, or at least almost everything. He knew it had been a brutal divorce, not because you had fought constantly through it, but because it had been so damn painful, like ripping a fingernail straight from the skin. The wound still throbbed.

Right in front of you, the ocean spread out pure and beautiful. The waves crashed against the shore, melting at your feet and soaking you up to your ankles. The hem of your skirt fluttered in the breeze; delicate sheer crimson fabric that draped down to your calves. And the sun blazed with the exact same brightness as your top, a cropped form fitting canary yellow.

You knew it was possible he would be here. You knew Jo and Cillian might invite him. Jo had actually given you a heads up a few months before the invitations went out.

Joel might go, are you comfortable with that?

Of course, absolutely. It's your wedding, I'd hate for you to feel bad about inviting someone just on my account. Just do it, seriously, no drama.

And now he was here, though you had at least held onto the hope that you could avoid each other a bit more. To not run into him at the ceremony, or during the dinner; to stay far enough apart that this could pass without any aftermath. What kind of aftermath, exactly? You weren't worried about arguing with him, nor were you worried about the conversation turning awkward and filled with cruel jabs. That wasn't how you and he operated; it never had been. You were worried about other things, things that were far beyond what you could handle right now.

Suddenly, a woman's voice called your name from a distance.

"Hey, hey!"

You turned around instantly, recognizing it right away and letting the pure excitement wash away every single one of your anxious thoughts.

"Hey!" You started running toward her with your arms wide open, and in your head, cheesy music started playing, like the entire world slipped into a cinematic, frame by frame cadence like those funny montages of people reuniting after a lifetime apart.

Kathani was running toward you with that exact same energy; her hair billowed in soft brown waves, dancing across her shoulders just like her light blue dress. She looked like a fairy.

"Kat!"

Your arms wrapped around her in a breathless embrace. Long months had flown by since you last saw each other, maybe even a whole year.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," she said against your shoulder, squeezing you even tighter. "You look so so beautiful, from a distance I honestly thought I spotted an angel!"

"Oh, stop!" You gave her a playful little shake, stepping back a bit to get a better look at her. "What are you talking about? You look absolutely gorgeous."

"We both look gorgeous."

You laughed. "I'll take that."

She offered a warm smile and rested her hands on your shoulders.

"Jesus, how are you? Last month I almost made it out to Austin, but work got in the way and I couldn't go. How is everything back home?" Suddenly, her eyebrows shot up. "Hey, Jo told me Joel might be coming—"

Your eyes went wide as saucers. "Kat, you gotta help me. His room is right next to mine."

"What?"

You nodded quickly. "I swear, please, you have to help me."

"But how? What happened? Like, right next door?"

"Yes. Right next door," you shrugged helplessly. "The second I arrived, I went out onto the balcony to call Dean, and there he was on the balcony right next to mine, which is basically attached. He must have heard the whole conversation!"

Kat smirked. "Oh my God, I bet he absolutely wanted to crawl into a hole and die!"

"Kathani!"

"What?" She shrugged. "You know it’s true. The only reason he even showed up is probably to see you. Since when does Joel take trips like this?"

"I don't know, it's been a while. Maybe he does now."

"Right, now," she rolled her eyes. She let out a breath and studied you for a quiet moment. "I'm sorry. How are you holding up? How do you feel about it?"

How did you feel about it? How did you feel about it… how did you feel about it.

Conflicted.

"I'm fine," you said, turning your gaze back toward the ocean. "I mean… I'll manage." You looked back at her, giving a firm nod. "I'm in Maui. Look at this view, it's gorgeous."

"It really is."

"I don't want Joel overshadowing this."

"Hey," Kat gently touched your arm to catch your eye. "Take a breath. I don't think he's going to try and cross any lines, not after how things ended. And if he does get in your space, I'll get rid of him for you."

You laughed. "Easy there. I just need to pay him no mind and that's it. We'll be spending most of our time out of our rooms anyway."

The sky was a striking blend of pinks and oranges when you made your way down to the beach for dinner. It was paradise; a long, long table was set up right in the center of the open air restaurant, draped in a crisp white tablecloth and adorned with centerpieces crafted from local flora. Servers drifted around, putting the final touches on everything for the rehearsal dinner.

You had headed down early to grab a drink.

Switching rooms was out of the question. Earlier, during the welcome cocktails, you had pulled Jo aside to ask if a swap was possible.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Why? Is there something wrong with yours?"

A bit flustered, you told her, "It’s right next door to Joel's."

Jo frowned and shook her head. "No way. I specifically told Nora to put you two far apart."

Nora, one of the planners.

Well, long story short: it was a total communication breakdown. Apparently, the phrases they can't be next to each other and they have to be next to each other sound way too similar, or maybe it was bad phone reception, or ambient noise, or who even knows. Nora had purposely booked you in adjoining rooms. And when you saw the look on her face when Jo brought it up (a look of pure wedding-induced panic and stress) you simply threw in the towel.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I don't want to cause any trouble, it's your wedding."

And it was. You weren't about to demand a new hotel room just because your ex husband happened to be on the other side of the wall. Jo was already stressed enough without having to fix your mess, which, to be completely fair, wasn't even that catastrophic.

Fortunately, Joel had kept his distance during cocktails. He stayed on the periphery, had a drink or two, and then you watched him head out before the mixer even wrapped up.

Now, you were sipping your drink, settled at the bar while smooth music filled your ears and the distant sound of the tides eased your mind.

Bing. Your phone lit up.

[Kat]: emergency meet me in the lobby NOW

[Kat]: hurry before dinner starts I have to tell you something

You frowned and instantly slid off your barstool, taking care not to let your dress tangle around your legs. It was brand new, a light blue shade that perfectly matched the dinner dress code. You had been paying close attention to details like that. You even wore a white flower tucked into your hair right above your ear.

With your drink in hand, sipping from the straw, you walked over to the lobby, and the moment the automatic doors slid open, you spotted Kat standing near the reception desk. Her eyebrows shot up the second she caught sight of you, and she approached with long hurried strides.

She grabbed your arm and pulled you off to the side. You nearly spilled some of your drink but kept the straw securely between your lips.

You knit your brows and took a sip. "Mh—hey, what's goin' on?"

Kat let out a breath. "Have you seen Joel?"

"What? No, why?"

She pressed her lips together tightly and gave a firm nod. "He didn't come alone."

"What?"

"Joel. He didn't come by himself. I just saw him go up the elevator with a woman, and she kissed him."

Your heart did a strange jerky twist that. For some reason, it actually stung.

You swallowed hard, and your eyelids suddenly felt heavy.

"But he was completely by himself during the cocktails."

"I think she arrived later."

Caught completely off guard, you took a step back.

Okay.

What could you even say? Nothing. It wasn't as if you were supposed to feel bad about it anyway; you yourself had been in a wonderful new relationship for several months now. Did you even have a single right to feel even slightly slighted just because he had a girl—

Jesus.

You knit your brows. "Are you absolutely sure it was him?"

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms. "He didn't spot me, but I definitely saw him. They got out of a car at the entrance and then headed straight for the elevator. She had a suitcase."

"But Jo would have told me. If Joel was bringing a plus one, Jo would have let me know."

"What if it slipped her mind? Or what if she deliberately avoided mentioning it for some reason?"

"Why… why would she do something like that?"

Kat raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips slightly, right on the verge of saying something.

Before she could get a single word out, you cut her off.

"It's fine. I have a plus one too, it's just that Dean couldn't make it," you shrugged. "Joel has every right to bring someone."

"Yeah, but he's staying in the room right next to yours."

Oh. Great. Thank you, Kat.

"You're not being very helpful," you said, crossing your arms.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, tilting her head back slightly. "Look, come sleep in my room tonight, okay?"

"Jesus, Kat," you said, shaking your head, "I think… I think you're blowing this way out of proportion. Joel and I… we're divorced, alright? I have a new life. I don't care if he's with someone else, or if he's right next to my room. I freaked out earlier but," you laughed, "it's no big deal, seriously. I can handle it."

Kat nodded, though you knew it was highly unlikely she believed a single word coming out of your mouth. She knew you entirely too well; she had been right there during that first year after the divorce, watching you go back to Joel again and again, returning and leaving, back and forth. And she had been there when you walked out for good, too; she had comforted you more times than you could count.

"It’s been two years," you made clear. "I’ve moved on, and clearly, so has he."

"Clearly?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What’s with that tone?"

You scoffed. "Nothing. I know exactly what you’re thinking, okay? But it’s over. Joel is in the past. I have Dean now."

"Okay, I know. But just think about it," she said. "About my room tonigh. My door is always open."

Going for your third glass of wine in less than an hour was definitely not a good sign. But she was loud; her voice was too high pitched and bubbly, and she wouldn't stop chiming in with remarks about every single thing anyone else said. Tiny comments, kind comments, but incredibly grating comments because they simply hammered away at your brain.

She was the polar opposite of you, and for some reason, that left you with a twisted feeling in your chest.

She was twenty five years old. You had never envisioned Joel as the type of guy who would date someone so young, someone so different. You couldn't wrap your head around how that even functioned; had he suddenly changed, turning into someone who now enjoyed things he never used to? Had he transformed into one of those divorced guys in their forties who date girls in their twenties just to feel young and revitalized? He used to make fun of those type of men.

He didn't seem like the man you knew; now he was quiet, chuckling every now and then, bringing his glass to his lips every time she told him "not to be silly" while tapping his shoulder and tilting her head.

But then again, he wasn't the man you knew. Because you didn't know him anymore. People change a lot in two years, and he certainly wasn't your Joel anymore. He had stopped being that a very long time ago.

The only saving grace was that they were seated all the way at the opposite end of the table. You could easily get out of interacting with them, or even looking their way, and that was exactly what you did for the most part.

What was the point of wasting your time on that stuff when one of your closest friends was about to get married? None at all.

So you ate and drank and caught up with your friends, actually having a wonderful time despite your miserable luck. And as the alcohol began to make you feel more loose and upbeat, you couldn't stop laughing at every single story everyone shared. Anecdotes from when she was little, a teenager, and even after heading off to college or starting to date Cillian. Some of them you remembered vividly, because you had been right there.

And the entire time, every now and then, you could feel it. His gaze, locked right onto your profile, burning your skin in a shameless way. You did everything in your power not to look over, to give no hint that you knew exactly what he was doing, and you succeeded through the whole dinner—until Jo's sister launched into that anecdote about the time Jo got locked out of the house and they tried to scramble in through the bathroom window.

While trying to squeeze through, her shorts caught on the window frame, and Jo tumbled to the floor completely bare from the waist down. Her shorts and underwear were left dangling from the window.

Oh Jesus, you remembered it so vividly. It had been so fun. She had come down to open the front door with a towel wrapped around her hips and her eyes were streaming with tears from laughing so hard. And when you went upstairs and saw her poor, sad little torn panties hanging from the frame, you burst out laughing just like you were doing right now.

A wave of pure amusement swept through you, and you threw your head back, covering your mouth as a tiny snort escaped your throat. And then, completely on instinct, your eyes sought him out.

He was watching you, of course, but his lips held a still quiet smile. You suddenly remembered those old days when he would deliberately make you laugh until your stomach ached and you made those funny noises. You used to hate it, you always had, but he would tell you they were sweet and nice, and how much he loved hearing them. You had never understood it. Now, he just smiled in silence, eight seats away from you.

You smoothed over your tight flushed cheeks and dropped your gaze as you picked up your wine glass. You just had to wait a little longer for dinner to wrap up and for the small party to migrate to the other side of the room.

You were doing just fine, weren't you?

A few seconds later, you looked back at him. He wasn't watching you anymore; his eyes were fixed on his wine glass, which he held by the stem with his fingers, tracing the clear glass with his thumb. Then, he let out a long, heavy breath through his nose and brought the glass to his lips, emptying the entire contents in a single swallow.

"We’re getting married tomorrow!"

Jo’s shout was so full of pure joy and laughter as Cillian spun her around the dance floor that your heart truly felt like it expanded and a wave of warmth washed over you.

You watched them from the bar and lifted your phone to snap a photo. Several, actually. You had no idea how many shots you had taken by now.

At some point during the night, just a few minutes ago, Joel and his girlfriend (Jen, according to a whisper from Kat half an hour earlier) had headed out. And because of that, you felt so much lighter and more comfortable in the space.

It was for the best, this whole keeping your distance thing. And honestly, the fact that Joel had brought someone was probably for the best too, since it prevented the two of you from drifting toward each other in any way. Come to think of it, what a shame Dean hadn't come along. Everything would have been so much easier to handle with him here. I mean, you had invited him, and he asked if you were sure. And I mean, at first, you weren't so sure. I mean, what were you even saying? How many drinks had you even had by now?

Dean. Dean, you needed to call him.

Shit, your feet were killing you. So you kicked off your heels as you walked toward the steps leading down to the shore. Leaning against the railing for balance, you unbuckled the delicate straps from around your ankles, dangling the shoes from your fingers a few seconds later as you descended bare footed. You dropped them somewhere there.

Oh, good heavens. The sand felt incredible beneath your bare skin.

You tilted your head back, letting out a deeply relaxed sigh. In front of you, very very far away, the ocean shifted beneath the moonlight, looking exactly like a painting. The sky was completely clear, with a massive perfectly round moon hanging at the absolute peak of the heavens.

Your cheeks were warm and your neck was flushed, but the gentle breeze brushing against your skin cooled your arms, your legs, and your bare back as you strolled toward the water. It was refreshing. The further you wandered, the more the noise of the party faded away, giving your mind a little more room to breathe and your thoughts space to wander.

You really should take advantage of this and call Dean now. But it was probably late. He was bound to be asleep by now; it had to be the middle of the night back home. No, it definitely was. You had checked.

Shit. You left your purse up there.

You turned around to look back at the celebration in the distance and a smile tugged at your lips.

From afar, everything looked so beautiful. The sky was pitch black, but the place looked like a glowing jewelry box filled with tiny people moving in every direction; jumping and laughing, their voices reaching you as soft overlapping sounds, like tiny ant voices.

Jo and Cillian looked so blissfully happy. They were dancing right in the center of the floor, and though you could barely make them out through the crowd, you could still spot them instantly. He had his hands around her waist, holding her close as they moved together. They were so deeply in love, so radiant. You remembered that exact feeling vividly, as if it had been yesterday.

No, it had been thirteen years ago, at a lovely little venue back in Texas. It hadn't been anywhere near as fancy as this, but it had its own unique charm. You remembered the flowers everywhere, the tablecloths as bright as white light, the napkins monogrammed with your initials. You actually still had one tucked away in a small pale pink box. You still held onto so many of those trinkets; entirely too many of them, which you honestly should just throw out. Why keep holding onto them?

You were young when you married Joel. He was young, too. Just two twenty somethings full of goals and dreams.

You were barely twenty one when you first met him, and from that very first moment, you knew it was something special. Something forever, you thought. And two years later, he asked you to marry him. It was a bit of a chaotic mess that ended up turning into something incredibly sweet and beautiful.

It was a rainy night. Joel had taken you out to dinner and scored movie tickets. About Time had just hit theaters and he knew you were dying to see it because you had watched the trailer on Youtube. So you had dinner and then you headed to the cinema. Of course, he hadn't anticipated the ending leaving you so sad, and he had to comfort you in the dark of the theater while you tried to get your sobbing under control. And by the time you walked out, the downpour had gotten even worse.

Huge puddles flooded the streets, and as you walked to the car, you slipped and landed right on your ass. Your clothes were caked in mud, which splashed all over Joel, and a few seconds later when he tried to pull you up, he went down himself. It was so fun; the two of you couldn't stop laughing. Every time you tried to stand up, you just kept sliding around, your outfit ruined and his right along with it. And by the time you finally made it inside the car, you were both an absolute disaster.

You knew that hadn't been his original plan, or at least, you found out later. Joel had set up a beautiful arrangement on his apartment balcony, but the rain completely ruined his plans. And when you finally got back to his place, you looked at him; soaked, dirty, covered in mud, with his hair a mess and his clothes completely unraveled, and you just kissed him.

"We're a mess," you murmured against his teeth as he guided you inside the apartment.

He laughed, and that was when you noticed it; he was incredibly nervous. The way he looked at you was different, and for a second, he almost looked physically ill.

And then, he went for it. He slid his hand into his pocket, and before pulling it back out, he confessed his love to you all over again. He dropped down on one knee.

You had never been happier in your entire life than you were right there, in that tiny apartment, with just the two of you.

Three years later, Joel bought you another ring. According to him, the first one wasn't good enough. You disagreed; you absolutely adored your ring. He had worked so hard to afford it, and it meant the world to you. But he insisted on giving you a new one, something much larger. He was doing well at work by then. So he put together another dinner, one completely uninterrupted by rain, and presented it to you on a perfectly clear night.

But time moves fast, and many years later, those are nothing more than memories.

Maybe you should go for a walk to clear your head.

You let out a breath and turned around to head in the opposite direction—

A sharp gasp caught in your chest, and you froze in your tracks. Your hands immediately flew to your chest.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he said, holding up a hand. "Didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry."

You knit your brows, still feeling your heart hammering away.

Joel stood right in front of you, with a worried look on his face. His brows were slightly drawn, his eyes glistened, and his hair drifted in the sea breeze. He wore a white, long sleeved button-down with a few of the top buttons undone, revealing a hint of sun flushed skin at his chest. His cream colored dress pants billowed slightly in the wind.

"I thought you left," you said.

He shook his head. "No. Jen wasn't feelin' well. Just walked her back to the room."

You felt a faint throbbing behind your brows. "Is she alright?"

"Got a headache, is all."

"Oh."

It only took a split second for your eyes to lock onto his, freezing you both in place.

He swallowed hard.

"I didn't know our rooms were gonna be right next to each other," he said.

You paused for a beat.

"Neither did I."

He gave a slight, quiet nod, a heavy, downcast look lingering in his eyes.

"I can ask for a different room tomorrow morning, if you'd like."

You offered a faint smile, though your eyelids felt incredibly heavy.

"Yeah, okay," you said, taking two steps forward and brushing right past him. "Thank you."

As you moved away, Joel tracked you with his gaze. You turned as you passed him, keeping your path along the shoreline in an escape attempt that felt frustratingly drawn out. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck.

"I'm sorry." His voice carried clearly through the moonlight behind you.

You stopped instantly, completely unable to help yourself, and pivoted on the sand to face him.

"I shouldn't have brought her here." He took a step forward.

You gave a single shake of your head. "Joel, it’s fine."

"No, it ain't."

"It really is."

"I can tell it ain't," his brow furrowed.

"Then why did you bring her?"

"I don't know. Seemed like a good idea right up until I got here and saw you."

You huffed a breath. "Is it my fault now?"

"No, no," he rushed to shake his head. "That ain't what I meant at all."

You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your neck. Frustration bathed you as you felt the heavy weight of the alcohol in your veins.

"Joel, just… don't. Please don't," you said, taking two steps back. "It’s fine, it is. You’re with someone else, and so am I. We don't need to be having this kind of conversation, not right now."

It looked as though he was right on the verge of saying something. He parted his lips for a moment, but snapped them shut a second later. He stayed perfectly still, holding you captive under his gaze, because you couldn't bring yourself to do anything but stand there and look right back at him.

"We haven't seen each other in two whole years," he said then, like a tired accusation.

"Joel…"

"You left me a damn post it note."

Your mouth fell open, your chest beginning to rise and fall more rapidly as your breathing turned sudden and shallow. He seemed more worked up now, too.

You couldn't do this.

On pure instinct, you spun around and practically fled. You walked as fast as your feet could push through the sand, breaking away from him.

Behind you, you heard his voice calling out your name, getting closer and closer with every passing second. You only made it a few yards.

He caught you by the arm, and your name spilled from his lips like a breathless sound.

You wrenched yourself free from his grip, spinning around.

"Please, don't do this," you pleaded in a whisper, locking eyes with him. "What'd you want me to do? Just stay there? Watch us keep running in the same damn circles?"

Joel stepped back, taken aback, but his gaze never wavered. His jaw tightened, the wind blowing a stray lock of hair across his forehead.

"Could've said goodbye," he said. "Face to face. We deserved more than a goddamn note left on the table after everythin’ we were"

Your heart squeezed tight.

"You and I could never just say goodbye, Joel. We tried a hundred times. You know exactly how it ended every single time."

Joel closed his eyes for a beat, and you knew the blow had landed right where it hurt.

The silence that followed was absolute. And when he looked back at you, the vulnerability in his glistening eyes made your chest ache.

"If it was that hard..." he started, "then why'd we have to say goodbye in the first place?"

Your lower lip trembled. "Joel... don't."

Your vision blurred completely as tears flooded your eyes, spilling over before you could do anything to stop them.

It was cruel of him to ask you that now. Not when you’d spent two whole years trying to convince yourself you’d made the right choice.

You’re with Dean, you reminded yourself urgently. Dean is at home. You’re happy with him. And you couldn’t forget that Joel had moved on too; his girlfriend was upstairs at the hotel.

Joel fell quiet. He shook his head again and again, like he was trying to rid himself of a thought he couldn’t outrun. His gaze dropped to the sand, fixing on some distant spot before he spoke.

"These past few months, I’ve been lookin’ for a house…" he admitted softly. "Lease on my apartment’s almost up, and I figured maybe it was time for a real home. And every place I walk into, I catch myself lookin’ for big windows, a wide backyard, and some corner with enough light to work without havin' to turn the lamps on in the afternoon."

Then, he looked up, locking those glistening eyes straight onto yours.

"I could buy it," he said quietly. "I make enough now to get a real nice house. But what the hell’s the point of all that money if you ain’t in it? Tell me somethin’… why is your voice still in my head every time I make a decision?"

It took you several seconds just to draw breath.

You swallowed hard, absorbing the bruising impact of his words. You had to forcefully suffocate your own thoughts, the ones screaming that you were completely consumed by him, too. That sometimes, when you were in your shop holding a piece of sandpaper, his voice would appear out of nowhere, reminding you to always go with the grain so you wouldn't ruin the finish. Or that every time your car engine made a strange noise, you’d remember his advice to check the hoses before panicking. His ghost was everywhere.

But you couldn't tell him that. So instead, you said;

"Your girlfriend is upstairs."

You spun around abruptly and took off at a brisk pace, nearly breaking into a run in a desperate attempt to get away. The ocean breeze whipped against your face, but it did nothing to cool your burning cheeks.

Glancing back, you saw him: Joel was gaining on you with long strides, his white shirt billowing in the wind. Tears escaped without control, blurring everything in sight.

You whipped around to face him the moment you felt him too close.

Joel stopped short. His face was twisted with ache, and he stood completely still and quiet for a few seconds. His eyes shone brighter now, welling up with a thin glaze of tears that grew thicker by the second.

"What are we doin'?" he asked then, cracking completely. He stepped a fraction closer, repeating with desperation, "What are we doin'? It was supposed to be us!"

You swallowed hard, feeling a physical pain right in the center of your chest, as if Joel’s words had cut straight through your skin.

You looked at him through the tears that refused to stop falling.

"A lot of things happened, Joel. Did you forget that already?"

He stared at you in silence.

"I needed you!" You confessed.

"You pushed me away, every damn time," he countered.

"I was grieving," you shot back. "I know it was hard sometimes, but I was grieving."

"I was grieving too," Joel snapped. He took a step toward you, desperate to make you hear him. "That was my baby too. And every time I tried to get close to you, you... you just pushed me back, pushed me away like you couldn't stand the sight of me. Like you didn't want me there."

"Of course I wanted you there! You were my husband," you cried out, letting out a shaky, nearly choked breath. You paused, looking at him with all the frustration you’d kept locked away for years. "But where were you? You spent more time out there than you ever did at home."

Joel ran a hand over his face, completely spent, and let out a trembling sigh.

"I was scared," he confessed. "There’d never been anythin’ we couldn’t fix together before. But this... this was bigger than us. Every time I walked through that front door, I felt like I'd failed you. Like I couldn't protect the one thing we wanted most. I was terrified of sayin' the wrong thing, terrified of makin' it worse. And it felt like makin' it worse was the only damn thing I knew how to do."

"So you left," you shot back, pointing at him. "You just kept leaving. You weren’t there." Your voice trembled harder with every word. "You thought no matter how many times you walked away, I’d still be there waiting for you, and that’s not how this works." Your eyes burned as fresh tears spilled over. "I was scared too."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said, taking a step forward. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about what I could've done to stop it, to protect us—"

"How could you have stopped it? It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine," you whispered. "All those years..." You shook your head. "All those years I felt like a failure for not bein' able to—I tortured myself thinkin' it was only a matter of time before you got tired of me and walked away. And then when it finally..." You shook your head again, refusing to let the memory surface. "The only thing I needed was for you to be there."

"How could I ever get tired of you?" he asked with painful disbelief. He gave a quiet shake of his head. "I told you a hundred times. You were my family. Anything else, we could've gotten through it together. I married you 'cause I wanted you, just you. Kids or no kids, I wanted you."

You stared at him in absolute silence. His words cut right through you, leaving a burning ache in your chest, yet at the same time, they felt like a warm, long overdue embrace around your heart.

Why didn't he say all this back then? Why did he have to wait all this time to lay it all out, right in the dead of night, in the middle of all this?

