Summary: You don’t take the breakup with Jack Abbot well. You find yourself walking aimlessly around the city, until you stumble upon a bar that you always used to go to with him. You end up drinking too much and making phone calls that you definitely shouldn’t be making.
Note: The reader in my story is named Reid!
Word count: 4590
Your apartment was empty.
You hadn’t realized how accustomed you had grown to the noises and chaos of the Pitt. In the Pitt there was always someone yelling, someone complaining, someone screaming. There were always sounds of monitors blaring, orders being yelled, people calling for help.
But your apartment was empty.
The emptiness pressed in, making the silence almost painful.
After everything you’d been through over the last few days you knew that you should have felt relieved to be home.
But you didn’t.
You just felt empty.
You checked your phone.
7:47 AM
No notifications.
You were so tired the numbers on the screen blurred together, but you knew you had to shower first. You had to erase this day from your body.
But you didn’t move away from the window for a long while.
Like you were waiting for something.
Or someone to come back.
But no one came.
And you were alone.
———
The water spraying from your old shower head was hot enough to burn. But you didn’t care. You stepped underneath anyway, letting the water assault your body.
The steam quickly filled the bathroom, and you closed your eyes.
But as you did, you remembered another shower room, another time, with Jack keeping you company. You remembered how he had gotten down on his knees. How he had-
Abbot, you reminded yourself.
Your stomach clenched.
He wasn’t Jack to you anymore.
He wasn’t your Jack anymore.
He wasn’t there to tease you, or wink at you, or dance with you.
He wasn’t there to calm your nerves or call you sweetheart.
You finished with your shower as quickly as you could after that.
———-
Your stomach grumbled painfully when you emerged from your shower.
God, when was the last time you’d eaten?
You remembered the protein bars that Jack would slip you mid shift. They seemed to always taste better when they came from him.
You opened your cupboard absentmindedly, eyes scanning over the meagre ingredients. Your eyes skipped over the box of protein bars. You purposefully ignored the pringles.
You settled on a quick sandwich.
The food tasted like ash in your mouth.
Halfway through chewing, you pulled your phone out.
9:01 AM
Mel 8:42 AM: Oh my god I wish you were here today!! I’ve got to work on a fractured tibia and fibula!! And I saw a compound fracture of the femur!! Different guys. It was awesome.
Trinity 8:53 AM: I will never understand the stupidity of men. You should see the state of these brothers after they decided to wrestle. The prize was the last chocolate bar in their fridge. And get this: it was expired.
Trinity 8:54 AM: in 2017
Huffing a small laugh at the juxtaposition of the two messages, you quickly replied back to your friends.
Still no messages from Jack though. Abbot.
You mentally berated yourself for the slip.
There was no messages from Jack and there wasn’t going to be any more from him.
You finished your sandwich in silence.
————
You tried to sleep.
You really did.
You pulled your curtains closed, tucked your blanket to your chin and closed your eyes.
But no matter how long you laid there, you couldn’t get the image of sad green eyes out of your mind.
You couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation in the truck.
You couldn’t stop thinking about the way Robby’s dark eyes had widened when he’d caught you.
You couldn’t stop thinking about Jack’s hands.
Or his mouth.
You just couldn’t stop thinking.
You tossed and turned until you were motion sick.
By two in the afternoon, you’d completely given up on the idea of sleep and decided to get outside and go for a walk.
Maybe that would quiet your mind.
Exercise was meant to be good for you, right?
Certainly better for you than laying in bed thinking about men you could never have.
You quickly changed and made your way outside. The air was warm, seeing as it was just after the middle of the day, but you enjoyed the feeling of the sun on your face.
You walked around your block, passing people walking dogs. You had almost congratulated yourself for not thinking about him for five minutes, when a dark truck headed your way, driving down the street next to you.
You turned to watch the truck, unable to help yourself. You stumbled to the side of the road in an attempt to catch a better glimpse of the driver.
Your heart lurched as you noticed that the model was the same, the color identical. But then the truck came close enough for you to notice the driver and your heart dropped.
It wasn’t him.
It was a young woman, and she honked at you when you got too close to the road, almost stepping right in front of the truck.
You jumped back reflexively, your heart in your throat as the truck drove right over where you’d been standing.