You froze, the weight of the years crashing down on you, and gave a shake of your head.

Taking a step back into the cool sand, you whispered, "It doesn't matter now."

"It does t—"

"No, it doesn't," you cut him off, your voice hardening. "It's too late. I'm with someone else, and you are too."

"I don't love her."

"Joel."

"What, you wanna pretend we both just moved on?"

"We're divorced," you said, the word tasting like ash in your mouth.

"I never wanted to divorce you and you know it," Joel countered.

You shook your head and then you felt it; panic starting to crowd out the ache.

You had to get out of there. You needed to leave this beach right now, before you broke, before you did something you couldn't take back.

You lunged to the side, trying to bolt past him, but Joel reacted instantly, catching you by the hands. The heat of his touch burned.

In a blind reflex, you slammed your palms against his chest and shoved him back with everything you had, breaking his grip. And you ran.

You ran with your breath clawing at your lungs, fleeing toward the small party. You knew he wouldn't follow you there; Joel would never push his way through your friends to make a scene, or to keep telling you things that shouldn't matter anymore.

When you finally hit the steps leading up from the beach, you spotted your heels tossed in the sand right where you had left them. You didn't even pause to pick them up. You took the stairs barefoot, crossed the room where the music was still thumping, and with trembling hands, snatched your purse off one of the chairs. You headed straight for your room. All around you, everyone was far too drunk to even notice.

You had spent the entire day mastering the art of looking anywhere but at him.

During the morning, it was easy. Mainly because he was nowhere to be seen. You were confined with the other bridesmaids and Jo’s family. In her hotel room, time flew by in a blur of wedding prep. Everyone talked, laughed, and rallied around Jo to soothe her nerves. Good nerves, born from being on the verge of something beautiful and life-changing. Not the bad ones that make you want to bolt out the back door of a church.

During the ceremony, everything shifted. As a bridesmaid, you stood on one side of the altar, while Joel stood on the other as a groomsman. The distance was safe, but it wasn't enough; you felt his eyes on you the entire time.

Whenever you looked toward the newlyweds, Joel caught your peripheral vision, his dark eyes fixed squarely on your face. He didn't break eye contact, not even when the crowd burst into applause. It was constant; even if he turned to smile or speak with someone else, it was only a countdown until his eyes found yours again. And then, the realization hit: you were watching him, too.

Of course you were. If you caught him staring dozens of times, it meant your own eyes were wandering toward him just as often. A simple truth that struck you just as Jo and Cillian walked down the aisle between the rows of seats, everyone celebrating the union of their beautiful love.

You kept your chin up, gripping your bouquet so tightly your knuckles turned white and pretending the heat rushing to your cheeks was just the early afternoon sun. You decided then and there that enough was enough. You couldn't keep looking at him, or he would keep looking at you. Moving forward, the best option was to ignore him entirely.

So you stuck to Kat like glue. You hadn't told her what happened the night before; you hadn't told anyone. Apparently, neither had he (which was to be expected) though you couldn't help but notice how Jen's eyes locked onto you just as much as his did.

There she was, right in the middle of the wedding guests. She wore a faint smile that seemed perfectly natural on her face, but her gaze swept up and down your body, over and over.

As a rational person, you knew exactly why she was doing it. You were her boyfriend’s ex-wife. During dinner the previous night, the two of you hadn't interacted at all. And when you felt her trying to approach you before heading to her room, you had turned on your heel and fled, pretending you hadn't seen her. She probably just wanted to introduce herself; Joel had likely told her the bare minimum. You, however, had zero interest in meeting her.

As a woman, though, you feared a deeper reason. Some energies are impossible to ignore, like the raw tension between her boyfriend and you, standing on opposite sides of that altar like a sick joke. If Jen suspected something, or if she noticed how Joel couldn't keep his eyes off you (and she only needed a functional pair of eyes to see it), you didn't blame her.

You just had to ignore them both. It was easy enough during the ceremony.

But the real trial began at the reception.

By seven in the evening, the Maui sky had transformed into a stunning canvas of coral and purple hues, fading out over the Pacific. On the open air terrace by the beach, the reception was already in full swing, with some guests already on their second drinks. Strings of warm fairy lights flickered between the palm trees, fighting against the encroaching twilight that swallowed the coastline, while the warm breeze carried the tides mixed with the sweet music from the live band.

All around you, everything was pure luxury and charm. The venue was breathtaking, and every detail was exquisite; from the decor near the beach exit to the main dancefloor, the ornaments hanging from the ceiling with tiny crystal stars and delicate ribbons, and the tables arranged with flawless glassware and matching chairs.

You stood near the outdoor bar, laughing out loud as Kat made an exaggerated toast with her champagne flute, while Gemma, Jo’s sister, swept you both into a hilarious anecdote about the morning's chaos. You laughed along despite having been there yourself, then pulled out your phone to show Eric, Gemma’s husband, a video of the whole thing.

Between the tropical cocktails, the catchy music, and the girls banter, you finally felt your shoulders drop; for a wonderful stretch of time, you managed to immerse yourself entirely in the party, genuinely enjoying the moment. And you were incredibly grateful for it.

It was only when the girls drifted toward the dance floor that you found yourself alone, waiting for your next drink. You leaned your weight against the wooden bar and, almost unconsciously, let your eyes sweep across the crowd illuminated by the hanging lights. It was a quick instinctive scan; a final defense mechanism to ensure the perimeter was clear, confirming that neither he nor his girlfriend was nearby before you could fully let your guard down.

You exhaled a quiet sigh, watching your hands against the wooden bar.

"This place ain't got nothin' on our little wedding, right?"

The voice echoed from right behind you. You whipped around.

Joel was there, leaning lazily against the counter, giving you a sidelong glance. He looked effortless cocky, completely relaxed. He looked devastatingly handsome in his suit, though his collar was already unbuttoned and his tie hung loose.

Not again.

"Joel," you warned.

He picked up on the warning right away. His stance softened slightly as he stood up straighter, throwing his hand up in peace.

"Sorry. Just jokin'. Ain't tryin' to stir up trouble again," he said, stepping a bit closer and shaking his head. "Just wanted to say I'm sorry. For last night. I crossed a line. Too many of 'em, to be honest, sayin' what I said. It wasn't right of me."

He cast his gaze downward, looking genuinely remorseful for a brief beat. Right then, under the amber lights, you finally caught the dark tired shadows bruising the skin under his eyes. He looked exhausted.

You didn't say a word, but you nodded slightly, accepting the olive branch.

He looked back up, pinning you with his gaze. "Don't you worry about me, okay? I won't be botherin' you again."

"How sure are you about that?"

Joel offered a smile that didn't make it to his eyes.

"In the last two years, did I ever bother you?"

"I blocked you."

He huffed an incredulous breath through his nose. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

Joel clicked his tongue, taking a sip of his drink. "Nah."

Your brow furrowed as a prickle of stubborn pride hit your chest. Grabbing your purse from the bar, you reached inside for your phone. Your thumb flicked across the screen as you glared up at him.

"I'm telling you, I blocked you."

He raised the glass to his lips again, and just before taking a sip, his eyes locked onto yours over the rim. "What you wanna bet?"

Anoyed and determined to shut him up, you went into your contact settings and pulled up your blocked list. Your eyes darted across the screen. There were a couple of unknown numbers, some old spam contacts you didn't even remember blocking, but you searched and searched... and the list was far too short. None of them were Joel.

You froze right there in the middle of the party. You knew it with absolute certainty because, despite two years of radio silence, you still remembered every single digit of his number by heart. None of those numbers matched his.

Had you seriously never blocked him?

You sighed, setting your phone face down on the bar.

"Alright." You glanced over in the opposite direction.

Across the room, Kat was staring at you with her eyebrows raised. She threw up a hand as if to say What the hell are you doing?. You answered her with a tight flat pout.

You turned back to Joel; he was watching Kat with a faint half amused frown.

Without moving much, his eyes dropped back down to you.

"Anyway, I'm sorry," he said, nodding gently. "For all of it. I really am."

You just nodded back.

The tension in his brow softened, and his gaze traced your face; eyes, mouth, eyes, eyes, mouth, eyes.

And then, he asked;

"Is he a good man?"

A beat.

"Yeah," you said softly.

"Does he treat you right?"

You swallowed. "Yeah. He does."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Good. I'm real happy for you."

The second those words left his mouth, you caught it: the tiniest twitch in his right eye, almost imperceptible. A minute tremor he couldn't hide.

Joel held your gaze for one last second, and then he gave you a small wink, just like he used to. With a faint smile, he pulled himself away from the bar and walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Dinner passed in a rush of laughter and scattered conversations across the tables. There were emotional speeches; the best man brought Cillian to tears with a childhood story, and when it was your turn alongside the bridesmaids, you managed to keep your voice steady and bring a smile to everyone's faces.

After what had happened the night before, you didn't want to drink too much alcohol; you’d only had a couple of glasses with your meal, keeping your feet firmly on the ground.

By the time dinner wrapped up and the dance floor opened, the vibe grew much more relaxed. The semi-formal atmosphere completely dissolved under the colored lights now washing over the place. You were actually having fun; you danced for a long stretch with Kat and the girls, and later, Jo’s dad pulled you out for a few clumsy but incredibly fun spins that had you laughing out loud. In the middle of one of those upbeat songs, your eyes caught Joel in the center of the floor, dancing perfectly like a gentleman with Cillian’s mom. Your gazes locked for a split second, barely a heartbeat, before you both quickly looked away.

You kept enjoying yourself. Songs flew by, along with casual toasts and group photos. But later on, as you walked near the edge of the room, your eyes drifted toward the back.

Joel and Jen were sitting at a secluded table, away from the main lighting. You allowed yourself to watch them for a moment, hidden behind the crowd. Their faces were dead serious; her brow was furrowed and her arms were crossed, while Joel spoke in a low voice, gesturing faintly with one hand. They looked like they were arguing. Having a quiet argument, at the very least. But before either of them could look up and catch you staring, you broke eye contact and moved to another part of the room.

But the damage was already done.

Suddenly, a wave of absolute desolation hit you like a bucket of ice water. The air around you began to feel heavy, suffocating, and a sharp ache settled right beneath your ribs.

You needed to get out of your own head. Urgently, you pulled your phone from your purse and tried to call Dean. You needed to hear his voice, to remind yourself that you had a real life waiting for you back home, to cling to him like a lifeline. To remember you had something else.

The line rang.

And rang.

And rang. But Dean didn't pick up. You hung up, waited a few seconds, and tried again. Then a third time. Nothing. Just the sound of the voicemail.

You dropped your hand, slipping the phone back into your purse with a mix of frustration and anger, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat.

"Hey, there you are!"

Jo’s cheerful voice snapped you right back to reality. Your friend approached you, her cheeks already flushed from the alcohol, holding her glass at a slight tilt. She was wearing a gorgeous white dress that hit just below her knees, loose and flowing perfectly against her body.

"I've been meanin' to talk to you all night but I've been so busy!" she laughed, running a hand through her hair. "Nobody warned me I’d spend my own wedding just listenin' to the guests!"

You smiled, forcing down the suffocating feeling from a second ago. "Everyone’s gonna want a piece of you today, Jo, it’s your night. But enjoy it; everything is beautiful, and you look even more stunning."

Jo offered a tender smile and threw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace that smelled of her expensive perfume. When she pulled back, she looked at you closely; her smile faltered slightly into a remorseful pout.

"Hey, I am so sorry... I had no idea he was bringin' someone. We gave a plus one to all our main guests and I just didn't think that—"

"Jo, it’s fine. Seriously."

Jo shook her head, frustrated. "No, it’s not fine. The nerve of him. You didn't even bring Dean. I really wish you had."

"I'm telling you, everything is completely fine," you insisted, forcing a bright smile. "I'm having fun, can't you tell?"

Jo tilted her head back a bit, narrowing her eyes to read you, but the pure bliss of her own wedding night made her give in.

"Well, yeah. I guess you are."

Right then, a collective shout erupted from the dance floor. A big group of people was forming a circle, clapping along to the beat and calling for the newlyweds.

You glanced over and gave her a gentle nudge. "I think you're needed over there."

Jo grinned mischievously. "Yeah... and you're coming with me!"

Before you could even protest, she grabbed your arm firmly and dragged you toward the center of the floor, pulling you both right into the middle of the circle. The DJ dropped an absolute classic: Abba’s Dancing Queen. And the energy of the room swept you up completely. It was one of your favorite songs.

Suddenly, there was no room left to dwell on phones that didn't ring or tables hidden in the back of the room. Jo started dancing dramatically in the center, making you genuinely laugh, and you joined right in; jumping, singing the lyrics at the top of your lungs with the rest of the guests, and clapping as others took turns showing off their best moves in the middle. For a few minutes, surrounded by your friends, the music numbed the ache in your chest. You let yourself lose control, floating in the pure fun of the night and the embrace of the people you loved most.

You couldn't tell how much time slipped by, but it had to be at least four or five songs. Standing in the middle of the circle, you ran your hands through your hair to push it away from your face. It was boiling hot inside, or maybe it was just your racing pulse making you feel like the air was running out.

Stepping away from the group, you backed up a few paces with a permanent smile straining your lips after minutes of non stop laughing.

You glanced to the side, right where the exit to the outdoor grounds opened up, and the pull of the fresh air was immediate and far too tempting to ignore. You walked in that direction, leaving the pounding thud of the music behind, and stepped out into the night, heading down the short flight of stairs to the lower level.

Resting your hand on the wooden railing, you walked down the ramp toward the right, keeping your eyes fixed on the dark infinity of the ocean, where the crests of the waves glowed faintly under the moonlight.

You stopped, letting out a long heavy sigh and running a hand over your neck to catch the cooling breeze.

Look at this place, you’d barely even enjoyed it. With all the wedding chaos and everything else, you hadn't found any free time to look around. But tomorrow you could; after brunch, the afternoon was open for everyone, and you assumed the evening would be too. Jo and Cillian would have their own activities as newlyweds, and some guests were leaving due to work; most of them, actually. But you were staying until Monday afternoon, and so was Kat. You’d be able to do all sorts of fun things. That thought actually made you excited.

You decided to turn around to watch the party from a distance, but the instant you shifted your body, the air caught in your throat.

You saw him. Joel was standing right there, less than two meters away. He was leaning his hip against the railing on the other side, staying completely still, almost camouflaged by the shadows and the branches of a large bush covered in tiny pink and white flowers. He was staring right at you.

A spike of panic shot through your body. You wanted to speak; you wanted to tell him you were sorry, that you had no idea he was down here. Because it was obvious you had crashed his alone time.

Your brain went on the defensive, screaming at you to turn around, head straight back up the ramp, and return to the party or at least find another corner of the hotel to breathe. But your feet wouldn't cooperate.

You couldn't say a word, and you couldn't move. You just stood there, locking eyes with him in absolute silence. You watched him, and he watched you. And in that second of paralysis, Jen's existence didn't even cross your mind; nothing existed outside of that suspended space in the dark.

Before you could gather enough air for another breath, the distance simply… vanished.

He was on top of you, and you were on top of him. You’d never know how it actually happened, who closed the final gap or who took the first step, but suddenly Joel’s arms were wrapping around you and his mouth was crashing onto yours.

It was a devastating kiss, charged with an intensity that shattered your whole body. His hands flew urgently to your face, cupping your cheeks with desperation, while his lips smashed against yours in a hungry claim. Your bodies pressed completely together, erasing any trace of air between you. Not that there was much left to begin with.

Without breaking the kiss, Joel spun you around in a fluid movement, pulling you right to where he’d been standing, and pressed you firmly against the railing. You felt the cold wood bite into your back, immediately followed by the overwhelming heat of his body crushing into yours. One of his hands dropped forcefully to your waist, anchoring you to him, reminding every single inch of your skin exactly who owned this memory.

Your heart was racing out of control, hammering so violently against your ribs that you could hear it in your ears, drowning out any coherent thought that dared to surface in your mind. There was no Dean, no past, no mistakes. In that dark corner beneath the flowers and facing the sea, you couldn't think about absolutely anything else but him.

Kiss him; kiss him deeply. Deeper, devouring any shred of doubt that might be left in you.

You felt a blind desperation flood your veins, a voracious hunger you didn't even know you had been harboring, suddenly demanding more, and more, and all of him; all, all at once, all began happening far too fast, as though time had accelerated with no way to force it back into its natural rhythm.

The heat of his skin and the firmness of his hands clouded your judgment entirely, pushing you right to the edge.

In a sudden move, you forced your lips to break away from his. You pulled back just a few inches, just enough to look into his eyes in the dim light, your breath ragged and your heart thumping in your ears and between your thighs.

You didn't even recognize your own voice when you said;

"Go to my room in ten minutes."

Before he could react or utter a single word, you planted your hands on his shoulders and, with a push that was sharp from urgency but soft with desire, you broke free from his grip.

You caught one last glimpse of his stunned expression and bolted back toward the stairs, fleeing at a frantic pace toward the light and noise of the party, with the taste of Joel still burning your lips and your tongue.

You reached the room with your heart beating a mile a minute, your racing pulse thumping in your ears as you walked barefoot across the soft carpet.

God, what were you doing?

This was terrible, complete madness. You’d walked in barely five minutes ago, and you’d spent the last three leaning over the sink, splashing cold water on your face and staring into the mirror, desperately searching for the strength to put on the brakes. But you found nothing. Your mind threw out a thousand reasons to stop, but not a single one could douse the fire in your belly or prevent what you were about to do.

And then, the sound came: knock, knock, knock.

A violent jolt shook your stomach, filling it with wild butterflies as if you were twenty one years old all over again, and you hated with all your soul that that was your very first thought.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, and stepped toward the entrance.

You opened the door just a crack, peeking through the narrow opening, and Joel was on the other side, staring dead at you through the small space. There was no doubt in his eyes; only a tired, exhausted, desperate, and silent hunger.

Without uttering a single word, unable to break eye contact, you threw the door wide open. Joel stepped inside immediately and kicked the wood shut behind him, closing it with a soft thud that sealed the deal. He lunged toward you with firm strides, crowding you back into the room; his right hand caught your waist and, with a yank, flushed your body right against his hard frame, while his other hand flew straight to the back of your neck, burying itself in your hair.

He kissed you, and you melted into his arms instantly.

Joel crushed you against him, devouring your mouth while his fingers raked over you in pure desperation. His hand at the back of your neck forced you deeper into the kiss, while his other palm slid firmly down your back, tracing your curves until it anchored at your thighs, squeezing the firm flesh. You put your hands all over him, starved for the physical contact you had missed for so long; your palms slid over his jacket, up his chest and broad shoulders, before wrapping around his neck to drag him even tighter against you. You let out a muffled moan against his lips.

Joel broke away for a split second just to catch his breath, panting, and his hands immediately dropped to your dress. Finding the hem near your hips, he bunched the fabric up in a frantic rush, gathering it past your navel before yanking it over your arms in a clumsy anxious motion, tossing it to the floor. You were left in just your panties and strapless bra.

You trapped his lips again in a hungry kiss while his fingers fumbled for the clasp of your bra; the lace gave way and dropped to your feet, leaving your breasts completely bare. Urgently, you brought your hands to Joel’s chest, tearing at the buttons of his shirt with fingers clumsy from the rush. In one continuous motion, you stripped the shirt and jacket off his shoulders together, leaving him bare chested, and he immediately reached down to undo his dress pants.

Everything grew overwhelmingly intense all at once; you could feel every part of your body screaming, starving and desperate for him. You crawled backward and laid down in the middle of the bed, feeling the cool air of the room hit your bare breasts and send a sudden shiver straight to your nipples. You settled onto the sheets, watching him with ragged breaths as he kicked off his pants and boxers in one quick motion.

Joel’s desperate erection, massive and rock hard, pointed straight at you, glistening faintly with pre cum under the dim glow of the lamp. He crowded over you, sliding between your thighs, while his large hands hooked into your panties and stripping them down your legs with a rough tug.

You parted your legs completely for him, exposing yourself, and Joel let out a shaky exhale, and leaned down to kiss you again. It felt like coming home.

His tongue clashed against yours in an incredibly wet, deep kiss while you instinctively arched your hips upward, feeling the heat of his shaft grazing your entrance. Joel ripped his mouth away, panting; he brought his hand to his lips, spitting a generous amount of saliva directly into his palm, and locked his eyes onto yours with animal intensity as he reached down and stroked himself a few times, lubricating his cock.

You moaned in protest at the delay, your hands raking over his tense shoulders as you shifted your pelvis desperately, begging for the contact. Joel dropped his hand and repositioned the hot, swollen head of his cock right against your soaking entrance.

He hovered over you, his arms rigid and the muscles of his back bulging from the sheer effort of holding back. Then, he began to sink into you inch by inch, the desperate restraint making him gasp out loud. He was too thick, too massive, but your pussy was so incredibly wet that it yielded, stretching to harbor him completely as he pushed deeper and deeper.

A sharp cry tore from your throat when he filled you to the brim, the delicious, scorching pressure of his hardness stretching your walls. Joel pressed his forehead against yours, cursing under his breath, completely overwhelmed by how fucking tight and wet you were.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he growled against your ear, losing the last shred of control he had left.

Any remaining restraint shattered into a dirty, animal need. Joel began to fuck you with wild desperation, thrusting hard and deep, burying himself completely inside you with heavy strokes that made the bed creak. Your body was burning with pleasure, and so was his; he was slick with sweat, the heat of his skin plastering against yours with every single hit.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, squeezing him tight to lock him inside you, forcing him to go even deeper. He was flush against you, his chest heaving against yours, his lips finding your neck to bite and suck the skin there while your brain remembered every single one of these familiar sensations. It was overwhelming.

The sound in the room turned completely obscene: the loud, wet friction of your bodies colliding, the echo of your unhinged moans, and Joel’s raspy grunts vibrating in the dim light. You were so fucking wet that every thrust made a slick, dirty squelch that only fueled the filthiness of it all and drove your heart rate higher. He was so fucking hard you could feel the pulse of his cock slamming against your deepest spot, tearing you apart with pleasure in an intense friction that made you lose your mind.

Joel grabbed your hands, interlocking his fingers tightly with yours against the pillows, using you as an anchor to drive the pace even faster. He was losing it right along with you, driving into you as if he were trying to brand you forever—no, he had already done that, so deeply that even now, fifteen years later, you were still a fool for him.

He squeezed your trapped hands while keeping up the frantic pace, the relentless impact of his hips against yours unyielding. He was completely surrendered to the desperation, searching for you at your very core. And you were already there, right at the bottom.

Then, Joel let go of one of your hands. That sudden freedom let you react; you whipped your arm up, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck to drag him down. You sought his mouth, trapping his lips in a desperate kiss that he met instantly, and a muffled groan vibrated in your throat. And in that exact heartbeat, something in the air shifted.

Joel’s wild, frantic thrusts began to lose their frantic speed, but none of their intensity. His movements grew heavier, deeply concentrated and profound, stripping away the raw animal haste to make way for absolute surrender. The rhythm transformed into an overwhelmingly intimate friction; each time his body sank into yours, he did so with an agonizing drag, holding himself deep inside you for an eternal second before pulling back just enough to drive right back in.

He stared dead into your eyes through the dimness of the room, his heavy breath crashing against your cheeks, searching for your gaze. His free hand came up to your face, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb while he penetrated you with a gentleness that made you arch your back, completely defenseless against him. You felt every single inch of his cock sliding inside you, hot and massive, filling not just your body, but every empty corner you had kept guarded during these two years.

And his body was so close to yours that you could feel the frantic hammering of his heart melting right into your own. Your moans shifted, turning from unhinged cries into quiet, breathless sobs of pure pleasure and relief.

The tension began to build in your belly in an unbearable way, a burning tide tightening your muscles from the inside out. Joel noticed; he felt you start to spasm and contract around his cock, trapping him in a hot soaking fist.

"That's it, baby... let it go," he murmured, licking your neck.

You couldn't hold it back any longer. Your hips lifted in one final unconscious spasm and your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike, making you shudder from head to toe as your inner walls squeezed around his shaft in violent, delicious waves. Joel let out a low, animal grunt, completely broken by the tight pressure of your climax.

Stripping away any remaining gentleness, he buried himself inside you one last few times with brutal thrusts, sinking right to the root, and froze there. His body went completely rigid, the muscles in his arms and back locking up like stone as he tore a raspy groan right against your ear.

Instantly, you felt the thick scalding jets of his come blasting inside of you, filling you to the brim and overflowing from your soaking pussy as he came with a force that left him shuddering violently on top of you.

Joel collapsed over you, letting his weight settle onto your body without crushing you, his breath ragged and his face buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Neither of you moved; he stayed buried inside you, softening but still pulsing, as the silence of the room settled back in, broken only by your exhausted gasps and the distant echo of the ocean outside the window.

There was no going back now.

______________________________________________________

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He was lying face down, his cheek resting against your chest just beneath your collarbone. His arm draped heavily over your ribs and the rest of his body followed that same diagonal line as yours.

You shifted slightly, extending your legs and reaching both arms over your head, but you had no intention of moving further; you were far too cozy. Joel’s weight was a welcome pressure and his body heat radiated like a furnace. He was wearing nothing but his pajama pants, leaving nothing but bare skin against you, while you remained covered in his shirt.

After one last stretch, you lowered your left hand to his back, letting it rest there for a moment. You leaned into him, just a fraction, and finally allowed your fingers to climb toward the nape of his neck, disappearing into his hair. Joel didn't stir in the slightest; he was out like a light.

Without a second thought, you hugged him, letting your chin rest on the crown of his head. Even with your mind still foggy, you knew the feeling washing over you was overwhelming; he was in your arms, alive.

No. Don't think about that.

You pushed the thought aside and let your breathing sync with his, surrendering to a long while of drifting in and out of sleep as the sunlight through the window climbed higher and higher.

Sometime later.

At some point in the middle of your idyllic dream, Joel climbed out of bed. You noticed immediately because, obviously, his weight disappeared from on top of you and suddenly you felt far too exposed.

Half asleep, you heard him shuffle to the bathroom; the toilet flushing, water running from the sink, and then, a couple minutes later, he was back beside you. He slipped under the sheets and blankets and, with one rough tug, hauled you against him again. You stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, but you could only hold out for so long.

You seriously, seriously had to pee.

You shifted a little, trying to pry yourself loose; Joel pulled you right back against him. A quiet laugh slipped out of you.

Again, you started wriggling away.

“What’re you doing? Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he mumbled. His voice was low and gravelly with sleep and his eyes still completely shut.

“Gotta use the bathroom,” you whispered through a laugh.

Without another word, he let go of your waist, and you pushed the blankets off yourself too.

Oh, it was cold. The air wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been a week ago, and the floor beneath your feet felt freezing. That, and the fact that you were barely dressed. Your legs were completely bare, every inch of your skin prickling from the temperature.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered as you shut the bathroom door behind you. Sleep was making the cold feel twice as bad.

You rushed through everything as fast as possible, washing your hands and splashing warm water on your face afterward.

Jesus, your hair was a disaster. You fixed it as best you could with your fingers while staring into Joel’s tiny mirror, and the second you were done, you hurried back out.

On your tiptoes, you rushed back to bed and practically launched yourself onto him.

“It’s so freaking cold,” you whispered as you crawled beneath the blankets again, pressing your chest against his, sprawled on top of him.

Joel wrapped both his arms and half the blanket around you. The warmth of his chest seeped into yours almost instantly.

A sudden rush of happiness climbed from your stomach to your chest and burst right beneath your collarbone; you slid your hands along the sides of his head and pressed your lips to his jaw. You scattered little kisses there, trailing them up his cheek, then just beside the corner of his mouth.

His lips pulled into a smile that you kissed too.

“Gettin’ warm?” he asked, tightening his arms around you as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. On the way there, he hooked a finger under the elastic of your underwear.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

You kissed him again, but this time it was slower and deeper. Gradually, your right hand cupped his jaw, your thumb pressing against his chin and tipping it down, coaxing his mouth open wider for you.

You slid your tongue slowly into his mouth, grazing his lower lip with a lingering stroke before deepening the kiss; the lower part of your belly tingled at the taste. The sound that left him was a low soft moan.

The shift in Joel was instantaneous. His breathing hitched and his grip tightened until there was no space left between you. One of his hands slid down from your waist and his palm squeezed your hip, then moved lower to cup your ass. And driven by pure instinct, you shifted too, parting your legs to hook them around his hips.

You pressed yourself firmly against the lower part of his stomach, seeking more friction, and the contact drew another ragged breath from his lungs. Every point where your bodies met felt like it was suddenly sparking to life. Every point, wich basically was… every part of your body.

Your tongue keep exploring the heat of his mouth, sweeping against his in a slow, languid dance. He met you with the same unhurried hunger, his tongue tangling with yours as he tasted you deeply, because there was no rush, no world outside the four walls of this room; no one waiting for you, no one needing you, no looming shadow of duty. In the quiet safety of this room, the only urgency that existed was the pull of your own skin.

The kiss remained sensual and low, a long drawn out luxury you were totally entitled to.

Then, you pulled back just enough to graze your teeth against the soft swell of his lower lip, nipping it once, softly. The small bite broke his composure.

Joel’s breath hitched, and he brought his other hand down, both palms now heavy and big and commanding as they anchored to your ass. He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth. And with a possessive grunt, he hitched you higher, dragging your body down against his as he ground his hips upward. The movement was precise, so precise, pressing exactly where you needed it most.

As he pulled you flush against him, you felt it; the unmistakable, rock hard weight of his erection through the soft fabric of his pajamas, pressing big and hot right against your center. The friction was enough to turn your knees weak even as you clung to his shoulders and the mattress under him.

You began to shift against him, a slow and rhythmic glide up and down, grazing yourself against his hard cock through the thin cotton. But you didn't break the kiss; you were too desperate to drink in the sound of the ragged groans catching in his throat.

Your body felt like it was nearing a boiling point. Skin to skin and heart to heart, your pulse was thundering in your ears; frantic, heavy and delicious beat that matched the insistent aching throb between your legs.

Joel’s hands abandoned his grip on your hips then, reaching up to fist the hem of the oversized shirt. He began to bunch the fabric upward as you straightened, sitting up to give him access and raising your arms to help him pull it off. He tossed the shirt blindly to the side, leaving you bared to him, wearing nothing but your underwear.

Suddenly, the cool morning air hit your skin, sending a visible shiver through you as your nipples peaked and goosebumps blossomed across your chest. But the chill was short lived; Joel’s hands were immediately back on you, his warm palms searingly hot as they settled on your waist.

You remained seated over him, looking down as you resumed that torturous, slow movement.

From this vantage point, you felt a surge of pure unfiltered power. What a beautiful sight Joel was, a beautiful wreck beneath you; his salt and pepper hair disheveled against the pillow, his cheeks flushed a deep, rugged red, and his eyes... they were blown wide, dark and glittering like black diamonds in the night. And scattered across his cheeks, forehead, chin, and chest, the cuts and bruises remained vividly visible as a reminder of just how fragile he could be. But not right now, not under your hand.

It was a feeling nearly impossible to put into words. You had never known yourself to be capable of this kind of intensity, or this kind of hunger. With him, and only with him, you felt like a version of yourself you’d never met before. A reclamation of your own body. It wasn't just lust; it was a vivid, electric sense of being alive, a hunger for life that burned brighter than the morning sun creeping across the floor.

You kept moving your hips, and even through the layers of fabric, his cock felt massive; a hard and pulsing weight that throbbed in perfect sync with the wet heat between your legs.

You leaned in, pressing your palms against the broad expanse of his chest, being mindful to keep your fingers away from the dark bruises on his skin. He was burning up, his body like a furnace radiating a heat that seemed to melt you so easily.

As you angled your body over him, Joel let out a wrecked sound and one of his hands traveled upward, his calloused palm sliding over the curve of your ribcage until it found your breast. He traced the swell before settling his thumb over your peaking nipple, rolling it with agonizing pressure until your back arched.

A broken moan escaped you, but he didn't let it fade. His hand drifted higher, until his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat for a fleeting second, just enough to feel the vibration of your next gasp, before his thumb pressed into the center of your jaw, coaxing your mouth open.

He slid his thumb inside, past your teeth, and you took him in without hesitation. You swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the heat of his touch, all while your hips never stopped their desperate move against him.

Looking down at him through hooded eyes, you watched the way his expression fractured into desperate need as you sucked on him. And then, he slowly withdrew his thumb, replacing it with his index finger. You took it into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around it until he slid his middle finger too; you sucked on them greedily, letting the wet, slick sounds filling the space between your heavy breaths.

Just after a few moments of watching you, he pulled his glistening fingers from your lips. He didn't let the moisture go to waste; he dragged his damp fingers down the length of your throat, then over the swell of your breasts, the cool air hitting the wet trails he left behind. His hands eventually settled on your hips, digging in with a possessive strength that anchored you to him.

"You're so beautiful," he rasped. "Just perfect."

A deep blush crept up your neck as you smiled down at him, but the sweetness of the moment shifted into something more commanding as he began to nudge your hips upward, sliding you further up his body toward his chest.

"Grab the headboard," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, eyes locked on his as you reached to grip the wood of the bedframe. Joel adjusted you, dragging your body exactly where he wanted you, before he shifted himself downward until you were positioned right above his face.

"Joel," you whispered, letting out a shy breathless nervous little laugh. "Whare are you doing?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in to press lingering, warm kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down firmly, silently demanding that you sit heavier against him. Then, he reached for the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers into the lace and sliding them to the side until you were completely bared to him.

Joel went still for a moment, his gaze intense as he took in the sight of you, wet and swollen just for him.

"Perfect," he murmured, his breath hitching as he stared. "Look at you... look how ready you are for me."

The sound of his voice sent a jolt straight to you. You could feel the warmth of his exhales puffing against your folds, making you ache.

You lowered one hand from the headboard and brushed the curls off his forehead.

“Just for you,” you whispered softly. “Only for you.”

Joel went still for a few seconds, his eyes locked on your face. Gently, he turned his head and pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. Your hand sank a little deeper into his curls, feeling the anticipation build as his mouth moved closer and closer to where you needed him most.

And then, finally, Joel leaned forward and let his tongue touch you. It was a slow, agonizingly long stroke from the bottom to the very top. He started at a crawl, tasting you with a flat tongued pressure that made your hips buck instinctively. He followed the line of your body, swirling his tongue around your clit with a gentle teasing flick before burying his face against you to drink in the taste of you. Every lap was steady and unhurried, a masterpiece of patience that had you whimpering his name into the quiet morning air within seconds.

But he didn’t break the rhythm. If anything, your soft and broken whimpers only anchored him deeper between your thighs. His tongue continued its steady kiss, flattening against you to drag another slow soaking stroke from bottom to top.

You couldn't stay still. Your hips began to roll in a slow, desperate circle against his face, chasing the pressure of his mouth and trying to sink yourself fully onto him. And the moment you moved, Joel’s warm hands slid down from your hips, cupping the meat of your ass. His fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive soft grip, pinning you down and silently forcing you to take every bit of it.

It was dirty, the slick heavy sounds of his mouth eating you, but there was an overwhelming tenderness to the way he was doing it. His mouth was so hot, so incredibly wet; he swirled his tongue right over your swollen clit with a teasing flick that made your entire body shudder against his face.

"Joel—" your voice broke, a strained sound as your fingers white knuckled around the wooden headboard behind you.

He let out a low vibration of a growl against you and his thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, lifting your hips slightly just to angle you better for his tongue. He began to lap at you faster now, his patience clearly fracturing into something a little more desperate as he drank you in.

The heat inside you was coiling tight, pulling into a heavy ache right where his mouth was working. You were so close; the friction of his flat tongue and the hot puffs of his breath against your folds were pushing you straight over the edge. Instinctively, your spine snapped taut as you leaned back, your head falling back as your neck strained. One of your hands pressed against his stomach to steady yourself, your fingers splaying as the first waves of the climax began to tighten violently around your core, leaving you completely at the mercy of his mouth.

The moment you broke, you broke completely. You clamped down in violent, desperate pulses against his mouth, a sharp, choked cry tearing from your throat as you rode the peak. Your hand buried hard into his stomach, your fingers digging in as your hips bucked helplessly into his face, forcing him to take the thick, soaking heat of your climax. Joel didn't pull away; he held you there with that bruising grip on your ass, drinking you in, his tongue catching every heavy tremor until the ripples finally began to slow.

Your chest heaved, every breath a ragged, costly struggle that rattled in your throat. Slowly, the possessive tension in his hands softened. He let out a low, satisfied exhale against your wet skin, pressing one last, lingering kiss right over your swollen center to seal his work, before sliding his lips to your inner thigh. You shifted your hips back, letting out a weak whimper as the cool air hit the slick trail he left behind.

His large hands began a slow soothing path, stroking up and down the length of your trembling legs, before sliding over your hips to rest heavily at your waist. Joel tilted his head back against the mattress, wearing a breathless smirk on his lips as he looked up at you.

"You okay, honey?" he rasped, his voice rough and incredibly deep.

You managed a breathless smile, your hand leaving his stomach to wipe at your flushed cheek.

"Give me a second," you whispered, feeling your poor little heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs.

Joel let out a soft chuckle and you felt the sound against your thighs.

You bit your lip, tilting your head back for a moment as you tried to catch your breath, before carefully shifting your weight. You slid your knees backward, moving off his chest and unstraddling his face.

That’s when your eyes fell on his lap.

Even through the soft fabric of his pajama pants, his cock was tenting the material so fiercely it looked ridiculous. It was massive, a thick rigid ridge pointing straight up toward his torso.

A purring sound escaped you. Crawling back up his body, you leaned over him, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hand drifted down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing a path down his flat stomach until your palm cupped the hard length of him right through the cloth.

"And are you okay, Mr. Miller?" you whispered against his wet lips, your fingers tightening around the thick shaft.

Joel's thighs parted instinctively at your touch and a low hiss escaped his teeth.

"Take everything off," you commanded.

Without wasting a single second, Joel pushed himself up onto his elbows. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pajamas and dragged them down his long legs, kicking them off the edge of the bed. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He fell back against the pillows, completely bare, his chest rising and falling as you sat back on your heels and your gaze traced every inch of him.

Hooking your fingers into the lace of your underwear, you slid them down your thighs and tossed them carelessly to the floor before immediately moving over him again, knees framing his hips.

Looking down at him, you pooled a thick layer of saliva into your palm and shifted your hips slightly back to give yourself room, and wrapped your wet hand around the heavy head of his cock. You smeared the slick moisture over the crown before sliding your palm all the way down to the base.

Oh god.

He was stone hard, his shaft scorching hot and silky smooth under your wet grip. Along the side, a thick vein throbbed violently against your palm, pulsing with his heartbeat. You began to slowly stroke him, wearing a friction that coated his entire length in your spit, while you leaned slightly forward, teasingly rubbing him right against your soaking wet folds.

Joel’s eyes snapped shut and his head slammed back into the pillow; a deep groan ripped from the center of his chest, his jaw straining as your hand and your body drove him crazy.

Seeing him completely undone brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew he was fighting with all his might not to grab you by the hips and sink into you right then and there. So while he stayed there, eyes closed and at your mercy, you guided his cock to your opening. You tilted your hips forward, aligning him perfectly, and began to sink down.

Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

The sensation was so full of him, so intensely sweet, it made your vision blur. He stretched you completely wide, breaking you open millimeter by millimeter as you swallowed him inches at a time. Every internal muscle you had coiled up tight, wrapping around his thick pulsing width like a glove, gripping him impossibly close as you took him all the way in.

You froze, adjusting to the sheer size of him stretching you open from the inside, plugging you so completely that there wasn’t a single millimeter of empty space left between you. Joel let out a heavy, bottomless groan that seemed to echo from the pit of his stomach, his chest expanding as he took a ragged breath. And a long relieved sigh slipped past your lips; you leaned slightly forward, fixing your gaze on his face.

That was when his eyelids fluttered open and his dark eyes locked onto yours. Your expression instantly softened and your eyes filled with sugar and honey; unfiltered devotion as you took him in. His cheeks were flushed with heat, and his gaze was beautifully weighed down by the lingering remnants of the night; his eyelids were just a little heavy and swollen from sleep. His peppered hair was ruined, exploding in messy and wild peaks, little chaotic horns pointing in every direction where your fingers had gripped and tugged at the curls only minutes before.

And then, he smiled. His hands slid up from the mattress, tenderly stroking the curves of your hips and the smooth skin of your thighs. You smoothed your palms flat against his chest, caressing the warm skin as you began to lower your torso toward him, letting your hands slide up his chest until they wrapped around his shoulders. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

The moment your mouths met, Joel wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him with a squeeze at your waist. And then, he began to move.

He tilted his hips up, sliding out of you with agonizing slowness; he held himself there, teasing you for a suspended heartbeat, and then buried himself back inside you with one single, deep thrust.

You let out a muffled whimper straight into his mouth.

He pulled back again, dragging his cock nearly all the way out; paused for a agonizing second, and then rammed back in another sudden, deep thrust.

Another broken cry escaped you, but this time, the torturous pace was too much to bear.

Impatient and burning for a steady rhythm, you broke the kiss and pushed yourself up. Arching your spine, you planted your palms against Joel’s chest for leverage and took control.

You began to roll your hips in a slow tilt, rising up and sinking back down, feeling every ridge of him slide out and slide back in, filling you to the brim only to empty you again, over and over. But the slow torture was suffocating; the sheer hunger and raw need for more overtook you almost instantly.

Your pace quickened, your movements growing deeper, the friction escalating rapidly until the wet hard strike of your thighs crashing against his skin sounded loud and scandalous in the quiet room. Joel’s hands immediately clamped onto your ass, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips to help anchor your new found rhythm.

You looked down and completely melted into his gaze; his pupils had blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black, glittering with intense unvarnished lust, while a dark sudden flush crept rapidly up his neck and across his face.

Behind his head, the wooden headboard began to rattle, thudding against the wall with every frantic downstroke.

Overwhelmed by the sensation of him bottoming out inside you, you let your eyelids slide shut, throwing your head back into the morning air as you rode him.

Your hands stayed locked onto his chest, your fingers digging into his warm skin as you kept setting the pace, driving yourself down onto him with unyielding hunger. You were entirely in control, riding him with a desperate rhythm that had your head spinning from the delicious heat radiating from your core. Every single stroke was pure pleasure, a throbbing sensation that started deep between your thighs and rushed like wildfire all the way up your spine, leaving your skin tingling and your senses completely overwhelmed.

Joel was losing his mind beneath you too. His large hands clamped onto your hips, his thumbs digging into the bone to steady you, but he couldn't keep still. His hips began to roll upward, bucking his groin against yours with every stroke, using his own strength to shove his massive length as deep as it could go so you wouldn't have to work as hard for that agonizing depth.

"Ah... fuck," he whispered, a broken curse slipping past his lips. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his face strained, his neck completely flushed as he looked up at you through those beautiful eyes.

You looked straight down at him from your height, your chest heaving, refusing to break eye contact even as a ragged whimper tore from your throat. Joel stared back, his teeth grinding together.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper that was dripping with an overwhelming sweetness. "Taking every single inch... such a good girl. Ride it, baby, take whatever you want from me."

The adoring words sent a shiver through you, but before you could even gasp out his name, Joel’s right hand flew up from your hip.

Crack.

The sound of his palm striking the meat of your ass was loud and sharp in the quiet room.

A loud, shocked gasp ripped from your lungs, your hips freezing for a split second as the sudden, stinging heat of the slap bloomed across your skin. It didn't hurt; it was a delicious possessive claim that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up your back, making your interior muscles squeeze around him in a tight desperate clench.

Joel’s eyes flared, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt you react. He immediately brought his hand down again, landing another stinging slap on the other cheek.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he growled. He squeezed your hips tight, tilting you perfectly before his hips bucked upward once more, burying himself to the absolute root. "Keep going, don't stop, just…"

"Joel, oh my God—please."

You leaned down, your face just inches from his. The stinging heat on your ass and the thick stretch inside you made you completely shameless.

"Look at what you do to me," you whimpered, right against his lips as you ground your hips down. "You're fucking me so good, Joel, I’m so full of you."

The effect was instantaneous; a deep crimson rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks as a tight, guttural sound ripped from his chest. His hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising desperate strength, and driven by his reaction, you shifted your weight, changing the angle. Instead of just the steady up and down, you began to move your hips forward and backward, sliding your slick warmth right against his root. The friction was so intense, so devastatingly good, that your eyes rolled back under your hooded lids.

Your body was boiling, sweat slicked and heavy, and you could feel him hitting every sensitive, swollen internal muscle with a terrifying precision.

"Tell me how it feels," Joel rasped, his voice breaking as he bucked his hips upward to meet your grinding slide, shoving himself deeper. "Let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you take it."

"It's too much," you cried out, your voice fracturing into a desperate sob as you quickened the pace. "It feels so good, Joel... you feel so good."

"Yeah? You gonna come for me?"

You nodded.

He squeezed your hip, releasing your skin for a fleeting second before another sharp slap landed against your ass. A devastating desolate moan tore from your throat.

"Use your words, c'mon," he rasped, weak. "Let me hear it from that pretty mouth."

The headboard began to crash with violent erratic thuds against the wall as your movements turned frantic. Joel’s thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, helping you rock against him, his teeth bared as his own breath rattled in his chest.

"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasped out desperately, your eyes snapping shut as a single bead of sweat rolled down the valley of your breasts.

Your fingers balled into tight fists against his chest, your nails instinctively scratching deep into his warm skin as the tension coiled into an intolerable knot. A moan tore from the absolute depths of your throat as the climax finally broke over you; your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling so violently that your rhythm shattered completely, leaving you helplessly riding the explosive waves.

As your strength gave out, you fell forward onto his chest like dead weight, your chest heaving against his. But Joel didn't let you rest. His grip on your ass never loosened; he simply took the control you could no longer maintain.

Shoving his hips up with a raw, relentless hunger, he began to move your limp trembling body to his own liking; driving you up and down his thick cock while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, letting out helpless, broken whimpers and wet sobs against his heated skin.

He was moving you however he wanted, penetrating you hard and incredibly deep, his own breathing fracturing as his groans grew louder, sounding more and more desperate with every heavy thrust that bottomed out inside your soaking warmth.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned into your skin, as he felt your interior muscles pulsing around him in the aftershock. "You're squeezing me to death, baby... I'm right there."

Desperate for the taste of him, you forced your torso up just enough to find his mouth, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. Joel met you instantly, his hands sliding up your back, wrapping his heavy arms around you with crushing strength to lock you tight against his chest. He was fucking you like an animal now, his hips snapping upward in a fast, brutal way that had you gasping for air against his tongue.

You wanted it so badly—you wanted him to fill you completely to the brim, to release everything inside you and feel his thick cock pulsing against your interior walls as he came, wanting him to stay buried deep inside you long after it was over.

But the explosion caught Joel by surprise.

Just as he reached his peak, a rough almost pained groan ripped from his throat. He abruptly tore his mouth from yours, his eyes flying wide with a wild dark light, and before you could even realize what was happening, his hands flew down to your hips, his fingers dig in with an iron grip, and he lifted your body up and off him.

His thick cock snapped out of your tight cunt just as he broke.

"Fuck—!" Joel choked out.

Without the tight seal of your body, his release shot high and heavy thick white ropes splattering across the lower part of your thighs. He stayed frozen beneath you for a few seconds, his chest heaving violently, his hands still trembling where they held your hips.

Your eyes scanned his entire face; his closed eyelids, flushed cheeks, lips swollen from your kisses, and the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin.

You reached a hand to his cheek, holding him still just long enough to press a kiss against his jawline. Smiling softly as he blinked his eyes open and locked them onto yours, you spoke.

"You okay, honey?"

Joel huffed a laugh, his hand sliding up your back. His palm was sweaty, matching the curve of your spine and likely the rest of your bodies. It was a gorgeous disaster.

You rested your head in the notch of his neck.

The heat in your body lingered for about ten more minutes. While Joel got out of bed to grab something to clean you up, you lay face down in the open air, feeling the sun on your skin. It was warm and comfortable, lying there naked in the sunlight on top of his sheets, but the moment your body temperature began to drop back to normal, the chill returned.

Your body was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but at the same time, you felt sweaty and sticky. That was why, when Joel came back and climbed into bed with you, you resisted a little as he tried to pull you back under the covers.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Can I take a shower?"

He gave a lopsided smile, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He stretched his arms over his head and rested one hand against his forehead. "Sure. Right now?"

"I won't be long," you said, starting to get out of bed. You felt a sudden wave of shyness being completely exposed, so you yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around your body.

Joel laughed. "Hey, what're you doin'?"

Walking toward the bathroom, you looked back at him. "I'm naked!"

"Nothin' I haven't seen before, from every angle."

You pressed your palm against the door and started to push it open, but not before looking back at him one last time.

"Yeah, through the lens of lust!"

You rolled your eyes and stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold floor beneath your bare feet. Unwrapping the sheet from your body, you carefully folded it in half and hung it on the hook behind the door. Then, you leaned half your body into the shower to turn on the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature to take the chill out of your hands and feet.

Once you were fully inside with the hot water cascading over your head, you let your sore muscles relax. Your thighs and hips burned a little, and your abs felt pretty tender too. That was a hell of a workout you’d just had with Joel; you knew it was going to hurt a bit more in a few hours.

You washed up at your own pace, cleaning your neck, legs, thighs, back, arms, shoulders and everything. You ran your fingers through your hair and over your scalp, breathing in the scent of the shampoo you always smelled on him. You were just washing your face when the bathroom door opened.

You heard a few short steps approaching the shower, and a second later, the curtain was drawn back.

Joel’s face appeared through the steam. "Need a shower too."

You smiled. "Okay, come on in. I was just about to get out."

He slid the curtain open further and stepped carefully onto the wet floor. Moving forward, he walked right under the stream of water, trapping you against the wall. The cool metal handles pressed softly against the skin of your lower back.

Joel looked down and closed his eyes, water dripping from the wet strands of hair on his forehead straight onto your face. He shook his head, sending a spray of droplets over you.

Laughing, you lifted both hands and placed them over his brow. He smiled, and for a split second, you swore he looked completely different; a light transparent smile that brightened his entire face appeared on his lips. But a second later, your focus shifted to the bruises on his cheek, the cut on his forehead, and down toward his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Joel had plenty of old scars there, but your eyes lingered on the fresh bruises, the scrapes along his ribs. It looked like it had to hurt.

Carefully, you reached out and grabbed the soap and the soft sponge next to it, working it between your hands until you had a good lather before you began to clean and massage his shoulders.

"You know," you started, running your palms over his collarbones, "if you wanted to shower with me, all you had to do was ask."

Joel closed his eyes. "Was fallin' asleep. But I got cold cause you stole my sheet."

"What about your comforter?"

"It's on the floor. But I was cold, and I heard the water, and I got tempted."

You moved your hands down his stomach.

"Mhm. Your skin is really soft."

Joel’s hands settled on your waist. "You think so?"

"Yeah. Which is funny," you said, gently touching just below his ribs, "because you wouldn't think so. Your hands are rough, but everywhere else is soft."

He opened his eyes. "They feel rough when I touch you?"

"Not really. They just feel… warm."

"Hmm."

Your hand settled over the bruise on his ribs. For a second, you remembered sinking your fingers into that exact spot just a few minutes ago.

"Does it hurt a lot? Did it hurt earlier?"

Joel shook his head. "Didn't feel it then. But it hurts now, that's for sure."

You crinkled your nose. "I'm sorry."

"No, ain't your fault. It's been hurtin' since before. Always hurts worse after the body relaxes."

"That's true," you said, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders. "You know what? I'm gonna go grab those oils I brought you. When you get out, I'll give you a massage."

Carefully, you nudged Joel aside a bit and squeezed past him. He turned toward you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he let the hot water wash down his back.

He sighed. "You're gonna turn me into a puddle."

Smiling and feeling a sudden wave of tenderness for how exhausted he looked, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him for just a moment, pressing a delicate fleeting kiss to his chest. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck, his thumb resting just under your jawline to tilt your face up. There, beneath the falling water, he gave you a brief kiss on the lips.

A minute later, you reluctantly stepped out of the hot shower. But it had to be done. You knew that if you stayed in there with Joel, you’d both end up leaving the bathroom at the same time, and by the time you finished getting dressed, he’d already be completely passed out on the mattress.

You found the t-shirt of his you’d slept in tossed to the side of the bed, along with your underwear, and changed while you listened to the shower still running. After drying your hair the best you could, you slipped back into the bathroom to run a comb through it. Joel was just stepping out of the shower as you headed downstairs.

The morning sun was pouring bright through the kitchen windows, and the early air carried that delicious fresh scent you loved. You took in the view through the glass for a quiet moment before grabbing the oils, then poured yourself a massive glass of water, drinking it down as if you’d spent days stranded in a desert. You poured a fresh glass for Joel and made your way back upstairs.

When you walked into the bedroom, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his pajama pants. He’d gone ahead and changed the sheets for clean ones, and the comforter was no longer crumpled on the floor.

"Here," you said, holding the glass of water out to him.

He took it immediately, murmuring a soft "'Thank you" before draining the whole thing.

"You ready?"

He furrowed his brow. "For what?"

You smiled, climbing onto the mattress. "Lay down."

He eased himself down onto his back, and you settled in right beside him. Opening the small bottle of heartleaf arnica oil, you poured a tiny amount into the palm of your hand.

"Just a little bit of this, you'll see," you murmured, rubbing your palms together to warm it up. "You're gonna feel much better."

You gently began to work the oil into the bruised and battered parts of his chest and ribs, taking extra care around a few open scratches. You kept your touch light near those spots, massaging the skin around the scrapes to make sure you didn't press on anything that might sting. Joel let out a sharp breath just once, right as your hand passed near his breastbone. When you paused to ask if he was okay, he muttered:

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."

You smoothed your flat palm over the spot, barely applying any pressure at all.

"Okay, roll over."

He complied right away, letting out a soft groan as he turned over. You repeated the whole routine, pouring a bit more oil into your palms and working your way across his entire back, focusing heavily on his lower lumbar area. You’d noticed that was the spot he reached for most often whenever he sat down or moved a certain way; a familiar ache you felt yourself from time to time. And as you worked out the tension, you knew you were doing something right; Joel was making soft relaxed sounds he probably didn't even realize he was letting slip.

Next, you focused on his shoulder blades and shoulders, applying a bit of steady pressure with your thumbs. That was right when you caught the first faint sound of him snoring. Your movements softened into a light soothing touch, until you finally decided he was out for the count and that you were getting pretty sleepy yourself.

You tucked the bottle of oil back into its small pouch and left it on the nightstand, where the little clock caught your eye: 8:23 AM.

So many more hours left to sleep. You had absolutely nothing to do all morning but rest, and Joel’s bed looked so incredibly comfortable and warm, like a field of clouds.

You snuggled in right beside him, pulling the covers up over both of your bodies. Stretching your arms up over your head, you let out a long yawn, and a minute later, you drifted peacefully back to sleep: utterly exhausted, perfectly comfortable, and completely relaxed.

Still morning, close to noon.

It was a place you didn't recognize. Cold, with tall dark canopied trees that blotted out the meager light in the pale grayish sky. Ruins surrounded you; broken walls eaten away by a pervasive dampness that claimed everything, with green moldy vines bleeding into the old cracks.

Your heart hammered violently as your legs moved with frantic speed, trying not to trip over the clutter covering the ground. Rubble, branches, old trinkets, and fragments of machinery that looked like computers or something similar; you couldn't fully tell. You didn't really know what to do, only that you had to run and run and run, because something terrible was happening.

You could feel that sensation in your chest, that painful hollow that nothing can fill once it's already too late. Your bare arms were freezing, just like your cold neck and cheeks. Your entire body felt numb, and no matter how hard you ran and ran, you couldn't seem to make headway fast enough.

No, just the opposite. Your body could barely move, and you wanted to scream with all your might. But you couldn't stop, because you could hear it the entire time: thuds, noises, voices laughing and suffering. Louder and louder and louder, your legs straining until every muscle synthetic ached, until your body plunged forward and your palms struck the splintered ground.

You scrambled up, getting back on your feet however you could, and plunged into the dark room where the sounds and noise were coming from. A hallway to the right; you ran more, and more, and more, and more into the pitch black, letting yourself be guided solely by the small rings of light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, until at the very end of the hall, your aching bloody hands slammed open the door and—

"No!"

A gut-wrenching scream tore from your throat like dozens of thorns piercing you from the inside out.

Men —so many men, you couldn't tell how many, only that there were man— filled the room, their faces hidden behind black cloth, and right in the middle of them lay Joel, unconscious.

No, not unconscious. Dead. His face was covered in blood, his clothes soaked through with it, and a massive wound tore through the flesh of his neck. Beneath him, a pool of blood expanded outward, swallowing up more and more of the old wooden floor, quickly reaching all the way to your feet.

You fell backward, unable to stand, and the pooling blood reached your scraped palms, his blood mixing with yours inside your trembling fists.

"No, no, no, no… Joel …" your shaky voice repeated, trying to get a better look at him, trying to reach him, but your knees kept slipping, and so did your hands and elbows. You couldn't…

You couldn't.

"Hey, hey, wake up."

A hand nudged your shoulder, rolling you over at the exact moment your eyes flew open and locked onto the ceiling.

"Hey, you're okay. You're okay."

You snapped your head toward him. Joel was sitting up, leaning his body over yours, his hand resting gently against your cheek.

You were in his room.

"Joel."

"It's okay. Breathe."

A shaky breath hitched in your throat. Your cheeks were soaked, and your chest physically ached.

He lay back down beside you and pulled you close. You buried your face into the notch of his neck, clinging to his body like a frightened helpless creature while a few lingering tears continued to track silently down your cheeks.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"What happened?" he murmured, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to talk about it.

Your hand drifted up his chest. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."

He squeezed you a little tighter against him. "You said my name. Scared me, thought it was somethin' else."

You opened your eyes and tilted your head back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't go apologizin'. It's okay."

You tucked your face back into the notch of his neck, feeling your heart still hammering away, erratic and loud against your ribs.

"What time is it?" you asked.

He shifted slightly to check the clock, then quickly settled right back into place.

"Ten to eleven."

"Mhm. We should get up."

"You hungry?"

You nodded. "Starving. You?"

"My stomach was growlin' a little bit ago."

You let out a soft laugh, noticing how the sunlight was no longer focused right on the bed, but had spread out to wash evenly over the entire room.

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Five more minutes. How's that sound?"

You pursed your lips. "Sounds good to me."

Joel's kitchen. Noon & afternoon.

Concerned that you’d get cold wearing nothing but a t-shirt, Joel insisted you put on a pair of pajama pants from his closet. They were huge, but they had a drawstring at the waist that let you tie them tight enough to fit. Then, he handed you a fresh warm pair of cotton socks.

Today was noticeably colder than yesterday. You could feel a crisp breeze drifting through the open kitchen window while he made breakfast (or was it lunch?) and you sipped a hot cup of coffee, sketching out a list of prep work for school. Joel was frying up bacon and scrambling eggs, having just dropped some bread into the toaster less than a minute ago. The kitchen smelled incredible.

On the notepad resting on the kitchen island, you had a brief breakdown of the material for the first few weeks, along with your reading plan and curriculum for the kids.

Classic fables. The Jackson library and the homes of a few townspeople held a solid collection of all kinds of stories, mostly the foundational ones. You figured it was the perfect starting point for the first group, who were right around five to seven years old. They had been born entirely into a different world, and you believed literature could provide a safe haven for them; a good way to spark their imaginations and give them the words to express them.

The morals could be incredibly useful, too. Lessons on survival, cooperation, cleverness, and above all, fear. As a community, Jackson felt like a safe place, but these kids had fear woven right into their DNA. Many of them had witnessed terrible things before arriving here, and many others had never set foot outside the walls. Fear was deeply rooted in both perspectives.

"And what're you gonna do about the books? Ain't exactly a lot of copies lyin' around," Joel asked, looking over at you for a moment as he pulled the toast from the toaster.

"Well, some of them don't know how to read yet. I'll read aloud to them. It's great for building listening skills," you smiled, "and really fun too. And if the stories aren't too long, we can make handwritten copies. I already talked to a couple of people who volunteered to help transcribe."

"That's great," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah. What about you? Would you like to help?"

Joel looked up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Uh… I—I mean, sure. My handwriting's awful, though."

"That's not true. You have nice handwriting, it's perfectly legible."

"You think so?"

"I do. Besides, the copies need to be written in block capital letters," you said, looking down at your notepad to jot something else down. "I was also thinking it would be a cute idea if every kid brought in an object, and we came up with a story for each one. What do you think? Think that'd be fun?"

"Somethin' like, if a kid brings in a teddy bear, you make up a story for it?"

You nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. "That'd be fun. Mostly 'cause I imagine they're gonna show up with all kinds of strange objects."

You laughed. "Yeah, just imagine the possibilities."

Joel began removing the bacon from the skillet, placing it on each plate alongside the eggs, before grabbing another dish for the toast.

"And what about the older kids?" he asked, setting one plate down in front of you and the other right beside it. You murmured a soft Thank you. "Fables for them, too?"

"Oh, no. I have much bigger plans for the older kids," you said, raising your eyebrows.

Joel gave a lopsided smile and went to grab the toast, placing it in the center of the island before turning toward the fridge. "Is that so? Like what?"

A spark of excitement flared in your chest. While you were looking forward to working with the little ones, you knew the pre-teens and teenagers in Jackson were going to make for a much more interesting group when it came to discussions and deeper perspectives.

"Well, we're gonna read books too, but I was thinking it'd be a great idea to introduce the concept of diaries and chronicles. There are three copies of The Diary of Anne Frank and a few about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. They also brought in The Giver and Frindle. I think it's a good way for kids to learn a little more about what the world used to be like. Have you ever read that one? Frindle?"

Joel smiled faintly, pulling a tub of butter from the fridge and shutting the door.

"Yeah. Sarah liked Frindle."

It took you a moment to find your voice after that.

"Oh."

He sat down next to you, letting out a quiet sigh as he settled in.

"Called pens Frindle for a whole year," he added, shifting his gaze over to you. "I think it's a good idea."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"What else?" He reached out and grabbed the butter knife, digging it into the tub to scoop out a generous amount.

"Maybe they could write their own chronicles? Or diaries, just as an exercise. And they wouldn't necessarily have to read them aloud or show anyone," you said, lifting your mug to take a sip of coffee. "But it might be a nice way for them to express themselves or blow off steam, as long as it's not hurting them, of course."

"Think they'll all want to do it?"

You smiled and shook your head. "I doubt it. I don't know."

Joel hummed, bringing his mug to his lips.

You popped a piece of bacon into your mouth, and it was so delicious your eyes nearly closed. You tried the eggs right after. Then, after a moment of savoring, swallowing, and giving yourself a little more time to think, you asked:

"You think they'll like me?"

Joel had his mouth full and raised his eyebrows at the question. While you waited for him to finish chewing, you took a bite of toast.

"They're gonna love ya," he said finally.

"And how are you so sure? Teenagers can be..." Your eyes drifted up the walls and across the ceiling before landing back on him. "They can be complicated. And these kids, these kids have been through things. Maybe I show up with diaries and chronicles, and they just think, 'Who does this nobody think she is and what the hell is she doing'?"

He huffed a laugh. "Don't go lettin' them walk all over you. Let them know you're the one in charge."

"Okay, and how do I do that without being bossy in the process?"

"You gotta be bossy, but that don't mean you can't still be nice to them. You can pull it off, I've seen it," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Saw you orderin' the guys around on some of the construction sites before. Even me."

You furrowed your brow. "I am not bossy."

"Yes," he said, looking right at you, "yes, you are."

You frowned. "I'm—"

"And when you're in a bad mood?" He brought his mug to his lips and rolled his eyes.

Your eyebrows shot up in pure disbelief, your lips twitched into a tight smile.

"Excuse me?" You tilted your head. "And you're the one telling me this, Mr. Uncle Grumpy?"

Joel smiled and shook his head.

"That's literally what Benji calls you, isn't it?"

"That don't change a thing," he grumbled, furrowing his brow. "You are what you are. Might as well make use of it."

"Oh," you nodded, "okaay. I will. But don't you go complaining later."

He poked his fork into the eggs and brought them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Ain't complainin'," he said.

You ducked your head, hiding a smile.

Joel and you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally making notes and chatting about your lesson plans.

The whole thing excited you for different reasons. The little ones had you looking forward to it because you just liked little kids in general; they were adorable and sweet, and their minds came up with a hundred interesting things. That was why you’d loved chatting with Sophie when she was that small; the conversations were always unpredictable and fun, and her imagination was endless. But of course, you’d always made a point to show her all kinds of books and stories, so she had a rich source of inspiration. You didn't know what some of the kids here would be like, or how much they’d interacted with the world, but you were eager to find out and, if possible, be useful to them.

The teenagers were a different story, since you hadn't had much contact with kids that age. But it was just as exciting, and you wouldn't hesitate to ask for help if you needed it. You had no intention of pushing past their personal boundaries and you kept a firm reminder in your mind to be careful with everything you wanted to teach them.

Overall, it was exciting.

After eating, you cleared the table and washed the dishes even though Joel insisted you shouldn't. And while you were doing that, he stepped out through the kitchen's back door, returning a few minutes later.

"Ellie's not out there," he said as he walked back in. "Don't know what she's up to these days."

The moody tone in his voice made you look up immediately. You were drying your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to face him.

"Have you asked her?"

He sighed. "She ain't exactly talkative lately."

"Well, I've seen her around with Dina," you said, resting both palms against the counter. "Just hanging out, nothing weird. They spend a lot of time together, maybe she's with her."

He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "Keep an eye on her if you can, alright? She really likes you. Maybe... maybe she'd rather talk to you than me, about certain things, you know."

You nodded. "Of course, I will."

He ran a hand over the back of his neck and you watched him hesitate for a second before he moved toward the fridge and pulled it open. He took out a glass bottle about half filled with water and grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack.

You checked the clock on the wall, mounted right above the window next to the table. It was already a little past noon.

It was probably about time for you to head out, wasn't it? You didn't want to overstay your welcome, and you doubted Joel would ever be the type to tell you to leave. So, pushing yourself away from the counter, you walked to the other side of the room and stretched your arms behind your back.

"I think I should probably get going."

Joel turned toward you, the glass of water still at his lips. He swallowed and set it down carefully on the counter.

"Yeah? You got somewhere to be?"

You mentally scrolled through your imaginary schedule: no, you had absolutely nothing to do.

"Uh, not really."

He nodded and pursed his lips, shifting them to one side. "We could watch a movie if you want."

The offer caught you off guard, and it was briefly reflected in the few seconds it took you to answer.

"A movie?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping away from the counter and taking a few paces toward you. "Got a decent collection, if you wanna pick one out."

You smiled, lacing your fingers together behind your back. "I get to choose?"

"I'll give you some recommendations," he said, ducking his head slightly, "but yeah, you get to choose."

Joel's living room. A couple minutes later.

In Joel’s living room, tucked beneath the TV stand, were two players: one DVD and one VHS, both functioning and in perfect condition. Right below them were two small cabinet doors, and when you opened them, there was his collection.

His DVD collection was smaller than his stash of VHS tapes, but that didn't mean it was small by any means. Discs were harder to keep intact over time; most of the ones out there in the world were scratched or cracked, but Joel had stumbled upon a massive stash of DVDs in mint condition at an apartment complex near Jackson a while back. Good Will Hunting, Magnolia, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Seven, Wayne's World, Thelma & Louise, Fargo, Pretty Woman, The Green Mile… and more. There were so many options it was hard to choose. A lot of them you’d never even seen. Most of them, in fact. So, you asked him to give you a quick rundown of each one and which he thought was best for right now. He suggested The Truman Show and Pretty Woman.

"It's got romance and all that," he said, sitting on the couch as he held up the plastic case of his second suggestion, using the romance angle as his main selling point.

You inevitably remembered his harsh words about romantic comedies from many, many weeks ago.

"From the first damn second I saw you," he continued, "half-dead out there in the snow—I felt sorry for you. Everythin' I've done since then's been outta pity. That's all it was. I can't even look at you without thinkin' you're broken. And it makes me sick."

Your throat tightened, something forming behind your eyes. You blinked, hard, and swallowed down the heat rising in your chest.

"If that's what you think, then—"

"And that night? That was a mistake. A fuckin' embarrassment. I hate thinkin' about it. It won't happen again."

"Good. I hated it."

Joel looked at you, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

"Yeah. Good for you. Cause this ain't one of those fuckin' pathetic romantic comedies you like so much. So give it up."

You took the movie from his hands and looked at the cover, running your thumb over Julia Roberts' face.

"We can watch something else if you want."

Joel’s eyes scanned your face. "No, it's fine. I think you're gonna like this one."

"You sure?" You gave a slow, lopsided smile. "Isn't it just another pathetic romantic comedy?"

His brow furrowed in a confused look, mixed with a faint smile. "What?"

A beat. You sighed.

"A while ago, after what happened at my place that first time, remember? You said this wasn't like one of those pathetic romantic comedies I like."

The expression on Joel’s face began to soften piece by piece, his furrowed brow relaxing as the memory clearly came back to him.

"Right," he said, ducking his head a little. He laced his fingers together for a moment, looking down at his hands for a second before looking back up at you. "I said that, huh?"

You nodded, pursing your lips slightly. "Yeah. You said a lot of things."

He looked at you in silence.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked after a moment.

"I don't think romantic comedies are pathetic."

"Don't worry about it," you smiled.

"It was mean. I'm sorry. I know you and Sophie liked 'em."

Your eyes locked onto his in complete silence. He looked genuinely ashamed.

"It's okay. And I know we talked about this, but," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "did you really mean it? What you said that day? Be honest."

Joel leaned back a bit and looked toward the coffee table, where several DVDs were piled up.

Maybe, maybe he didn't even remember it.

"Did you feel sorry for me?" you prompted him. "You said that every time you looked at me, you just thought I was broken and—"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't feel sorry for you, and I didn't back then, either."

A tight pressure gripped your chest. He looked back up at you.

"I needed to push you away," he confessed.

A beat.

"I know that. But… why?"

His eyebrows twitched. His eyes dropped down to your lap for a brief moment before tracing back up to your face.

"Because I ain't like this. Snow, I," he shook his head, "I don't do this. Not in a long time, I… For me, this is, this is new. That night at your place, things got out of hand pretty quick. I lost control."

You sat up a little straighter, your mind parsing through everything that had happened between you over the last few months.

You knew he wanted to keep his distance; you knew he had a tendency to shut down. But you had never considered it was about physical intimacy. It hadn't even crossed your mind that that would be an issue for him. He certainly hadn't made it seem like one.

"There wasn't anyone else before?" you asked. "I mean, in these last few years."

He squeezed one hand with the other, his brow furrowing slightly.

Yeah. There had been. He didn't have to say it out loud; you could read it plain as day in his body language.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

Joel bit his lower lip, a rare hint of nerves, and watched you as you shifted further back into the couch until your spine met the cushions.

He hesitated for a moment, and you instantly resented yourself for throwing out such a blunt question without thinking it through.

"Tess," he said.

You froze. Tess. You turned the name over in your mind. Speaking felt risky right now.

"She was by my side for a long time, before I came to Jackson," he continued, keeping his eyes away from yours. "But it wasn't like this."

"How do you mean?"

He looked up at you. "Don't know. It was... We kept each other company for a lot of years, did a lot of things where we used to live. They weren't necessarily good things, but they were what was needed."

"Where did you live before?"

"Boston."

"Oh, right."

He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit. "Yeah. Anyway."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that."

Joel gave a gentle shake of his head. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."

You dropped your gaze to your hands. "Well, if it's worth anything, this is all pretty new and strange for me, too. I've never really done this with anyone before. Not like this."

"And what're you thinkin' so far?"

You smiled little by little, lifting your eyes to meet his. "It's been pretty nice."

Joel nodded, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he reached out and took the Pretty Woman DVD case from your lap. He held it up next to his face.

"We're watchin' this one."

Unable to help yourself, you grinned and slid over toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. Joel seemed caught off guard for a fraction of a second, but his arms came around you immediately, pulling you flush against his chest.

You weren't going to tell him, but that tiny glimpse into his past meant everything to you. You knew he wasn't one for big words, and you knew how hard it was for him to open up about certain things, but he had done it in his own way, and that meant so much.

"Want somethin' hot to drink?" he murmured against your lips.

You hummed. "Yeah."

"Tea or coffee?"

You thought about it for a second. "Whatever you're having."

The sun poured warm and bright into Joel’s living room, even with the curtains drawn. At least with the fabric blocking the glare, the harsh rays weren't striking you directly.

It wasn't even two in the afternoon yet. Resting on the coffee table in the center of the room were your two empty coffee mugs and a plate scattered with crumbs from the blueberry pie you’d brought over yesterday, which you’d both finished off a little while ago.

With your stomach full and the quiet peace of the early afternoon settling in, your eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, even though you’d already slept for hours last night and earlier this morning. It didn't help that Joel was right there beside you; you were tucked into his side, wedged comfortably between the back of the couch and his outstretched body, your head resting on his chest while your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen.

You could tell he’d been drifting in and out of sleep because the second you asked a question or made a comment, he’d snap awake to answer before instantly passing out again.

"She is so gorgeous," you murmured at one point, watching Vivian appear on screen in that stunning red dress with the white gloves and her hair elegantly pinned up.

Joel’s eyes flew open. He stared blankly at the screen for a split second and muttered:

"Yeah."

A second later, his breathing went heavy again. He was already fast asleep.

By the time the movie neared its final act, you had formed a definitive opinion on it: you absolutely loved it. You deeply envied anyone who had gotten to live out their adulthood during that era. You would have loved to see a movie like this in a real theater, to let Vivian inspire you in a few ways; her hairstyles, maybe, or that radiant smile. Or maybe you'd have gone out to find your very own Richard Gere. Then again, right now you had a handsome older man of your own right beneath you. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Carefully, you slipped off the couch, trying not to disturb Joel, and walked over to the TV to take out the DVD. You tucked it back into its case and left it on the coffee table, where the other stacked discs caught your eye.

Inevitably, you ended up sliding another one into the player. The Bourne Identity. A man who can't remember who he is but possesses a lot of inexplicable skills. It caught your attention simply because it sounded interesting, and you remembered having a crush on Matt Damon back when you were little and your dad used to watch movies in the living room.

You took the disc out of its case, popped it into the player, and the moment the movie started, you hurried right back to your spot next to Joel, being careful not to press too hard against his chest or any of his sore spots.

As you rested your face against his chest, your eyes locked onto his neck, just inches from your face. He had that prominent mark running around his throat, purple and slightly greenish at the edges; the clear evidence of an act of violence you didn't even want to picture. It looked like exactly what it was: someone had bound him, choked him, or tried to do something worse.

Yesterday, the mark had been much more vivid, and while it still looked bad, it had softened just a fraction.

You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes continuing to trace his face and the marks left behind while Joel remained fast asleep. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in total relaxation, while a hundred different thoughts and questions raced through your mind. Above all, you wondered: what on earth had happened to him in Ridgeway?

It wasn't like you were going to ask him, and it wasn't like he was going to tell you, but just thinking about it brought a dull ache to your chest.

Instinctively, you draped your arm across his chest, holding him gently as you closed your eyes.

The movie was barely ten minutes in when you drifted off to sleep.

A nap later

At some point in the afternoon, a few knocks at the door jolted you out of your comfortable nap.

Joel woke up instantly, and the sudden movement of his body jolted you awake too. You were still draped over him with your arm resting across his stomach, but you quickly pulled back as the knocking came a second time. The TV was still on, but the movie had already finished and the main menu had been looping for God knows how long.

Joel rubbed his face with one hand, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he began to sit up.

"What time is it?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded and covered with sleep.

"I don't know."

He sat on the edge of the couch and looked back at you. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes glossy, and a faint smirk lingered on his lips as he stood up with a quiet groan.

"Be right back."

Lying back down, you watched him walk away and stretched your arms over your head. Then, you sat up on the cushions and grabbed the remote, muting the TV and leaning back to stretch your body one more time.

From where you sat, you heard Joel walk to the door and swing it open.

Were you even supposed to be here? Should you hide? Was he going to let whoever it was inside?

You didn't know. You weren't sure how careful you both needed to be with all of this; you’d never stayed over at his place for this long before. You’d already had that slightly awkward encounter with Ellie a while back, though of course, that was different. Joel trusted her, and you trusted her, too.

"Emily." Joel’s voice sounded flat and tinged with surprise as he said her name. You froze on the couch.

"Hey. Sorry, were you sleeping?"

"Uh—"

"I came by earlier this morning but I figured you were sleeping then, too. Just came to drop this off."

Footsteps, a few of them. Emily stepped inside the house. You pressed yourself harder against the back of the couch, though it was mostly pointless; it was positioned right in front of the archway separating the living room and the hallway.

"You didn't have to do that," Joel said. "Here, I'll take it."

Quick, get up and move to the other corner.

You shifted immediately and the hardwood gave a slight creak beneath your feet.

Emily laughed. "No, it's fine—Oh."

Her laugh stopped short.

You looked up toward the hallway, feeling a sudden wave of heat rush up your spine to the back of your neck and your cheeks, feeling completely exposed for a split second. She was looking at you.

And just like that, the cozy safe bubble you’d been sharing with Joel since last night had been abruptly shattered by the eyes of an outsider. Well, not an outsider. Emily. She stood there frozen, holding a glass baking dish with a white plastic lid. Inside, you assumed, was food. Obviously.

Standing entirely still, you became painfully aware that you probably looked like a creature caught red-handed; wearing Joel's t-shirt, Joel's pants, Joel's socks...

Not that she explicitly knew they belonged to him, but she could easily piece it together seeing how everything was completely oversized on you. And either way, everyone knew what pajamas looked like, or what someone looked like when they'd just rolled out of bed.

"Snow," she said, her smile turning tight. Her eyes scanned down and up your body, flicked over to the paused TV screen, and then landed right back on you.

Beside her, Joel stood just as still and caught red-handed as you were, wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants with no underwear underneath.

But Emily didn't know that. You did.

"Hi," you said, smiling like an idiot. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself up.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find any useful words.

Turning back to Joel, she held out the dish. "Anyway, this is for you. And Maria said you can take tomorrow off too, if you want."

Joel’s eyes were fixed on you. He took the dish from her. "No, it's fine. I'll be there."

"Alright," Emily said, nodding as she stepped past Joel toward the front door. "Well, see you tomorrow." She glanced back at you, lifting her hand in a brief wave. "Bye, Snow."

"Bye, Emily."

She gave a faint smile and, in less than three seconds, turned and walked out the door. She left Joel standing in the middle of the hallway clutching the baking dish, and you, standing in the middle of the living room with your arms tightly crossed and an expression you weren't even sure how to label.

You looked over at Joel as a nervous, slightly baffled smile began to tug at your lips.

He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know she was comin' by."

"Yeah, no shit," you said, shaking your head. "She saw me like this."

Joel’s eyes drifted down your body before he shrugged a single shoulder, completely dismissing your worried tone.

"She ain't gonna say nothin'."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the kitchen. Your mouth dropped open at the sight of him, and you followed right behind without a second thought.

"How do you know that?"

"Ain't none of her business."

You huffed a laugh. "And?"

"Eh, I don't think Emily's the type to go gossiping around."

Once inside the kitchen, he set the baking dish down on the counter.

You stopped right beside him. "Oh, because you know her so well."

Joel tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say of course I do.

You felt your cheeks flare up again. "And now she's bringing you food?"

Joel hummed.

You furrowed your brow. "Does she always just walk in like it's nothing? I could have been naked or something."

He snorted a laugh. "Naked, huh?"

"You know perfectly well that was a possibility."

"Yeah, well," he dipped his head, "good thing you weren't."

Without blinking, you stared him down and crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

"Yeah, lucky us," you said, pressing your lips together. "Next time, tell her it's rude to just barge into a house that isn't hers. Unless you don't mind it, of course."

"It's the first time she's ever come by here."

You raised your eyebrows in pure disbelief. "Worse then."

Joel laughed softly and leaned both palms against the counter. He shook his head gently, his eyes bright with amusement, and asked:

"You don't like her, then?"

You clenched your jaw slightly before forcing yourself to relax, letting out a sigh as your gaze drifted down toward the fridge and the magnets on it. Your eyes lingered on the photo of Joel.

Uh-uh. "No. No, I don't."

"No? Why not?"

You shrugged a shoulder and looked back at him. "I don't know. I know she isn't mean or anything, I just don't like the way she deals with people."

Joel furrowed his brow. "How's that?"

You searched your mind for the right words, but the only ones you could find were simple and honest.

"She can be a bit cold. Or dismissive," you said, raising your eyebrows. "Sometimes I've seen people go up to her to ask a question or request something, and I just don't like the way she treats them. She isn't mean," you lifted a hand, "but she's just a bit indifferent and detached."

He gave a slow nod.

"And I had that completely confirmed this past week," you continued. "Every single time I asked her if there was any news about Ridgeway, she wouldn't tell me anything, she wouldn't even look me in the eye. She just kept saying there was no news," you tilted your chin up a bit, "and then later I'd find out they'd gotten a radio call or something. Even Eliza didn't know about half of it because Emily just wouldn't tell her anything. And it's not like it was confidential information or anything like that. She needed to know, her husband was out in Ridgeway too."

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose. "Didn't know that."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not surprised. She seems plenty nice and attentive with you," you said, raising a single eyebrow. "Maybe she's just selective."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and you bit the inside of your cheek when you caught the faint smirk on his lips.

"I just don't think it's right for someone in her position to look down on people or act like she can't be bothered," you continued. "Because I’ve been there too and I know people are constantly asking questions and looking for things they need. So, okay, it's her job," you crossed your arms again, "then she should do her job. I swear I cannot stand people who get the tiniest bit of authority and immediately turn their backs on everyone else. We're all in the same boat here in Jackson, anyway, even the ones making the calls."

Suddenly, he stopped blinking. He just stared at you, nodding slowly as he began to straighten up, leaning his hip against the counter. Mimicking your posture and never breaking eye contact, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, you're right," he said. "And I believe you, 'cause you're gettin' so fired up you're actually blushin'."

You clicked your tongue. "I am not fired up."

"Really?"

"Really," you said, opening your eyes wider. "Just… just tell her to do her job. I know you can do that because you used to do it to me all the time."

He frowned. "That ain't true."

"Joel," you smiled, "come on."

"I never—"

"Yeah."

"I never told you to do your job because you did your job," he said, pointing a finger at you. "What I did tell you was to stop botherin' me with everything else."

You snorted, knowing he had a point. "That is not true. You used to get annoyed even when I was just in silence."

He pressed his lips together. "You weren't exactly in silence, properly speakin'."

"Why? Because I was breathing?"

"And those little sighs you'd make every few pages while you were reading," Joel said, gesturing with his hand. "Always made me wonder what the hell was happening in that book to make you react like that."

"Oh Jesus," you rolled your eyes. "How many more times are you going to bring up the sighs? Get over it, man. You were annoying too."

Joel furrowed his brow, but a lopsided smile broke through. "Was I? Not anymore?"

"I'm not so sure about that."

"What was it you called me once?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall. "The most insensitive, proud, arrogant man you've ever met?"

Mmm. Something like that. If you remembered correctly, he was actually leaving out a few choice adjectives.

You're the most insensitive, thoughtless, proud, arrogant man I've ever met. And believe me, I've met a hell of a lot of assholes. It was something along those lines, if your memory wasn't failing you.

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, "you told me I was the most unbearable, incoherent, reckless, and delusional woman too. But who's counting, right?"

A low laugh broke from his chest.

What was so funny, huh?

Uncrossing your arms, you turned back toward him and said,

"Why don't you use some of that attitude on Emily, huh?" You tapped his arm. "Maybe that way she'll actually do her job right."

Without waiting for an answer, you spun on your heel and turned your back to him, your legs moving with determination toward the hallway as you planned to head back to the living room. But before you could even take five paces, Joel caught you by the elbow. He arrested your movement, pulling you gently backward and anchoring you flush against him with one large hand wrapped just above your belly button.

He brought his chest right against your back, his mouth dipping down close to your ear.

"Well, I got a better idea. Why don't I just tell Emily we need her help somewhere else and you put that pretty little ass of yours back at the desk across from mine?"

Your mouth dropped open, completely caught off guard by the words. "Joel."

"What?"

You clicked your tongue. "I can't, and you know it."

"I know. And I get the school thing, but Erin’s got plenty of help from Fabrizio and everyone else, and you could still keep doin' your work at the greenhouse either way."

"I do patrols now, too."

He hummed. "Only two days a week."

The way he was talking (like a little red devil perched right on your left shoulder) was pretty manipulative. But you knew exactly where his insistence was coming from.

You were having a good time, and you were getting along well too. You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to spend more time with him. But that was exactly where a clear sharp line needed to be drawn. Because what kind of relationship would you even have if you saw each other almost every single day, and during the nights, too? Didn't he think about that?

Since this whole arrangement had started, you really did enjoy being with him. To be fair, you’d always enjoyed his company, even back when you got along terribly, and you’d actually told him that. You didn't know why, just that you felt comfortable around him. But now, there was a much deeper layer to it, because you were genuinely getting along.

You’d told him just last night: how long could a good streak like this really last if you saw each other every single day, and how long would it take before you or he completely got sick of each other again?

"We already talked about this last night," you said.

"I know, and I get it, alright?"

"Do you?" You turned your head a bit to get a better look at him.

He pressed his lips together, puffing out the top one the way he always did.

"It's just a suggestion. Think about it."

You bit your lower lip slightly, your eyes scanning his face as Joel leaned forward; you could feel him hanging heavy against your lower back.

Averting your eyes from his face, you leaned back, pressing harder against him until you could feel his outline perfectly defined against your backside. You felt him let out a soft huff against your ear.

"Talk to Emily," you said, placing your hand over his on your stomach before brushing it away and stepping away from him.

Joel chuckled low behind you, letting out a rough sigh.

Without looking back, you made your way to the living room.

The clock above the fireplace read half past four in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the curtain and the window was still bright, though just a fraction paler than before.

You sank into the couch and folded your hands in your lap, wondering if this was the right time to leave. You weren't entirely sure. Joel wasn't giving anything away, but then again, you couldn't really rely on his cues. Maybe he wanted you to go, or needed some time to himself and didn't know how to say it. But then again, had he ever actually held anything back?

"What're you doin'?" he asked, appearing through the archway a second later and dropping down beside you. Shifting his hips forward slightly, he took your outstretched legs and rested them across his lap.

A soft laugh escaped you.

Jesus, he truly could act like a needy man.

"Nothing."

"Watch Bourne Identity?"

"Only a few minutes. I fell asleep right away."

He nodded, looking at the screen where the menu was still looping on mute.

"Want to watch somethin' else?" he asked, looking over at you.

You stretched your legs out further across his lap, and he gave your knee a squeeze.

"Do you?"

He pursed his lips. "Sure. Choose somethin'."

You smiled faintly and straightened up a bit, resting your hands between your knees.

He clearly noticed your hesitation; his eyes locked onto your face, waiting for you to speak.

You gave a slightly uncertain smile, feeling your heart flutter with a touch of nervousness.

"You know, I was wondering just a minute ago," you swallowed, dropping your gaze down his chest, "is it really okay for me to stay here this long?"

"What's that mean?"

You looked at him in silence for a second, wondering if he genuinely wasn't understanding the question.

"Well, I mean, is it okay? Or, you know, maybe it's too much?" You frowned, frustrated with how you were phrasing your thoughts.

He lowered his gaze to his hand on your knee.

"You wanna leave?"

"No," you rushed to say, and his eyes snapped back up to your face. "It's not that. I just thought that maybe, I don't know, maybe you wanted some time to yourself? Or something."

Joel let out a soft, lopsided smile, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Gradually, he turned his head toward you, taking you in completely.

What could he tell you? He certainly couldn't tell you that he didn't want to be alone. Though that was a bit limiting; Joel didn't want you to stay just because he didn't want to be alone. He wanted you to stay because he wanted to be with you.

Was that wrong? Was it too much?

Every time he asked himself that (and it had been several times between yesterday and today), he answered himself in silence with the memory of the last seven days. Those five days of the journey to and within Ridgeway had nearly drained the life out of him completely. His body had been beaten and cut; his eyes had seen more violence in a span of days than during his last year in Jackson.

He really thought that was it. The first few times they pressed a gun to his temple, he was sure they would pull the trigger, and that time they wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled and pulled until he thought his bones would snap, he swore that was it.

But it wasn't, somehow. And he thought of Ellie, of the last hug she’d given him before he left the house; he thought of Tommy, of Benji perched on Maria’s lap. But he thought of you too, and how he’d only left a simple letter. Because he’d thought it wasn't necessary to wake you—what for? He figured he’d be right back. Two days at most. But the time dragged on, and so did the suffering.

Upon his return, his body began to ache. It was as if every muscle and nerve had stayed rigid and numb right up until he crossed the gates into Jackson. He didn't even know how he’d managed to make it all the way back without collapsing. But the moment he arrived, and after settling everything with the guys (even after Hale checked him over and patched him up) his body remained tense.

He didn't feel anything, just a strange ache that ran through him like a massive bruise, one so constant it had already gone unnoticed.

But when he saw you outside Hale’s place, he knew he must be broken. Because on your face, he found the pain he was feeling. You looked at him like he was a ghost; your glassy eyes pierced right through his chest, and he felt the urge to touch you. But before he could do much of anything, you left.

You left, and he didn't see you again until that afternoon, when you made him understand in a rather direct way that you wanted him to leave you alone.

And he wasn't gonna tell you, but he saw right through you. It didn't hurt that you pushed him away. Well, maybe a little; it was hard for him to admit he'd been excited to see you. But he knew your attitude under that weeping willow was a normal reaction. You were angry. And you’d probably been scared, too. So, in situations like these, he just had to give you space; that was a lesson he’d learned many, many decades ago.

The next day, when he ran into Zach at the dining hall and Zach told him you were heading over to his place, he wasn't surprised. He’d been waiting for it, though he felt a wave of relief knowing the wait had been short.

The night before, he hadn't been able to sleep much, but with you here, he’d slept so deeply his eyes were still a little puffy. You tangled yourself around him like ivy; arms, legs, fingers, every part of you intertwined with his, keeping him warm after so many cold and cruel nights.

And it might be selfish, this need to want you here. Surely you had other things you wanted to do, other people to see. Or maybe you didn't, but you had to leave anyway. Joel didn't care; selfishly, he wanted you all to himself, just for today.

So yeah, he wanted you to stay. Just a bit longer. Because he needed and wanted the tenderness of your presence. And the wasn't anything he could do against it.

"Don't need no time to myself," he assured you then. He swallowed. "Stay here tonight."

Your eyes widened just a fraction. Joel knew what he said had caught you by surprise.

"You sure?" you asked softly.

He nodded. "Yeah. And tomorrow mornin' we both go back to our own things, how's that sound?"

You smiled. "Sounds good to me. Though I don't have any clothes," you raised your eyebrows slightly. "I should go grab something to wear tomorrow."

"Alright."

You nodded. "Okay."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure we'll find somethin' to keep us busy later."

That surprised a chuckle out of you.

You placed your hand over his on your knee. "You really are a dirty old man."

Joel rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, and shook his head.

"I meant watchin' movies or cookin'. You're the one with the dirty mind."

You hummed, not buying it. "Yeah. Well, you're probably already tired anyway."

He clicked his tongue. "Don't be so sure about that. That nap was pretty revivin'."

Hours later

"See you in a bit." Stretching up on your toes, you gave Joel a quick peck on the lips.

A second later, he opened the front door and you stepped across the threshold, wearing the dress you’d arrived in, your boots, and one of his jackets. Today was much cooler than yesterday, and if you walked back to your place with nothing but what you'd brought, you were going to freeze.

Joel watched you walk away for a moment, closing the door only when you disappeared from his line of sight. Immediately, the house felt quiet again.

For a while, he distracted himself by tidying up and cleaning. He went up to his bedroom and made the bed, straightening things here and there, and left the pajamas he’d lent you neatly folded on the mattress. He dusted the dresser in front of the window, arranging the picture frames on top, and swept every corner of the room as best he could.

Downstairs, he wiped down the already clean kitchen counter. He cleaned the cabinets, then the windowpanes and the backyard door, and just as he was drying the glass, he noticed Ellie arriving at the garage.

She opened the door and slipped inside right away, and Joel didn't hesitate for a single second to seize the opportunity.

He stepped out into the yard, feeling the cool air raise the hairs on his arms, and hesitated for a second before knocking on the garage door.

From the other side, he heard a few muffled noises, and a moment later, the door swung open.

"Hey. What's up?" she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a bit a mess.

"Out early today," Joel said, stepping inside. The girl moved aside to let him pass. "Where'd you go?"

"Had plans with Jesse."

"Ah, Jesse," he rested his lower back against the desk and crossed his arms, smiling. "What kind of plans?"

Ellie frowned and shook her head. "Don't start. It's not like that. What're you doin' here anyway? Don't you got company?" She raised her eyebrows.

In a split second, the smile vanished from Joel's face, and he went completely still.

Ellie tilted her head and waited a beat. "Look, I know Snow's here. I saw you guys earlier."

Joel frowned but didn't say a word.

"I was hungry," she tossed her head back, "so I went into the kitchen to grab some food and heard the TV. You were wiped out."

He stepped away from the desk. "Ellie, look—"

"Please, just don't say anything," she said, holding up both hands and shaking her head. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "I already knew. I mean, I knew there was something, I just didn't think it was so... you know—"

"We're just friends."

"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes. "Great friends."

Joel hesitated as he tried to speak again, suddenly feeling really nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.

"Snow and I... we're gettin' along, and—"

"Joel, chill, you're not my dad," she cut him off, waving a hand. "You don't gotta give me some speech like you're tryin' to convince me to like my new mommy or whatever—"

"Ellie."

She stopped talking, and her eyes softened, but Joel still had his brow furrowed, his thoughts tangled up in his head.

"I like Snow," she said. "And I like that you guys are... friends."

Joel pursed his lips and watched her for a brief moment; the look on her face and the softness in Ellie's eyes held no lie or forced reassurance.

He knew she liked you. He knew the two of you had formed a bond while he was away. And suddenly, he wondered if his relationship with you would affect yours with her. Lately, Ellie hadn't been very expressive with him, but he’d seen how she was around you. He hoped that wouldn't change.

"I'm fixin' to make a good dinner tonight. Snow's stayin' over too," he rested a hand on his hip. "How's about you come on over and join us?"

Ellie smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sounds great. But… maybe another time? I'm pretty wiped, and I still gotta go see Dina."

"Yeah? What for?"

"She found a few parts we were missin' to finish some traps," she leaned back, dropping onto the couch. "We're headin' out early tomorrow to test them."

Joel nodded. "Rabbits?"

"Hopefully."

"Right. Well, I'll leave a plate out for you anyway, alright? We'll have dinner around eight, just in case you change your mind," he nodded. "I know Snow'd like to see you."

Ellie nodded. "Okay. Did you give her the portrait?"

Joel nodded. "And how're you comin' along with the herbs and all that?"

"Almost done with a few of them," she smiled. "I'm headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to show Snow what I got."

"You could show her now, you know. She'll be back in a bit."

"Nah, I'm good. Don't wanna interrupt whatever's about to go down in there," she said, holding up a hand.

Joel clicked his tongue.

"What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you were the type to cuddle up on the couch like that. Ugh," she shuddered, faking a chill.

Joel let out a chuckle, Ellie echoed it.

"Alright. Take care of yourself then," he lifted his chin. "And tomorrow, let's get some dinner, just you and me. How's that sound? Whatever you want."

She pursed her lips. "Can you make that meatloaf you do?"

"Course. An extra large one."

"Alright," she nodded.

Joel smiled and took a few steps toward her. Reaching out, he gave the crown of Ellie’s head a quick affectionate rub. She ducked her head, immediately clicking her tongue.

"Watch yourself out there, alright? And don't be gettin' back late," Joel said, moving toward the open door. "Don't go doin' anything reckless."

Ellie snorted. "You neither, Casanova."

Joel hid a chuckle as he turned around to head back inside the house.

Your house. Ten minutes later.

You got home around half past five in the afternoon. Stepping inside, you caught the scent of the flowers on your coffee table and the entryway stand, mixed with the soap you used for your laundry.

You didn't linger. You went straight to your bedroom, tossed your dress onto the small couch in the corner and kicked your boots to the side, wrapping your arms around your bare body.

The closet doors stood open, and your naked reflection stared back at you as you stepped closer to find something to wear.

Your cheeks were flushed from the walk, and your hair was a bit a mess. But there was a particular shine in your eyes that made you pause and just look at yourself for a moment. It was as if your skin were glowing, as if the expression on your face had suddenly softened.

On your neck, there were two small marks, faint and nearly invisible, that Joel had left either last night or this morning, you weren't entirely sure. But your fingers brushed up to touch them, and it was as if you could feel his mouth there all over again.

You smiled like a fool, your eyes drifting down your body; they passed over the scar on your jawline, the scars on your collarbone, just beneath your ribs, and further down on your right thigh, where several small but distinct marks barely revealed themselves.

You tilted your head, observing yourself and suddenly seeing a difference. As you did, a lock of hair fell across your face.

You caught it between your fingers and breathed it in, then gathered a handful more. Burying your nose in the strands, you closed your eyes.

You smelled like him. From the strands of hair between your fingers to your very skin; his soap, his shampoo—him. The same clean scent of his fresh sheets, the exact same scent that was woven into his skin. You carried it now, and the feeling brought a flutter to your stomach that made every hair on your body stand up.

Well, that, and the fact that you were naked and your house was freezing.

Jesus, stop being so corny, what's the point?

The more time you spent staring at yourself in the mirror, the longer it would take to get back to Joel. So you finally turned away, moved along, and headed into the bathroom.

You took a quick shower without getting your hair wet, since you'd washed it just that morning, and went through your usual routine. With your skin soft and clean and your body much warmer than before, you stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Your feet weren't cold anymore, and neither were your fingers.

Back in the bedroom, you misted yourself with rosewater and put on a little bit of everything you owned, smelling like a dessert all over again and feeling like one, too. You ran your fingers through your hair, brushed it out a little, and reached for the small wooden box inside your nightstand. From it, you took your necklace and fastened it around your neck.

Opting for comfort and practicality, you pulled on a pair of straight-leg jeans that hugged you perfectly up top, thanks to some alterations Isa had done, along with a cropped white tee and a slightly loose black sweater. You were right on the verge of putting on sneakers, but you chose your boots again. There wasn't much use fighting against something both cozy and cute.

Okay, what did you need to bring for tonight?

You grabbed a tote bag and tossed in clean underwear, your hairbrush, and a few other small things. Carefully, you folded the jacket Joel had lent you earlier and slid it inside as well.

You didn't waste any more time. You bundled up in his other jacket (which, technically, was already yours) and went into the kitchen to grab the blueberry pie you’d left in the fridge yesterday. You’d only tried a tiny slice to make sure it tasted right. You packed it into a plastic container and carefully settled it into your bag, strategically arranging everything underneath and around it so it wouldn't shift in any way.

Giving yourself one last look in the mirror and knowing that at Joel’s place, nothing but a tiny little hand mirror awaited you, you stepped out of your house just as the sun in the sky began to turn that sea of blue into a field of orange and pink.

Joel's house. Late afternoon.

The second Joel opened the front door, a delicious aroma hit your nose.

"Mmm," you breathed in, stepping into the entryway. "What am I smelling?"

Joel took the bag from your hand and closed the door behind you. With a smile, he lifted his chin and nodded toward the kitchen.

He’d changed his clothes and wasn't in his sleepwear anymore, but in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.

He look so good.

"Go on and look," he said.

Smiling, you walked over as the scent grew even richer. Your eyes instantly locked onto the pot on the stove. You stepped closer while he carefully took the container with the blueberry pie out of the bag and set it on the counter.

Inside the pot, vegetables were simmering away, releasing a thick sweet steam, covered and surrounded by a dark glossy sauce.

"Is there wine in this?"

He nodded, and your mouth watered instantly.

"Started a good while ago," he came up beside you. "Seared the venison, took it out, cooked down the veggies with the wine, and threw the meat back in. It's been stewin' for a while now. You real hungry?"

Smiling, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "I didn't know you knew your way around a kitchen like this."

"I don't know that much," he shook his head. "Just a few things I'm fixin' to stick with forever."

You laughed. "Is this one of your specialties?"

"Yeah. This, and the meatloaf I'm makin' for Ellie tomorrow."

"Oh, did you see her? Is she here?"

"No, she left a while ago. But we talked for a bit," he nodded. "Said she was headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to see you. Wants to show you what she’s done with the herbs."

You were genuinely excited to see what Ellie had been working on. You thought it was incredibly sweet of her to want to help you out with all of this, and you were sure you’d find a way to thank her properly. Favors are favors, and they ought to be repaid right.

"I can't wait to see what she's done."

Joel smiled. "You're gonna like it."

It was only fair that you set the table. While Joel cooked, you arranged the plates, silverware, and everything else, though you still felt like you had too much time on your hands. But you distracted yourself by picking something to listen to; Joel had a box full of cassettes and handed over the authority for you to choose the music. You picked a Fleetwood Mac compilation and spent the rest of the time keeping yourself occupied with the glass of wine he had left on the table for you.

You had rarely ever had wine. Looked like almost never before arriving in Jackson. But here, they had a decent amount of alcohol, both produced by the community and brought in from the outside. Cider was pretty common, as was whiskey, but wine was a much trickier thing to come by for some reason. Joel, being who he was and knowing the people he knew, had a few bottles tucked away in a small cabinet in his kitchen.

He wouldn't let you help with the cooking, insisting he had it under control. That left you with only one job: sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, just watching him. It wasn't like he had a whole lot to do after a while anyway, since the meat pretty much cooked itself, only needing a quick check every now and then. During that stretch of time, he pulled up a stool next to you with his own glass of wine, and the two of you talked about everything and nothing, mostly just casual drift.

"Pet Sematary," he said, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Never read that one."

He raised his eyebrows. "You ain't ever read Pet Sematary?"

You shook your head. "No. I only read Carrie, and honestly it didn't really make me feel any better."

"You gotta read Pet Sematary. Reckon it’s one of the few books I actually finished cover to cover when I was a kid."

"Weren't you big on reading?"

"Preferred doin' other things," he said, tilting his head. "But I got that book for Christmas one year, and then I caught the flu and spent a week in bed. Read the whole damn thing. Let me tell you, havin' a fever dream after readin' somethin' like that wasn't nice."

You laughed. "Is it really that terrifying?"

"Well, I was eleven. Doubt it’d scare me none now."

"I remember my parents watching the movie once, but I didn't pay much attention. I wasn't really into horror. Either that, or it scared me and I just didn't want to look." You suddenly sat up straighter. "You know what book I know you’d love?"

He frowned just a fraction.

"Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry," you said. "You ever read it?"

"Not that I recall."

"It's about two old Texas Rangers who decide to drive a huge herd of cattle all the way from the Mexican border up to Montana. But they run into just about everything along the trail. It’s a Western, so you can picture it. Storms, bandits, different towns. I loved it when I read it, it's incredibly entertaining and," you raised a finger, "deep. It’s not just about the adventure, you know? It’s about the fact that the whole world around them is changing. It's the end of the Old West."

He nodded. "Modernity."

"Exactly. And they’re old men from a generation that spent their entire lives chasing outlaws and living in places where the government had no control. But everything’s becoming obsolete, you know? Their whole way of life."

"Yeah," he smiled, "it happens."

"I've got it on my bookshelf if you'd like to read it," you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I gotta give you my notes or somethin' afterward?"

You laughed. "Only if you want to."

Dinner turned out to be an absolute triumph. You sat with him at the table by the window, savoring every single bite. The venison was incredible; the meat was so tender it practically melted in your mouth, to the point where you didn't even need a knife; you could cut it with just your fork. The vegetables were delicious and just as tender, their rich flavors almost making you want to roll your eyes in pure bliss.

Joel, of course, got a little cocky about it. There was a smug smirk playing on his face that he was clearly trying to hide. Still, you secretly suspected the man hadn't even realized it was going to turn out this damn good.

Between the waiting in the kitchen and the dinner itself, the two of you finished the first bottle of wine without even noticing. Midway through the meal, Joel cracked open the second one, which turned out to be just as delicious. You were really starting to get a taste for it; the flavor paired so well with the food that you couldn't bring yourself to turn down another glass, and then another, and maybe another.

And you weren't sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you’d gotten so hot you shed your sweater before your third glass.

By the time you finished your second helping, you knew the alcohol was starting to do its thing. You felt it first in your feet, in that pleasant buzzing warmth around your skin, and then in the floating lightweight feeling warming up your chest. But most of all, you knew it because your eyes started losing their modesty.

You caught yourself tracking the movement of his lips every time he spoke or took a sip from his glass, your gaze lingering without a shred of hurry. You got completely pulled in, watching his profile under the soft light; the sharp line of his jaw, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. Your eyes drifted down to his hands, tracing the veins standing out against his rolled up sleeves, and you couldn't stop a clumsy wine addled thought from taking over your mind: oh wow… his fingers are really, really thick.

But there wasn’t a thing you could do about it; the wine had already hijacked your filters, and your eyes stayed exactly where they wanted to be. You knew you were being obvious, taking way too many seconds to meet his gaze whenever he spoke, like a woman suddenly turned shy.

And Joel, of course, wasn’t any fool. He noticed.

You caught the shift almost instantly. He stopped talking so animatedly, and his rhythm eased into a lazy drawn out cadence as his voice dropped a register, turning deeper and huskier.

His posture in the chair relaxed, leaning just a little closer to your side of the table, cutting down the distance between you. His eyes, which had been fixed on yours, began making their own unhurried sweep across your face. They lingered on your wine flushed cheeks, dipped for a split second to your mouth when you bit your lip, and drifted back up. He held your gaze for a long stretch of time, sending a tingle straight down the back of your neck.

When he picked up his glass, his fingers traced the curve of the crystal. A tiny, barely there tug pulled at the corner of his mouth; he knew exactly where your attention was anchored.

Oh, Jesus... you wanted to tear him apart.

But not here.

Dinner having ended quite a while ago, you got up from your chair and gathered your plate and his. Joel was up right after you; he cleared the glasses and the rest of the table, tucking the used napkins between his fingers while balancing the wine glasses and the empty bottle in his other hand.

Weaving your way into the kitchen, you placed the dishes into the sink with extra care, trying to let the clatter of the stoneware drown out just how hard your heart was thumping, and turned on the faucet. The rush of running water filled the room for barely a second before you felt his heat right behind you.

Joel stepped up right against your back. You felt the solid pressure of his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades a moment before his arm shot past your side, planting his palm firmly against the edge of the counter, trapping you completely against it. His other free hand reached up without a hint of rush, gripping the handle and shutting off the faucet, cutting the water dead.

"Later," he said.

You felt his breath hit your neck, and your head tilted back on instinct. Understanding the invitation, Joel pressed his entire weight against your back. The solid unyielding feel of him felt so damn good you squeezed your eyes shut and smiled shamelessly.

His hand shifted from the edge of the counter, sliding down to your lower stomach. He flattened his palm there, pressing gently into the soft heat of your belly, before his hand began a steady inching crawl upward. At the same time, his lips found your exposed throat; he kissed you right there while his hand kept drifting up, caressing your chest. And as his palm brushed over your chest, his thumb grazed your nipple through the fabric of your shirt, catching a quiet sigh in your throat.

Your eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. Joel’s mouth kept tasting your neck with short nipping kisses and soft suctions, his hand traveling higher until his long fingers and broad palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing firmly from the sides.

A muffled groan tried to break free, but his grip trapped the sound against your skin, making the vibration rattle right in your vocal cords.

With a tug, Joel pulled your head back, forcing your spine to arch as he locked his hips tight against yours.

His other hand traced down your side, mapping the curve of your waist and hip, squeezing your flesh with a hunger that was driving you out of your mind. The wine and the friction of your bodies sparked a desperate ache between your thighs, and you didn't know how much longer you could go without tearing his pants off.

Sensing your restlessness, Joel nudged one of his legs between yours. With a firm shift of his thigh, he forced your legs apart and hitched his knee right into your center. You let your weight drop, desperate for the pressure, grinding down against him, but the thick denim of your jeans blocked the full sensation and the partial friction only fueled your frustration.

Joel caught onto your desperation and surged even harder against you, and you could feel him fully hard, a rigid ridge pressing into your backside through the layers of clothes. Unable to hold back, you reached a hand blindly behind you until you found the front of his pants, and wrapped your fingers around his crotch, squeezing firmly through the fabric.

The sudden boldness caught him off guard; Joel let out a low groan right against the skin of your neck as his grip on your throat tightened just a little more.

With a sudden jerk, he hauled you away from the counter. His hands dropped to your hips instantly, digging firmly into your flesh as he started steering you out of the kitchen.

A breathless nervous laugh slipped from your lips, cutting through the silence of the house as the two of you moved toward the hallway. And before you could even plant a foot on the bottom step of the stairs, you slapped his hands away, spun around, and bolted up the flight.

Halfway up, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to glance back over your shoulder. Joel was already tracking you; his posture was stiffer, his eyes so dark and locked on yours. You let out a soft amused gasp and scrambled up the rest of the way.

As you cleared the final steps, your fingers hooked the hem of your shirt, yanking it cleanly over your head and dropping it behind you like a breadcrumb on the trail. Right before hitting the doorway of his bedroom, your hands flew to your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall, too.

Joel trailed you without missing a beat. You heard him pause for a split second below to scoop your shirt off the floor, and then he kept coming, completely unhurried, stopping to grab the bra next. He was giving you a head start. He was granting you the exact window you needed to slip into the bedroom, kick off your boots, and shed your pants.

Hearing his heavy tread approach the threshold, you padded silently on bare feet into the bathroom. From inside, you caught the low huff that rumbled from his chest when he stepped into the room and found the bed empty.

The cool night air drifting through the bathroom window instantly prickled your skin, making your nipples harden and the hair on your arms stand up, but you didn't give a damn about the chill. You planted both hands flat and firm against the edge of the marble sink, arching your spine completely and tilting your ass toward the doorway; right at the perfect angle for where he was bound to appear in less than a heartbeat.

And yeah, just a heartbeat later, Joel filled the bathroom doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks, going completely still, frozen under the frame.

A thrill shot through you just from watching his reaction. Joel held your clothes in one hand, his eyes locked onto your bare skin, tracking the curve of your hips and your exposed ass. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle bunched, and that sudden paralysis of sheer awe and desire on his face let you know you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Joel tossed your clothes onto the bathroom counter without a shred of care, while you stayed completely still, watching him. He tightened his jaw and brought his hands down to his waist.

Slowly, he unbuckled the metal latch of his belt; the leather creaked and the metal clinked in this quiet bathroom as he whipped it through the loops in one clean yank. Your pussy throbbed just looking at him; so mean, so serious, so intensely focused as he popped the button of his jeans and dragged the metal zipper down with a harsh rasp, never taking his eyes off you for a single second.

As he began to close the final few inches between you, an intense flutter turned your stomach over. Joel settled right behind you, planting one of his big heavy hands flat against your hip, digging into your skin to anchor you in place, while his other hand went straight for your center, hooking the fabric of your panties to the side.

Your breathing was already ragged and heavy, and your throat felt so dry you could barely swallow. Trying to hold onto that thread of control from the game, you tried to look back at him.

"You should get yourself a mirror," you murmured.

Joel huffed a laugh.

His thick warm fingers parted your wet folds. "Yeah," he said.

You shut your eyes instantly, letting out a low moan as you finally melted into his touch. His fingers were soaked in you immediately, sliding top to bottom. He brought the pad of his index finger up until he found your clit, pressing and rubbing in firm circles that made you flinch and arch your spine even deeper against him.

The wet obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the bathroom instantly. But Joel took his time to torment you, sliding his middle finger along your slit and stretching your wetness before pushing a single knuckle inside your pussy. He went in easy, stretching you open, and a choked moan escaped your lips. A second later, he slipped a second finger in, opening you up from the inside, and began to thrust into your depths, curling his fingers upward to hook the exact spot that made you lose your mind.

"Shit, baby... you're fuckin' soaked," Joel growled in your ear, and the sound of his dirty voice only deepened the spasms already starting to ripple through your walls.

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles turned white.

The wet sounds of friction between his hand and your pussy were loud, giving away just how ready you were; every time he buried his fingers to the hilt, your eyelids grew heavier.

You started to lose all sense of rhythm, rolling your hips back on pure instinct, begging for more and more and more. But Joel didn't give in; he kept his hand steady, pumping inside you, catching your dirtiest, most shameless whimpers right out of the air.

"Joel, please," you stammered, letting your head drop forward. "Fuck me already, don't make me wait."

He cut his movements instantly. With a dragging touch, he slid his fingers out of your wetness. You lifted your head and licked your dry lips, desperately trying to catch your breath.

"You gettin' bossy on me now?" he asked.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you glanced back over your shoulder. Joel already had his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down, using the same hand that was coated in your own slick. The sight of his size and the heavy veins tracing his shaft made you swallow hard.

"Over the sink, now. Put your hands further out and lean down," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly. You stretched your arms across the surface, planting your palms firmly against the cold marble that clashed sharply against the heat of your body. You slid further forward, arching your spine to the absolute limit and pushing your backside out, offering yourself to him completely.

Joel stepped forward, erasing the space between you. You felt the burning tip of his cock hunt for your entrance, pressing right where the ache of your need was loudest. Easy, he broke into you in one controlled heavy push, burying himself deep, inching further and further until he filled you to the brim.

He stretched you so wide you choked back a cry against the marble. He went dead still, granting you a few agonizing seconds for you to adjust to his thickness and squeeze tight around him. Feeling his pulse throbbing inside you was pure heaven.

Then, he started to move. At first, they were short testing thrusts, but as the rhythm leveled out, a whimper of pure relief slipped from your lips.

Joel took you at your word; he fucked you with relentless consistency, driving deep into you with every single stroke, making the wet echo of his hips slamming against your cheeks ring out through the bathroom. The moans spilled uncontrolled from your mouth, impossible to hold back.

Bit by bit, any trace of patience melted from his movements, turning harder. Joel reached a broad hand up to your shoulder and, with a firm yank, forced your upper body back, arching your spine flush against his chest. And without giving you a second to catch your breath, he shifted that same hand straight to your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to pin you tight against him while he kept hammering into you from behind.

The shift in the angle made him sink even deeper, ripping cries and sobs of pure pleasure that vibrated right against the flat of his palm.

And just when you thought you couldn't open up any wider, Joel used his boot to nudge your foot, forcing your legs further apart. With a quick heavy grip, he hooked his free hand under your thigh and hoisted your leg up over the edge of the sink, splitting you completely wide open.

Locked in that vulnerable position, he started fucking you hard and fast, a pacing that completely stole your balance. Desperate, your hands scrambled to find a handhold on the wall or the counter, but you couldn't reach a damn thing; the sheer speed of his thrusts was rattling your entire body.

Joel had you pinned so tight against him that the only thing you could do was cling to his arms, burying your nails into his skin. You held onto him, feeling your one steady foot on the floor nearly lift with every strike, suspended in the air by the force of his hips.

To say you didn't recognize the sound of your own voice was an understatement; you didn't think you’d ever made noises as broken as the ones Joel was ripping out of you with every single thrust. It was a completely new sensation, being entirely undone, unable to do a damn thing but cling to him so you wouldn't shatter completely.

Slowly, his movements began to lose their speed, turning heavier. You felt his chest heave hard against your back as he dialed back the pace, locking you tight in his arms. He let your dangling foot finally find the floor, easing the strain on your muscles, and softened his grip on your body, though he stayed buried deep inside you.

Driven by the lingering slip of pleasure, you reached an arm back over your shoulder, searching for the touch of his skin. Your fingers found the nape of his neck and sank right into his curls, tangling in that soft hair you loved so much.

You tilted your head back, offering your lips in a silent plea, and Joel caught your jaw gently and planted a deep dragging kiss on your mouth.

While kissing you, his free hand carefully guided your leg down from the sink, helping you find your footing. He steered you away from the marble counter, backing you up toward the bathroom door.

Only when you hit the threshold did Joel pull out of you all at once, leaving a choked whine on your lips at the sudden cold absence. Before you could even protest, he brought his palm down in a stinging smack against your flushed ass.

"Bed," he ordered.

You moved toward the mattress immediately, your legs shaking and a delicious ache pooling between your thighs. You collapsed flat on your back against the mattress, sinking into the sheets, and hooked your fingers around the waistband of your wet panties, yanking them off and tossing them onto the floor. All while you watched him shadow over you from the dim light.

Your eyes, completely blown out, tracked Joel’s body as he stripped down under the faint light. He yanked his shirt off in one motion, revealing that broad torso, then kicked off his boots, and finally shed his pants, letting them pool on the floor.

God, he was so big. Huge everywhere; the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his ribcage, his massive arms, and that tremendous length pointing right back at you, glistening and heavy with thick veins.

You spread your legs wide on the mattress, begging him back, utterly unable to look away.

Joel climbed onto the bed, making the springs groan as he settled immediately between your open thighs. He gripped your knees, pushing them back toward your chest to split you open even wider, and lined his cock up with your pussy.

He slid in inch by inch, savoring the fit, stretching your already sensitive walls, but the second he was buried completely inside you, he gave you no quarter. He picked his rhythm right back up.

You held onto him with everything you had, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and digging your nails into his broad back while he fucked you hard, deep thrusts making you bounce right against the mattress.

The wet friction of your bodies took over the room again, mixing with Joel’s pants directly in your ear and your own shameless moans.

"Joel, please," you cried out, squeezing him tighter. "Put all your weight on me."

He lifted his head, locking his eyes onto yours.

"Put all your weight on me," you repeated.

"I'm gonna crush you."

"No, you won't," the heavy impacts chopping up your voice. "Please."

Joel let out a rough pant and buried his face right next to yours as he slowly let his body drop over you. You felt his weight gradually press you down into the mattress; his chest flat against yours, his stomach against yours, blanketing you in sheer heavy man.

"Yes, yes, yes," you started to babble, letting your eyelids flutter shut as your arms wrapped around him and your fingers buried deep into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You were right on the edge, suspended in that eternal second where the pleasure gets so sharp it almost hurts. Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist and your nails were dug into his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension in every single muscle.

Then you felt it. You caught that subtle unmistakable shift in the vibration of his body; the way his cock went even harder, pulsing and throbbing inside you, expanding to its absolute limit. Joel let out a guttural grunt, a purely animalistic drawl of a sound that drowned in the crook of your neck as he completely lost his rhythm and his grip on control.

Knowing you had him right there, that he was about to fall apart for you, was the final push that shattered your gravity. Your own orgasm hit you all at once, a hot burst that clamped your internal walls in violent desperate spasms around his length.

Joel roared against your skin the second he felt you clamp down on him, completely trapped by your climax. He delivered a few brutal frenzied thrusts, driving so deep you felt like you were splitting in two, before cursing loudly and dragging himself back with desperation.

You unlocked your legs from his hips to let him clear, and he grabbed his cock, letting go right over your belly. He was so flushed, his face so raw and undone, that your eyes could do nothing but watch him, panting and silent, while your own muscles kept riding out the tail end of your release.

He leaned forward, planting one forearm beside your head, and brought his face down to yours.

You cupped his face; your fingers pressed gently against his jaw as you pulled his mouth down to meet yours.

Joel's room. Half an hour later. Night.

You flicked off the bathroom light and shut the door behind you.

The effects of the wine were still floating through your system, but now it was pure exhaustion weighing you down. You knew you were gonna sleep like a baby tonight, so before climbing back into bed next to Joel, you went straight for the alarm clock on his nightstand.

"Six thirty sound good to you?" you asked, turning the clock around to set the dial.

"What time is it now?" he wanted to know. He was lying back with his hair still a little damp from the shower, wearing a dark blue cotton t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Quarter to ten."

"Ain't as late as I thought."

You smiled. "Right. I figured it was at least eleven."

"Six thirty's fine."

You set the alarm and slipped the clock back into its spot.

Carefully crawling over Joel’s legs, you slid under the covers as he pulled the sheet and the comforter up over you. You dug your toes into the mattress, stretching out on pure instinct just from the happiness of being comfortable, warm, and knowing you were in for a perfect night of sleep.

You draped your arm over Joel’s chest, and he leaned into you, shifting onto his side to blanket you with his body heat.

"Oh," he murmured, pulling back for just a second to click off the lamp on his nightstand before wrapping his arms right back around you.

The bedroom fell into darkness, but the moonlight streamed through the window; pale, soft, and soothing. It was a full moon tonight.

"Goodnight, Joel."

He let out a low sigh. "Goodnight, Snow."

divider by: omi-resources

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“Why’d he leave you this much food?”

“No clue,” Ellie said, already dumping the stew into a pot over the burner. “Guy’s got a weird way of saying stuff.”

You glanced over everything again, doing a quick inventory in your head. “Alright, what if we throw something together with the veggies and the meat? Make one big thing out of it. Save you for tomorrow.”

Ellie snorted, grabbing a spoon. “Yeah, sure. If it looks and smells half as good as this, go for it. I’m not complaining.”

You nudged the fridge door shut with your hip while you stepped in behind her, already rolling your sleeves up.

“Alright,” you muttered, setting your container aside. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You started pulling things out; containers stacking up fast until the counter filled with mismatched portions. Pre-cooked vegetables soft from reheating, chunks of meat, a bit of broth. Not much on their own, but enough to turn into something decent.

Ellie hovered nearby, leaning back against the counter with her arms loosely crossed, watching you take over.

You slid a pan onto the burner, added a splash of oil, and let it heat before tossing in the vegetables. They hit the surface with a soft sizzle. You stirred them, breaking them apart, then grabbed the meat and cut it into smaller pieces.

“Smells better already,” Ellie muttered.

“Give me a minute,” you shot back,smiling, nudging the mixture around. You added a bit of broth, just enough to bring everything together, letting it simmer. And for a moment, the only sound was the bubbling and the scrape of your spoon against the pan.

Then, casually, you asked, “You always end up on your own when Joel leaves?”

Ellie shrugged. “He doesn’t leave that much.”

You glanced at her over your shoulder, catching the way she said it.

“Then what did you do when he went with me on that trip?”

She hesitated.

“Stayed with Tommy and Maria,” she said, lifting one shoulder. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

You nodded, turning back to the pan, giving it another stir.

Ellie shifted her weight, then added, “Tommy talks a lot. Like, way too much.”

A beat.

“Maria doesn’t. So… yeah. Evens out, I guess.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, letting the food cook down a little more.

You didn’t want to go there, but looking at Ellie made it hard not to. Something about her; the way she talked, that teasing edge in her voice, the way her mouth pulled to one side, brows lifting like she was always halfway to a smart remark. It hit too close.

Sophie. You found yourself wondering what she would’ve been like at this age. What she’d be into. If she’d have that same bite to her, that restless streak. Maybe Jackson could’ve given her something close to a chance of normality. Friends, stupid fun, a first crush that felt like the end of the world. You would have loved to see it.

A sharp sigh behind you snapped the thought clean in half.

“Hey,” Ellie said. “Thanks for not telling Joel you saw me the other day. With Dina.”

You glanced over your shoulder at her. “Yeah. Don’t mention it. Though, I gotta ask—”

“I wasn’t doing anything weird,” she cut in, quick, a crooked grin already forming. “Relax.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Then why keep it a secret?”

Ellie groaned, tipping her head back.

“Remember when I told you he’s always on my case?”

You nodded.

“Yeah, well. That.” She shrugged, like it should be obvious. “He’s got, like, a million rules. It’s whatever.”

“He’s just trying to look out for you.”

“I know,” she said, a little sharper this time, then softer, “I know. Still.”

You looked back at the pan, stirring the vegetables with your spoon while your mind drifted; straight to Joel, of course.

You pictured him here, cutting all this up, cooking the meat, packing everything away because he was leaving for a couple days. Overdoing the portions, of course. Because that was just him, making sure Ellie had more than enough, just in case.

Making sure she was covered. On a list somewhere. Under his brother’s watch.

Just like you.

“So, what are you guys now… friends?”

Ellie’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you upright.

“What?”

“You and Joel,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re friends, right?”

You tapped the spoon against the edge of the pan, knocking off the bits clinging to it, then set it aside for a second. Turning toward her, you leaned your hip against the counter and nodded.

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

Ellie smiled a little at that. “How?”

“What do you mean?”

“How’d that even happen?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… did. Took time, I guess. And we didn’t exactly have a choice but to talk during that trip.”

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I know how that goes.”

“Then you know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah,” she said, shifting her weight, then pointing at you. “Also, for the record, I think it’s cool as fuck they call you Snow.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, frowning like it should be obvious. “It is. Like, when it snows, anyone who’s got beef with you is screwed. They won’t think of anything else.”

You laughed again, shaking your head as the pan behind you started to crackle louder, heat catching the edges of the food.

“Didn’t think of that. I’ll take it.”

You turned back, giving everything another stir, checking the texture.

“Alright, this is almost done. Stew too,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “How about we set the table?”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms out with a groan.

“God, I’m so full I’m about to bust my jeans.”

You laughed, picking at the edge of your plate. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

“Even if I can’t take credit for Joel’s cooking.”

Ellie smirked, dragging a hand over her cheek before lazily nudging her utensils back onto the plate. When you stood and gathered both dishes, she tilted her head, a small frown creeping in.

“Tommy should be with them by now, right?” she asked. “It’s like… ten hours.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine.

“Yeah. I’d think so.”

Ellie exhaled through her nose, reaching up to scratch the back of her neck, a restless habit.

“You think everything’s okay?” she asked. “I’m sure he’s fine. Joel’s always fine.”

You sat back down across from her, resting your forearms on the table.

“I’m sure whatever came up, he handled it,” you said gently. “Might’ve been nothing. Or… something else.”

She huffed quietly, gaze dropping to the table.

“I should’ve gone. It’s bullshit they keep me stuck here all the time. I’m not a kid.”

“No,” you agreed. “You’re not, maybe. But people who care about you, yhey don’t always know where the line is.” You gave her a small look. “Trust me, I get it. I wasn’t allowed to go either, remember? And I’m a full adult.”

That got the faintest reaction out of her. Barely there, but it counted.

“But you,” you added, softer, “you’re not a kid. But you’re still… young.”

Ellie exhaled again, and something heavier settled behind her eyes.

“I see people my age doing whatever they want around here,” she said. “No one’s breathing down their necks like that.”

“He cares about you,” you said with a small nod.

“You think it’s fair?”

You pressed your lips together for a moment.

“It’s not really my call,” you admitted. “But I do know what it’s like to want to protect someone so badly it kind of… bends your judgment. So I can’t really blame him.”

Ellie’s brows pulled together slightly, but then her expression shifted; softening, like something clicked.

“You had a kid, right?” The second it left her mouth, she winced. “Shit, sorry. That came out wrong. I just… heard someone talking about it. I shouldn’t—yeah. Sorry.”

You offered her a small smile, even if your eyes felt heavier.

“It’s okay. Really. Don’t worry about it.” You nodded once. “Yeah. I did.”

Ellie hesitated, then asked, quieter, “What was her name?”

“Sophie.”

Ellie nodded slowly. “What happened?”

For a second, you could almost hear Joel in your head, cutting in; That’s enough, Ellie.

But you just exhaled.

“She got sick,” you said. “A couple years ago. I did everything I could to take care of her. Everything, even unfair things.” You lifted your brows slightly. “But… there’s only so much you can fight. Some things just… happen.”

Ellie’s jaw tightened. “How old was she?”

“Twelve.”

A beat.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “You don’t have to be.”

Ellie stayed quiet for a second. The tension in her shoulders didn’t disappear.

“What was she like?” she asked after a moment, glancing up at you.

You exhaled softly, the answer coming easier than the rest.

“She was… quiet,” you said. “Not shy, just calm, and so, so funny.” A faint smile tugged at your lips. “She loved reading. Could spend hours with a book and not even notice time passing.”

Ellie’s brows lifted a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “And drawing. She was always sketching something. Mostly little things; us, places, stuff she saw during the day.”

“Huh.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Yeah. Actually… I heard you draw too.”

Ellie stiffened just a bit. “You did? Who told you that?”

You smiled, glancing past her toward the fridge; Joel, by Ellie.

“Didn’t need anyone to. Saw that portrait you did.”

She followed your gaze. “Oh.”

“It’s good.”

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not ‘whatever,’” you said. “It’s really good.”

She squinted at you, suspicious. “You just saying that?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean it.”

Ellie held your gaze for a second longer.

“…Alright.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Can I see?”

“What, like, right now?”

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

She hesitated. You caught it; the way her shoulders shifted, the slight press of her lips together. A faint flush crept up her cheeks.

“…Alright,” she muttered after a second. “But don’t make such a fuss of it.”

You smiled, standing up. “I won’t.”

The next day. Greenhouse. Morning.

You barely slept last night. Your mind kept looping, running every possibility into the ground. The group was fine; something must’ve happened in Ridgeway that made them stay and help. There were complications; there always are. That had to be it. Or maybe not. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe they’d been attacked. That would explain the silence, too, and the stretch of nothing before it that started all of this.

Or maybe it happened on the way back. Or on the way there, and they never even made it.

Oh, fuck. Your thoughts wouldn’t quit, your stomach twisting with them, aching at the mere idea that something had gone bad.

You shut your eyes dozens of times through the night, trying to grab even a scrap of sleep, but you couldn’t settle. The only thing that would fix this was getting up and going after them yourself; seeing it, knowing it, with your own two eyes.

But that wasn’t an option. And it wouldn’t help anyway. Just that instinct of yours, always needing to fix things, and the frustration of being stuck here, inside this house, useless.

At some point before dawn, less than an hour maybe, you finally passed out. No dreams, not even a flicker. Or maybe you just didn’t remember. And when you opened your eyes again, it was raining.

The floor was cold under your feet as you got up to look out the window. Rain came down hard, relentless, drumming against the roof and every solid surface it could find. The sky, pale and gray, made your eyes ache the second you looked at it.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the sting of a restless night, of too many hours spent staring at the ceiling.

Your coffee was stronger than usual, and you drank it too fast, pacing through the house like you couldn’t sit still. Back in your room, you grabbed your boots, your jeans, a T-shirt and Joel’s jacket. Well, yours now. It belonged to you. As you got dressed, your legs felt heavy, and a strained sigh slipped out of your chest when you straightened up.

You caught your reflection in the closet mirror, your thumb drifting up to your necklace, brushing over the little heart. Please, Sophie… get him home safe.

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek, centering yourself as you drew a long breath through your nose. Your fingers moved habitually to your jacket, fastening the buttons one by one from the bottom up. That was when you caught it: a single button that sat just a shade off from the rest. You hadn't noticed it until now.

You paused as you imagined Joel accidentally snapping the original and scouring the house for a replacement that was close enough. Or perhaps Lucy, the seamstress, had quietly mended it for him during a spare moment. It was a tiny, nearly invisible flaw, but you liked it.

It was colder than usual today. Maybe it was the rain, cooling everything down, or maybe it was fall finally starting to show. The ground had turned to mud in places as you made your way to the greenhouse, sticking to covered walkways whenever you could, but it didn’t make much difference. You still arrived soaked through, carrying that clean mix of petrichor and almond soap from when you’d washed your hands and face.

“I didn’t sleep at all,” you said, before Zach could even ask about the look on your face.

When you got there, he hadn’t been around long. On one of the tables, he had a row of small empty bottles laid out, which he filled an hour later with oil and lavender while you went about your work in silence. You pulled the prepared oils and lined them up on another shelf, adding paper labels to each one: ingredients listed neatly, along with the date you’d written down over a week ago.

Moving on to the mint, you followed the rhythm of the process: washing, drying, and chopping the fresh leaves until they filled a glass jar just over halfway. You covered the mixture with vodka, sealed it, and moved it into storage. It would sit there for a month and a half, aging until the Jackson cold set in. By then, the extract would be ready to distribute. A simple potent remedy for the stuffy noses and irritated skin that always seemed to follow the beginning of autumn. Mint for all of it.

“Snow,” Zach called.

You were focused on cutting more green leaves.

“Yeah?”

“You hungry?”

You thought about it for a second. “A little.”

“I’ll go grab us something to eat, alright? Be right back.”

When you looked up at him, he was already pulling on his jacket. Behind him, through the window, the rain seemed to have let up.

“Okay.”

“You want me to bring you some tea?”

You smiled, nodding softly. “I’d love that.”

Zach closed his eyes and nodded back. Instead of heading straight for the door, he stepped closer, nudging you gently toward him as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“My sweet grump,” he murmured, giving you a light shake before leaning in closer to your ear. “He’ll be fine.”

You rolled your eyes, resting your palm against the side of his face when he brushed his lips over your warm cheek. It was a simple gesture, but it steadied something in you. And a moment later, you watched him walk out the door.

Minutes later, the clock on the wall read ten in the morning, and you kept at it; cutting mint leaves, gathering rose petals, lavender flowers, and with summer on its way out, heartleaf arnica.

Outside the greenhouse, under a still-covered stretch, all kinds of plants were growing. Heartleaf arnica was one of them. You’d started harvesting it about two weeks ago, right when it hit its sweet spot at the tail end of summer. And like everything else here, none of it went to waste. This variety packed a punch: anti-inflammatory, pain relief, healing, antimicrobial, etc. And it grew all over Jackson, so you were never short on supply.

Same routine as always: you picked several whole flowers and prepped them properly before submerging them in oil. This time, though, you filled two large jars, later to be split into smaller bottles once they were ready.

Once they were set, you carried them into the storage room and carefully shifted things around to pull out the jars Zach had started two weeks ago. These were good to go. You set them on the table, then went digging through the drawer where you kept all the small glass bottles. Most people brought the empties back when they ran out. Sometimes they traded for a refill, sometimes they just dropped them off and left.

You lined them up side by side, and with steady hands and a plastic funnel, you poured the oil into each one. The cork tops sat off to the side; you pressed them firmly into each neck, making sure they were sealed tight. Nothing getting out, nothing getting in. Then, with a pencil, you labeled each bottle; name of the oil, ingredients, properties. A bit of glue (courtesy of Zach, who’d whipped up a homemade batch with flour and water… hell of a man) and you stuck them on one by one.

You set them neatly on a tray and carried them back into storage, placing them on the shelf to the right, the “ready to use” section.

You were still dusting off your hands, stepping toward the front desk as Zach pushed through the door. A paper bag hung from his right hand, you could smell the food from where you stood, and in the other, a tumbler you figured held tea.

"That smells incredible," you said, offering a tired smile.

"Hey." Zach stepped forward, dropping the supplies onto the table with a thud. He didn't return your smile; his face was a mask of rigid unease. "I saw Tommy and Jerry outside Dr. Hale’s."

Your heart performed a violent sickening lurch.

"What? Are they back already?" You didn't wait for an answer, already reaching for your coat on the rack beside him. "I’m gonna check in. I’ll be right back to eat, I’m done with the oils—"

"Wait." His hand clamped around your arm a split second before your fingers brushed the door handle.

"What?"

"From that first group that headed to Ridgeway... only three came back."

The world seemed to tilt. Every muscle in your body went unnaturally still. "What are you talking about?"

"I asked Eugene at the dining hall," Zach said, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "He said they rolled in an hour ago. They only managed to bring back three of the people who left five days ago."

Your throat tightened, turning to dry concrete as the air left your lungs. "Did Joel make it back?"

Zach’s head moved in a slow ghost of a shake. "I’m not sure."

"Was Ellie there? Was she with them?"

"I didn't see her."

"No."

That was all you managed. One word. No.

The word was a hollow, breathless thing. You heard Zach call your name, but you were already gone. You tore the door open, your legs moving with a frantic, desperate autonomy toward anyone who could give you a different answer.

No.

No, this couldn’t be happening.

Please, don’t let this be happening.

You knew something was wrong, fuck fuck fuck, you knew it! You’d felt it in your gut, deep and nagging, the same way it always hit when your instincts started sounding the alarm. All these days, all those nights… they’d been out there, in trouble. No telling what they ran into, what, or who.

Your stomach had turned to lead, dropping toward your feet and dragging you down, the opposite of your heart; swollen up in your throat as you all but ran, stealing the air from your lungs. Your tongue had started to tingle out of nowhere, and you pressed it to the roof of your mouth without thinking, trying to quiet it. It didn’t help.

And the distance wouldn’t close. Your legs shook as you pushed them faster, but the blocks stretched longer than they had any right to, or maybe they’d always been that way, and your usual calm had kept you from noticing. Behind you, Zach followed in complete silence, knowing exactly where you were headed.

Please, no. Joel couldn't be—

No. You couldn’t even think it. Don’t. But your eyelids suddenly felt heavy, your cheeks too, and something soft and aching struck against your ribs from the inside.

Your eyes started to burn as you neared Hale’s place, and a few steps out, you spotted Jerry hauling a crate away. There were more, too many. Men moving back and forth, arms full of boxes. Supplies, you figured. But for who? For what? Was any of it fucking worth it?

You stopped at the open doorway, taking it all in. People everywhere. Men, women, kids. Tommy stood off in the distance, Lucas not far from him, dragging a hand down his face, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite process whatever the hell had happened. Paul wasn’t there. Neither was Eric. Jaime. Fionn. Maria, gone. Ellie, nowhere.

Your heart started pounding hard enough it felt like it might pop another button off Joel’s jacket. You swallowed, your tongue tingling, your chest tightening as you stepped back, pressing yourself against the wall beside the doorway. Your hand came up, gripping at your chest.

And then—

“Tell Jerry to get back here. Now.”

Dr. Hale’s voice, coming down the hall.

“Man’s too damn stubborn for his own good.”

That voice; the exhaustion behind it, that rasp bleeding into the softness of the sound. Your heart didn't just skip; it stopped dead in your chest.

Joel. That was Joel’s voice.

You bolted upright, every nerve ending on fire as footsteps echoed down the hallway. Each heavy thud mirrored the frantic rhythm of your heart. Then, he was there, stepping through the threshold right beside you.

He didn't see you at first; he looked like a ghost. Your gaze locked onto him, tracing the rain slicked hair plastered to his forehead and the dark sodden fabric clinging to his broad shoulders and back, stained with the grime of the road. Zach skidded to a halt a second later, falling silent the moment he saw him.

As if the weight of your stare had burned into the back of his neck, Joel turned. His eyes locked onto yours. And in those five seconds as he searched your face, your throat tightened and your fingers went ice cold. It was like looking at an apparition, a terrifying trick of the light. And at the same time, relief hit so hard it didn’t fit inside you. There was no room left. Not for that, not for anything; just the noise in your head, everything crashing together in a storm of thoughts.

Your eyes burned, blurring with tears you couldn't suppress, but you forced the emotion down a microsecond later.

Joel’s expression shattered. "Hey."

"You're here."

He took a single step toward you. Up close, the damage became clear: his skin was dry and weathered, a fresh gash marked his cheek, and a mottled pink scrape stretched across his brow.

He gave a nod. "I am."

You mirrored the gesture, your movements slow and mechanical. It was only then that you realized your fists were clenched so tight that your nails had carved deep stinging crescents into the skin of your palms.

"I’m sorry about the others," you whispered. "I truly… I’m so sorry."

Joel’s eyelashes fluttered in a series of rapid blinks before his gaze dropped to your feet. A sigh shuddered through his chest.

"We tried."

You nodded again.

You were fighting an agonizing relentless hunger to hold him. A desperate need to verify the reality of him. To feel the heat of his skin and the beat of his heart; to prove he was truly alive, right here, in front of you. The impulse was so violent you felt yourself leaning into it, certain that in just a few more breaths, you would bridge the gap between you.

Joel watched you in silence, perhaps sensing the words catching in your throat or the vibration of the step you hadn't taken yet.

But the last possible second, as your mind warred between reaching out or staying back, you cleared your throat, forcefully swallowing the desperate urge to collapse into him.

"I—I have to go. There’s work to do," you stammered, taking a step back. Your head bobbed in a frantic nod. "So much to do. I… I’m truly sorry about the others. Losing people… it never gets easier."

"I know. Thanks. Do you—"

"I’m just glad you’re back, Joel."

Before he could offer another word, a new wave of something dark and inexplicable surged through you, forcing you to turn and flee.

It was anguish, sudden and suffocating. Your lungs were still burning from the sprint from the greenhouse, but your mind was racing even faster, terrified by the sheer power these thoughts suddenly held over you. It was disorienting to feel this much.

You walked so fast your breath hitched almost immediately. You hated this feeling. You hated it. He was fine; a few scrapes, a cut cheek, but alive. Yet, in those agonizing minutes before you saw him, as you tore through the mud toward Dr. Hale's, something had etched itself so deeply into your chest that you’d expected your knees to buckle under the weight of it. The ghost of that terror still haunted your limbs; it was there in the tremor of your hands, the hollow ache in your sternum and the crushing pressure tightening around your ribs.

When you finally reached the greenhouse, you shed your jacket and caught it on the rack at the exact second Zach stepped in behind you.

"Hey, you okay?" He closed the door, his eyes never wavering from yours. He’d been trailing you the whole way back, and a pang of guilt pricked at you for it.

"Yeah. I’m fine."

He watched as you moved toward the front desk, rummaging through a drawer for the shears. You pulled out two sheets of recycled paper, intent on cutting them into small squares for labels. In truth, you just needed to do something. Anything. Now.

Zach crossed the room and leaned his hip against the table beside you.

"Snow."

"Mmm?"

"Okay, stop," he said softly, his hand resting over yours to still the scissors just as you were about to notch the paper. "Can we talk about what happened?"

"What happened?"

When you turned to look at him, Zach gave you a look that said you know exactly what I’m talking about, please, just talk to me. You hadn't realized a look could carry so much meaning, but Zach’s always did.

You shook your head, gaze dropping to your hands as they let go of the scissors, the paper. Your throat felt tight and heavy, as if you’d swallowed a handful of stones.

"I’m alright. I just…" You pressed your lips together, the anguish resurfacing. "For a moment, I..." You faltered, swallowing hard again. "For a moment, I thought he was dead."

He sighed, falling silent for a beat. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That’s on me. I shouldn't have broken the news to you like that."

“No, no, it’s fine. Is not your fault.”

Zach laid his hand on your back, and the tight knot in your chest throbbed until it spilled out as tiny tears brimming behind your lids. You swallowed a few, bit your tongue.

“But he’s okay, you saw him.”

“I know. I know he’s okay. And I… I’m a terrible person,” you murmured, shutting your eyes, letting a single tear trickle down your cheek.

“Hey, don’t say that. Why? That ain’t true.”

“When I saw him… I felt such a relief,” you said, glancing at Zach as his hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. “Happy… happy he wasn’t one of the ones who didn’t make it. How can I feel like that? People lost their loved ones and I… I felt relief. How can I feel like that?”

Zach slid his hands over your shoulders and pulled you against his chest, holding you just right, keeping you from crumbling entirely.

“You ain’t a bad person, Snow. It’s natural to feel relief he’s safe. Don’t mean you don’t care ‘bout the others. I know you do, I know you.”

You sniffled, swiping your hand across your damp cheek.

“I was so scared.”

“I know.”

You eased back just enough to look at him, lips pressed thin for a second before you spoke. And Zach held your gaze in a way only a handful of people ever had. You hadn’t thought you’d find something like that again. Not in a friend.

“What am I supposed to do?” you asked, no explanation needed.

He sighed. “For now? I’m gonna warm up your tea, you’re gonna drink it, and then… we’ll take it from there.”

You nodded.

Hours later.

Joel woke at four in the afternoon, dragged out of a seven-hour nap. You’d think that kind of sleep (still not enough) would smooth out the miles they’d burned getting from the outskirts of Ridgeway to Jackson.

Yeah, no. It didn’t.

Damn, I’m getting old. He sat up and a rough groan dragged out of his chest as his back and knees lit up. Push a body that hard, then let it crash, and it turns to aching jelly. That’s just how it goes.

The trip sat heavy on him; losing people did that, failing did that. It didn’t matter that they’d managed to help the other community in the end, good outcome or not, they’d still lost people. Their people.

Ridgeway had been hit, which didn’t sit right, not with defenses that tight. Nothing about it felt random. No way it was. And when Joel and the others got there, ten uniformed men took them in, tied their hands and feet, and kept them locked up for two days. The beatings weren’t something everyone walked away from. No, not everyone. But Joel didn’t want to think about it. It didn’t seem to matter. He couldn’t stop.

From Ridgeway, only thirteen men were left standing and they were the ones who managed to take down seven from the other side, free Joel and the rest, and start pushing to take the territory back.

The real gut punch came after: there’d been a rat. Joseph, one of the community’s top men. Turns out he’d been cutting shady deals for a while, shaking hands with the kind of people you don’t shake hands with, and somewhere along the line he’d agreed to sell out his own. A coward, in simple words.

Anyway, Joseph was executed, same as the three others in his little inner circle. And he went out like a coward too: on his knees, begging for his life, pretending he was sorry. But you don’t mess with Ridgeway. You don’t slaughter their people, and you sure as hell don’t betray them.

They couldn’t just pack up and leave. Joel and the others stayed, doing what they could with bruises and aching bones. They buried the dead, turned out every pocket looking for anything that might say where the attackers came from, and made sure there weren’t any more rats hiding among them. There weren’t.

By the time Tommy showed up, that was the scene he walked into. There wasn’t much left to do. He offered to take them back to Jackson, patch them up, give them a chance to recover, but they turned him down. They couldn’t abandon Ridgeway, not with incoming shipments on the line. Other communities depended on those runs, not just Jackson.

Thirteen survivors was enough. It had to be. They’d rebuild, same as before. Only this time, as Arthur, their leader, put it, trust wouldn’t come easy anymore.

That said, one thing was settled: Jackson had earned their full trust. And that put it at the very top of Ridgeway’s list when it came to favors.

The trip back dragged on and the homecoming tasted bitter. Facing the families of the dead was never easy, and guilt always came for him, and for everyone. Eric, Jaime, Fionn. Their bodies arrived in white bags, set for burial first thing tomorrow after a ceremony their families had asked for. It never got easier.

Now, trying to clear his head, Joel shed his pajamas and pulled on clean clothes that smelled like lavender soap. He headed down to the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it like it had been years since the last one. Then, he crossed the short stretch from his back door to Ellie’s garage and knocked three times. She opened up almost right away.

That morning, she’d greeted him with a tight hug and walked him to the dining room, sitting close while he shared what little he would about the trip over breakfast, which wasn’t much. Barely anything, really. But she stayed. And Joel had to keep a lid on how much that meant to him. They’d argued again before he left, and that wasn’t easy to carry; first time in his life dealing with a teenager. Lord knew he was doing his best.

“How was that nap?” Ellie held the door open while he stepped inside. The room smelled like incense.

“Not near long enough.”

“Then why’d you get up?” she shot back. “Ain’t like you got a schedule today.”

Joel pressed his lips together.

“Didn’t feel like layin’ there.” His gaze drifted around. “What’re you up to?”

Ellie let out a breath and dropped back into her chair. Thick white pages were spread across her desk, full of sketches of familiar faces: Dina, Tommy, Benji, even one of Shimmer. But that wasn’t what she was working on now. She was drawing flowers, the same ones sitting beside her next to a half full mug of tea.

“What d’you think this is?” she asked, lifting the page for him.

Joel braced his fingers on the desk and squinted at it. “Uh… daisies?”

Ellie grinned. “Nope. Chamomile.”

“Oh. Right.” He nodded, like that cleared anything up. “Since when you into plants? Thought they bored you.”

“They do,” she said, glancing at him. “These aren’t for me.”

“What, then?”

“For Snow.”

Joel’s heart kicked. Heat crept up his neck. “Snow?”

“Yeah.” Ellie tapped the page with her pencil. “For her recipe book. Lavender, chamomile, heartleaf arnica, mint, rosemary… she gave me a list. I go find ’em, draw ’em.”

“She’s makin’ a recipe book?”

“Herbal medicine,” Ellie shrugged. “Gonna keep it in the greenhouse.”

“Huh.” Joel nodded, eyes following the lines she’d laid down and the color filling them in.

“She was here yesterday.”

“She was?”

Ellie nodded, setting the pencil aside and turning toward him as he straightened up.

“Yeah. We absolutely wrecked the fridge, by the way.”

Joel raised his brows. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“It was gonna go bad. You seriously expected me to eat all that by myself?”

“I’ve seen you eat, kiddo,” he huffed a laugh. “I know what you can put away.”

“You know the dining hall exists, right?”

“Yeah. Also know you like my cookin’ better.”

She snorted. “Well, you might have competition now.”

Joel folded his arms, one brow ticking up. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Snow’s a damn good cook,” she said, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “But I’m guessin’ you already knew that. You two spend a lotta time together, huh?”

Joel let out a breath through his nose and rolled his eyes, arms still crossed.

“You talked to her?” Ellie asked.

He frowned. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

“I asked a question. Didn’t think it’d put you on edge.”

“I ain’t on edge.”

“Mhm.”

Ellie turned back to her desk, shuffling the papers; sketches of other plants, the house, familiar stretches of land. She slid a hand through them until she found the one she wanted, tucked careful inside a notebook.

“When you see her, can you give her this?” she said, holding the page out to him. “Did it yesterday, she forgot it.”

Joel took the paper, holding it up for a moment, and scanned it.

It was so unmistakably you. There you were; smiling with your eyes in that way he knew by heart. Your mouth barely curved, but your gaze said everything. Ellie had caught every line of your face, and he could almost hear your voice in that moment, holding something back, biting it down so you wouldn’t ruin the sketch. Must’ve taken effort. You never did know how to keep quiet, did you?

Joel swallowed. “Yeah… alright. Didn’t know you two were close.”

Ellie gave a small nod. “Didn’t know you were, either.”

He pressed his lips together and glanced off to the side, choosing not to take the bait.

“I saw her at the movies the other day,” Ellie went on. “She was with that tall guy.”

“Zach.”

“No, not Zach. I know Zach,” she said, waving a hand. “The other one, the one who hangs out with Clint.”

“Fabrizio?”

“I think so,” she nodded. “Yeah. Definitely Fabrizio.”

Joel nodded a few times, dragging his fingers along the edge of the desk, eyes drifting past Ellie to somewhere behind her.

“What’d you go see?”

“Terminator.” She grinned. “It was fuckin’ awesome.”

Joel winced at the language. “Yeah… that’s a real good one.” He hesitated a beat. “You wanna have dinner tonight?”

Ellie pressed her lips together for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Alright. Eight o’clock, sound good?”

“I’ll be there.”

Joel stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

And on his way out, he slipped your portait into the pocket of his jeans.

The ground beneath you was already dry, a gift from the blazing sun that had finally shown up close to noon. It didn’t come down on you harshly, though. No. A beautiful willow stretched above, its weeping branches hanging like tears, shielding you from the sting of the sunlight.

You sat low in a lounge chair, barely off the ground, your legs stretched out and slightly bent, a book resting on your thighs. The Secret History, by Donna Tartt. You’d started it when you arrived barely half an hour ago, and you were only about five pages in. Your fingertips were slow to turn each page, your focus slipping away from you. And maybe this wasn’t the right day for this kind of distraction.

No. Maybe it wasn’t.

It wasn’t a good day in Jackson, even if the bright sun and the suddenly clear sky tried to suggest otherwise. You’d steered clear of the center on purpose, which is how you ended up here; tucked near the stables, a little out of the way. Out there, in the middle of it all, they were probably handling the bodies by now, getting things in order for the morning service. You wanted no part of it.

You weren’t like this. Not all the time. Tomorrow, you’d be useful; whatever they needed, you’d give it. But right now, today, in this exact moment, you had nothing to offer. Something inside you was weighing too heavy, a strange kind of ache that flared up whenever death drew close. Close like this.

You didn’t want to think about it. About the fear that had crept in, dragging up the memory of what it feels like to lose someone. And worse, the way that same fear proved something you didn’t want to admit: you weren’t as strong as you used to be.

Back then, out on your own, fear didn’t have a place in you. Sometimes you even wished something awful would come along and take you out. But when it did, you fought. You always fought. You never really understood why; how, with your body worn down and running on nothing, you still clawed your way through it.

Maybe you couldn’t help it. Maybe you needed to. Maybe, buried deep, there was still a stubborn flicker of hope, some tiny belief that there’d be light at the end of all that dark.

And then you came here. And here it was, that flicker. Shaped like friends. Like kind hands that took you in without question. Like something dangerously close to love. Love that softens you. Love that makes you break, makes you weak.

Zach didn’t buy any of that. According to him, love makes you stronger; gives you something to fight for, something to hold your ground for. Sophie made you stronger. Frances did too. Your parents, all of them.

But what no one tells you is that kind of strength comes with strings attached. It binds you to a life where you’re always brushing up against danger. Bad days, worse nights, never too far from the edge.

And you don’t always see it coming. One small thing can set it all off again, and when it does, your body doesn’t ask permission. It just reacts. Like today; your heart hammering for minutes after you got back to the greenhouse, the anxiety clinging so tight you couldn’t bring yourself to eat what Zach had brought you.

You just had too much to take in. Too much to sort through. And maybe you weren’t as healed as you thought. Or maybe everything just mattered too damn much.

After a few more half focused minutes, you closed your book, dragging your palm over the cover. You really needed to start picking happier reads. Most of what you gravitated toward leaned heavy, messy, aching and complicated, and even when you loved them, they left you wrung out. Last time, it was Jane Eyre. Seeing her find Rochester again, only to discover what he’d become, how hurt he was, it got under your skin in a way you hadn’t expected.

You couldn’t tell if you were growing more sensitive lately, or if you’d always been this way and were only now letting it show. Maybe you’d always been soft.

“Hey.”

You caught the voice before you saw him. Not far, just enough to pull you out of your head. And when you turned to your left, there he was.

Joel was making his way through the short grass, his boots brushing over the green as he walked. His shadow was stretching out in front of him the closer he got, his silhouette sinking into the ground like a melted reflection.

The bruises on his face hadn’t faded since this morning. If anything, they stood out more in the clear daylight. Whatever else he might’ve been hiding, you couldn’t tell; he was covered up in a dark gray flannel, sleeves rolled down, dark jeans, usual boots.

He stepped beneath the willow, brushing aside the low hanging branches that grazed his cheeks.

“Here y’are. Been lookin’ all over for ya,” he said, tilting his head with a soft smile on his mouth. “This your new spot?”

Careful, you set the book down on the ground. “It’s quiet.”

His eyes moved over the place; the scattered grass, the dry earth beneath your feet, the thick trunk rising up into a spill of branches and leaves.

“Sure is. You comfortable there?”

You let out a breath and pushed yourself up from the lounge chair. You shook out your hands a little and nodded.

“It’s pretty comfortable.”

Joel nodded, and your eyes lingered on him for a few seconds. He looked worn down. Tired. Scrapes and bruises marked his cheek and part of his forehead, and there was something at his neck, a faint imprint, like fingers… or something tighter. A rope?

Your stomach turned. You swallowed hard. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Caught a nap. Was a good one.”

You frowned. “Was it enough?”

“I’ll sleep later tonight. If I stayed down longer, I’d just be starin’ at the ceiling come dark.”

Your lips pressed into a quiet line of disagreement, but you didn’t argue. You didn’t even know what you’d say. You hadn’t expected to see him again today.

Joel watched you in silence, that faint smile fading bit by bit. He shifted his weight, hooking his thumb into his belt.

“How you been these past few days?”

“I’ve been okay,” you nodded. “All good.”

“Ellie told me you were over last night. Says she likes your cookin’,” he said, one brow lifting.

“She told you that?”

“Yeah.” Joel nodded slowly. “Thank you. For, you know… keepin’ her company.”

“Of course. She’s good to be around.”

“You workin’ on a recipe book or somethin’?”

You blinked, quick, dropping your gaze for a second as your arms folded over your chest.

“Yeah. You know, with all the plants and herbs we’ve got here… figured maybe the next people running the greenhouse could keep it going.”

Joel gave a small nod, brows lifting just a touch. Your chest ached looking at him, and you had the sudden, stubborn sense it would ease if you just stepped in and held him. Just once. Just that. I’m so glad you’re safe. That’s all. Just that.

“You alright, then?” he asked, his voice so open, so genuinely curious it made you wonder if something had slipped through, if you were showing more than you meant to.

You straightened a little. “Yeah. Why? I’m fine.”

“Nothin’, I just…” He shook his head. “When I saw you this mornin’, you looked kinda… I don’t know—”

“I was tired, that’s all. Been a little under the weather these past few days. You know how it is.”

A lie. But it did the job.

Joel pressed his lips together. “You got fall allergies?”

“Maybe that’s it.”

He nodded, even though it wasn’t quite fall yet. Didn’t seem to matter.

A beat passed. Another.

“Got a letter for me?”

You let out a sharper breath this time, fingers tapping once against your arm before you stilled them.

“No, Joel, I don’t. You told me to save it for when you got back, so I haven’t written anything yet.”

And it’s not like you even knew if he would come back. Not until this morning, right?

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. His gaze dropped to your feet, and he gave a small shake of his head.

“Is something wrong or—”

You shifted your weight, jaw tightening, eyes flicking away from him and back again.

“Jesus, Joel, enough with the questions, alright?” you cut in, your arms pulling tighter across your chest. “I just came out here to read my damn book in peace. Alone.”

You saw it land, every word of it, but he didn’t show much. Still, the second it left your mouth, you felt like a complete jerk.

Joel nodded slowly. His eyes dipped to the chair, the book, then back to you. He shifted, like he might say something, but it didn’t quite make it out. His hand hovered near his belt, then dropped.

“...Alright.”

There was no edge to it. No bite. He gave one last look and then, he turned.

You watched him go. Step by step, he moved back through the grass, the distance opening between you just as easily as it had closed. The willow branches swayed faintly behind him, settling back into place around you alone.

His shadow stretched out in behind him now, long and thin, following his every step as he walked away, pulling farther, softer, until both of them blurred into the light.

A day later. Dining hall. Jackson. Afternoon.

This day kept wearing you down by the minute. Your body ached for no clear reason, like you were on the brink of coming down with something. Maybe it was life’s way of calling you out for lying to Joel yesterday, telling him you’d been sick. Oh, you want a cold? There you go, dummy. Have one.

The service for the dead in Ridgeway was held that morning. The sky stayed heavy and overcast through most of it, the sun only breaking through a few hours after the coffins were lowered into the ground. Two of the widows held their small children close; another held only herself, stiff and unreachable, refusing every hand that reached for her. She didn’t accept a single embrace, didn’t let anyone comfort her, just walked off alone when it was over, head bowed, like the weight of it all belonged to her and her alone. And it was true.

Joel wasn’t there. You caught yourself scanning the crowd anyway, searching for him out of habit, and strangely, felt relief when you didn’t find him. Funny how that worked. You’d spent the rest of the day avoiding him for the exact same reason: you didn’t want to face how much of a jerk you’d been to him.

And yet, what really got under your skin was him, his whole act. Like everything was fine. Like nothing had happened. Like there weren’t marks of violence still lingering at his throat, like the bruises on his face weren’t fresh. Asking casual questions as if he hadn’t almost died, as if he hadn’t all but told Tommy to keep you away and let him handle it alone. No, you couldn’t deal with that.

You didn’t see him all day. Not at the greenhouse, not on your way to the stables, not even in the streets as you walked toward the dining hall.

By the time you got there, your appetite had already checked out.

In front of you sat a cup of tea and a grilled cheese and nothing else. Your first real attempt at food all day if you didn’t count the coffee you’d forced down that morning, despite your unsettled stomach.

“Think Isa might know what else we can do with what we’ve got?” you asked, lifting the cup to your lips while your other hand kept your notebook steady.

“Yeah, I’d bet she does. She’s the one who showed me how to take care of the plants in the first place,” Zach said from across the table. “You gonna go talk to her?”

“That’s the plan. There’s a lot in the greenhouse that’s not being used the way it should.”

Zach tipped his head to the side. “We should give some of those plants away too. Ain’t exactly swimmin’ in space. I was thinkin’ we could bring a few out here, let people see them, take them home if they want.”

“Yeah. I could bring some to the school as well. Maria told me the classrooms are ready, we could help decorate. There’s plenty of windows.”

“Oh,” Zach said, glancing up. “How’s that comin’ along? You got it all figured out yet?”

“You mean the classes?”

“Mm-hm.”

You let out a breath and set your notebook down on the table. “I put together a reading plan. Jackson’s got a real nice children’s section, lots of good stories. I want them to start there, ease into it, and then build from that. I dunno the younger kids’ ages yet, though. I’ll probably have a better handle on things once I meet them.”

“And when do you start?”

“In a couple weeks.”

“Look at you,” he said, taking your hand and giving it a gentle shake. “All Miss Snow now.”

“Oh, hush,” you muttered, your cheeks warming. “I just hope it all goes well.”

“It will. I know it will.”

You dipped your head, suddenly shy, and opened your notebook right where you’d left off; pages crowded with notes and little doodles that had nothing to do with anything important.

“Hey… you see Joel yesterday?”

“What?” Your head lifted, not fast, but quick enough to give you away.

“Yesterday. You see him?”

“How do you know?”

Zach raised his brows. “That a yes?”

“…Yeah.”

“Oh.” He nodded, studying you a little more carefully now. “He came by lookin’ for you yesterday afternoon. Stopped by to see me.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

Your gaze dropped again, settling on the faint reflection in your tea. You pictured Joel walking around, asking about you, maybe he had something to say, or maybe he just wanted to check in or—

“Oh God,” you sighed.

“What?”

You shook your head, looking back at Zach. “I was awful to him yesterday. He came to see me by the stables and I—” you huffed softly, frustrated with yourself. “I was a complete jerk.”

A half smile tugged at his mouth. “What d’you mean? What’d you say to him?”

You shrugged. “Nothing, I… I just made it very clear, in a not-so-subtle way, that he should leave me alone.”

Zach let out a quiet laugh. “And why’d you go and do that?”

You pressed a hand to your jaw. “I don’t know. I didn’t wanna see him. I wasn’t feeling great.”

“Jesus, I don’t understand you women.”

You scoffed. “No, Zach. I don’t understand you men.”

“And what’d I do?”

“Ugh, nothing!” You dragged both hands over your face, covering your eyes before letting out a heavy sigh and dropping them again. “It’s just, he showed up acting like everything was fine, and it’s not. It’s not. What is wrong with him? Oh, and did I tell you he apparently talked to Tommy so that if anything went down in Ridgeway, I wouldn’t be allowed to go with them? Ellie told me. And I don’t know about you, but I trust her.”

“Okay… how’s that now?”

“That’s it, what else is there?”

Zach shook his head, amused. “And why d’you think he did that?”

You clicked your tongue. “Why else would he? He’s controlling. He wasn’t gonna be around to make sure I didn’t do something he wouldn’t approve of, so he handed the job off to his little brother. And honestly,” you added, lifting your brows, “I can’t believe Tommy went along with it. I’m mad at him too.”

“Uh,” Zach nodded slowly. “You don’t think there might be some other reason Joel did that?”

“Yeah? Like what?”

He pressed his lips together, giving a small shrug. “I don’t know… maybe he was tryin’ to look out for you?”

“No, no,” you waved him off. “Joel’s always like this. Ever since I met him. Always going behind my back making sure I don’t do this or that.”

“And that cancels out the part where he might just care about you?”

Frustration flared, hot and restless. You exhaled, hooking your fingers through the handle of your cup and gripping it a little tighter than necessary.

“Whatever. I don’t agree with it.”

“Then why don’t you go ask him?”

“I already know what he’s gonna say, and I don’t want to argue.”

“Why would you argue? Don’t make much sense.” Zach frowned slightly. “He’s back, ain’t he? Safe and sound, by the way. And if I remember right, just yesterday you were all torn up, scared and all, didn’t know if he was comin’ back, if he was okay. Now he’s here and what?” He tipped his head, “you’re just gonna stay mad at him? For how long?”

“Oh, Zach—”

“No, don’t ‘oh, Zach’ me. You know I’m right.” He leaned forward a little. “Three people didn’t make it back from that trip, Snow. And I promise you, the people who loved them would give just about anything to have them walkin’ through that door again. Joel came back.” A small pause. “So what, you gonna act like you don’t care?”

“You know I care,” you shot back. “Of course I care.”

“Then what’re you gonna do?” he asked, softer now. “Sit here and stay mad, or go see him? Don’t you wanna know why he was lookin’ for you?”

You bit your tongue and let out a quiet breath, your gaze dropping to the table. Your eyes started to burn, and you blinked quickly, trying to chase the tears away.

“Oh, hey, no, no, darlin’,” Zach murmured, already getting to his feet. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes squeezing shut as he sat beside you and slipped an arm around your shoulders. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

If anyone was watching, you didn’t want to know. So you let him pull you in between his warm arms, your face pressed against his chest as the tears finally slipped free. You cried softly while his hand moved over your back; gentle, easy, again and again, until the ache started to ease.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t say nothing wrong.” You paused, then added softly, “You’re right. I’m being stupid.”

“No, you ain’t stupid,” he assured you. “You’re just stubborn as hell, and I love you anyway, alright? We all do.”

“I’m sorry.”

Zach leaned back just enough to look at you, studying your face for a second. He shook his head.

“It’s okay, baby. We all get scared sometimes.”

Two hours later. Your house. Afternoon.

The walk to the greenhouse did its job; it made you feel better. At that hour, the place was usually hushed, and you didn’t stay long. Just enough to grab what you needed and slip out before anyone started wondering what you were doing there after five. You shut the door properly, keyed in the alarm, and left without a trace.

Heartleaf arnica oil, lavender oil, rose water, and mint extract. Four small bottles, now lined up across your kitchen counter after the ride home in your bag. Next to them sat the blueberry pie you’d pulled from the oven just twenty minutes ago. Peak season in Jackson, by the way; someone had dropped off bags overflowing with berries in the dining hall and you knew you had to try them.

It was your first time baking a pie, but you followed Isabella’s recipe. Made two, actually. One full sized, one small; just a single serving. You’d already tested the smaller one. Call it quality control: It passed. More than passed, it was really good.

The oils, the rose water, the extract, the pie. And beside them, two soaps Zach made; tiny lemons, almond scented, almost too pretty to use. You slipped them into a small cloth pouch, then packed the bottles into a larger one, giving each enough space so nothing would knock together or spill. You double-checked the corks, just in case.

Beside it, a letter. You’d written it the moment you got home, while the pie baked, making a conscious effort not to let it tip into anything too sentimental. And you stuck to the pact you and Joel had: nothing from the outside world made it onto the page. So you kept it carefully clean; a reply to his last letter, a couple of small anecdotes, a glimpse of how your week in Jackson had been. No mention of Ridgeway.

You crouched, reaching under the counter for your basket, the same one you’d packed weeks ago for that picnic with Joel. The one that never happened. You set it on the counter and, with care, placed the pie inside, sealed in a glass container, along with the cheese rolls you’d made an hour ago. A couple set aside for Zach, the rest tucked neatly into the basket.

You didn’t want the food picking up the scent of the soaps or anything else, so you grabbed a brown paper bag and slipped the smaller cloth pouches inside. The letter went in last, resting off to the side.

You let out a breath, adjusting everything one final time, fingertips lingering as your stomach twisted again. Nerves, maybe.

It was warm in here. Or maybe you’d just overheated from baking. Either way, the day had leaned hot, the weather turning fickle; cool yesterday, warm today, tomorrow could go either way.

You moved the basket aside, everything set, nice and ready for later, and headed to your room. A moment later, at your closet, you pulled the doors open and started going through your clothes.

Question, question, question: what in here said I’m sorry for how I treated you, please forgive me best?

A skirt? Jeans? Denim shorts? You could wear that dress from last time… you knew he liked it. But no… too obvious.

From the clothes Isa had given you, there were two pieces you loved and hadn’t had a reason to wear yet. One was a skirt; dark blue, almost black. Light fabric, soft and cool, falling from your waist to your calves. When you walked, it slipped between your legs in a really nice graceful way you’d only ever admired in the mirror, never outside the house.

The second was a dress. Pure white, delicate brocade. The square neckline suited you, held everything just right, lifted in all the ways it should. A neat row of small buttons ran down the front, stopping just above your navel. The sleeves reached your elbows, slightly puffed. It cinched at the waist, hugging your shape just enough, and the skirt fell easy, brushing a little past your knees. Was that too much?

Careful, you slipped out of it and let it fall onto the bed, left in just your underwear. The floor was cool under your feet as you crossed into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped beneath it. You washed up, unhurried, following the same steps as always. You were getting good at it; had your own routine now, one you’d settled into without thinking. You liked going to sleep with your skin feeling soft and clean. It made the night air feel better against it.

It didn’t take you long to finish getting ready. You moisturized, pulled on the white dress, socks and your boots. With your hair, you worked through the tangles carefully and tried to style it, but it didn’t quite land. So you reached for a clip and pinned it up, leaving a few loose strands to soften your face.

Smelling sweet enough to pass for dessert yourself, you grabbed the basket and just before six, stepped out of the house.

In the dining hall, you found Zach deep in conversation with Bruno. You didn’t want to cut in, not when he’d just gotten back from Ridgeway and clearly had plenty to catch up on. You’d ask later.

You offered a small shy hello, trying not to break their convo, though you couldn’t resist shooting Zach a sly look. You set the cheese bread down, enough for both of them, and wished them a good dinner.

“Seen Joel around?” you asked, lingering just a second longer.

Zach shook his head. “Nah.” He glanced at Bruno. “You seen him?”

“No, sorry.” Bruno smiled.

“Probably at his place,” Zach added.

You pressed your lips together. “Yeah, I’ll check. Might run into him on the way.” A quick smile. “See you later.”

“Hey, hold up.”

You stopped on instinct. Zach crooked a finger, calling you closer.

“What?”

He leaned in, voice low by your ear. “Don’t gotta come by the greenhouse tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“Get some rest.”

He lifted his brows, and the look he gave you said the rest.

God. Heat rushed to your cheeks the second it clicked.

“Alright,” you straightened, clearing your throat. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“I’m tellin’ you now.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh yeah? And who are you? My boss?”

Bruno chuckled under his breath.

“Just sayin’. Heard Maria’s gonna be at the only one there tomorrow, so… you know. Nobody else around.”

A little flustered, you glanced at Bruno, who was smiling without quite following.

“Okay, I’ll let you eat in peace,” you said, giving a small nod, acutely aware of the warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

You turned and catched their goodbyes over your shoulder, and headed out of the dining hall without any rush, setting off toward Joel’s place. Still, your eyes stayed sharp, sweeping the area in case he was around. He usually was; always moving, always busy with hands full with one thing or another. But today… you weren’t so sure. Not after the last few days. His body had to still be catching up, and you doubted he could just slip back into his usual pace like nothing had happened.

Emily stood off to one side, talking to Jerry, her hands moving through the air as she gave what looked like instructions. Something about her had been getting under your skin lately, especially the way she’d spoken to you. You didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Further down, you spotted Flo, and Hugh not far from her. For a second, you thought you saw Fabrizio too, but no. Just someone else. Trevor, though, was hard to miss, standing outside the Tipsy Bison. You looked away the second you recognized him. His face still carried the marks Joel had left behind, and seeing him like that made something in your chest twist. It felt… off. Strange. Either way, Joel wasn’t there.

Better to just go straight to his place. No point wandering around when the answer was obvious. So you did.

You took your time along the path, letting yourself sink into the quiet of it. It was a beautiful afternoon. The sky stretched out, clear and wide, and the light softened everything it touched. Grass brushed along your sides as you walked, and the sound of birds filled the air. A gentle breeze slipped between your legs, grazing your thighs and knees, drifting higher; brushing your collarbones, the edges of your ears. You could feel it everywhere.

And when Joel’s house finally came into view, your stomach twisted all over again. You wanted him to be home, but all at once, you kind of hoped he wasn’t.

Stupid, contradictory brain.

You slowly climbed the porch steps and let out a quiet breath, stopping in front of his door. You fought the urge to peek through the window. Instead, you knocked.

Knock, knock, knock.

Silence.

You waited a few seconds, your gaze dropping to your feet. One of your boots had a leaf stuck to the tip. You gave it a small shake to get rid of it.

“Shit,” you muttered, lifting your head again.

Knock, knock, knock.

A beat.

Then another.

“There’s no one home.”

The voice made you jump. You turned your head so fast your breath catched.

Joel stood by the gate, just beyond the fence, one hand resting against the white wood. You didn’t say anything. He pushed the gate open and walked up with all the patience in the world, closing the distance while you stood there, suddenly feeling a little out of place.

He took the steps, and when he stopped in front of you, he tipped his chin up just slightly. His gaze dropped; from your face to your neck, your chest, your legs.

“I just got here,” you said, still with your back to his door.

“I know. Been right behind you.”

“Oh,” you exhaled, fingers tightening a little around the basket. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Joel gave a small shrug and pressed his lips together.

Under his gaze, you felt nervous, your back suddenly too close to the wall. And as if he could feel it, he stepped forward. Then closer. And closer still, until your body was caught between his and the door behind you.

Your eyes dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes, then down again. You swallowed. He moved.

His arm lifted, brushing past your hip and close enough to make you tense as his hand reached behind you. And his eyes never left yours, taking his time with it.

The door clicked open behind you. He’d opened it, and the wood shifted back. You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of the dim entryway from the corner of your eye and a second later, Joel gestured for you to go in.

So you did. You stepped inside, a few paces in, then turned just in time to watch him close the door behind him.

His hair looked soft today, softer than usual, somehow. Before he turned back to you, you noticed the curls tucked behind his ears, at the nape of his neck. And when he faced you again, the loose strands falling over his forehead.

Joel wore a green and dark gray flannel, threaded with faint brown lines, paired with blue jeans and worn in cowboy boots. He walked past you without a word, but the message was clear: follow. So you did.

In silence, you trailed him into the kitchen, watching as he opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of water.

“I brought you a few things,” you said, setting the basket down on the counter, your eyes tracking the way he placed two glass cups by the sink.

Joel tipped the jug, filling them. “You did?”

“Yeah, um…” You opened the basket and pulled out the neatly folded paper.

You stepped closer, and Joel looked up at you. Almost shy, you lifted your hand and held the letter out. He took it a second later.

A quiet breath left his nose as he looked down at it. For a moment, you thought he’d open it right there, but instead, he reached for one of the glasses and held it out to you.

“Have some.”

You took it, bringing it to your lips, only then realizing how thirsty you were after the first sip.

“How long were you walking behind me?”

He set the letter on top of the fridge. “Couple blocks.”

“A couple blocks?”

“Yeah. From the dining hall, actually.”

Your brows lifted. “The dining hall? Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Joel pressed his lips together. “Don’t know.”

“I didn’t see you there.”