What the hell had you been thinking?
Getting that close to the road?
It was like you’d had a death wish or something.
If Jack had been here to see this, he would have killed you himself.
Some small part of you revelled in that. The idea that he would lose it if you got hurt.
But then another thought hit you.
Would he even care?
Would he care if you were hurt?
If you were…worse?
He clearly didn’t care about you if he could so easily dump you like he did.
But then you remembered the devastated look on his face when he’d seen your tears. The way he’d tried to reach for you. The way he’d leaned into your touch. The crack in his voice when he’d told you it would never happen between the two of you.
You decided to walk as far away from the road as you could, lest you get any stupid ideas.
—————
You didn’t know how long you walked for. What you did know was how many notifications you had accumulated on your walk. Exactly zero.
By the time your feet started to really hurt, the sun was beginning to set, casting the city in a golden glow.
You’d walked a lot farther than you’d intended. One block had turned into two. Two had then become eight, and you were now somewhere you didn’t really recognise.
You wondered what Jack was doing right now. Was he walking aimlessly around the city too? Was he checking his phone as much as you were? Had he eaten? Slept? You hated how much you cared.
Then you wondered what Robby was doing. Was he smug over the fact that he had ruined one of the best things in your life? Was he happy that he had made you consider walking into traffic?
You hoped he was. Maybe it would make your pain more bearable. Because right now? Right now, you hurt. It was like your insides had been taken out, twisted up, and put back into the wrong spot. You simultaneously wanted to scream and cry. But you could do neither of those things, so you walked. And walked. And walked.
———
You finally stopped walking when your thirst became unbearable. Night had fallen, the sky dark and moonless. The glowing neon sign ahead caught your interest. The glowing pink lettering stood out starkly against the dark sky, and you felt like a moth to a flame as you made your way towards the bar's entrance.
Sonny’s Tavern the sign read.
A barrage of memories assaulted you. The Pitt crew all making their way down to the bar after a long shift. Jack’s front pressed to your back as he’d played pool with you. Betting on darts with Whitaker, Mel and Trinity. Dancing with Jack. The way he’d looked at you, holding you close to him as you’d swayed. How warm his hand had felt pressed on your back. How he’d made you smile harder than you had in years.
The way Robby had watched the two of you, like he’d already suspected something going on.
But for some reason, it wasn’t the thought of Robby or Whitaker that made you step into the bar. No, it was the pain in your chest that throbbed every time you thought of the way Jack had smiled when you’d danced. The way he’d looked at you. You wondered if you’d ever see it again.
This was a bad idea. You knew it was. You knew it was, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself.
You had never been much of a drinker.
But you were just so lonely.
And you hurt.
————
The tavern was pretty tame when you entered, all things considered. People danced and laughed, chatted and played games, but you took no notice of them as you made your way to the most far away bar stool at the end of the counter.
You placed your hands on the counter, this feeling completely foreign to you.
You weren’t the type to drink. You’d never really drank much in college or med school, always too worried about studying. And you were always too much of a good girl to even think about drinking in highschool.
So as you sat at that bar stool in that familiar tavern, you felt lost.
Luckily, the bartender wandered over to you, noting your curious look.
He was holding a glass, polishing it with a hand. He looked only a few years older than you, with dark hair and an easy smile.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?” He asked politely.
“I…don’t really know.” You answered, hesitating, eyeing the shelves behind him.
“Rough day?”
“You could say that.” You laughed.
“What do you normally drink?”
“I don’t.” You said simply.
“So what brings you to this bar?” He asked with a raised brow.
You looked down at the bar counter. “I… my thoughts are too loud.”
He just nodded knowingly before reaching for a glass.
“I usually go with whiskey when my head is too loud. You a whiskey girl?” He sounded earnest.
You’d only had whiskey once or twice, and your memory of it was hazy.
“I guess we’re about to find out.” You shrugged.
He quickly prepared the drink and set it in front of you. The ice in the glass clinked quietly.
You took a tentative sip, wincing at the burn.
The bartender laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”
You eyed him, then downed the entire glass until there was nothing left but ice.
“Keep em coming.” Was all you said in response.
He prepared another. “I’ll make this one neat.”
“You’re a fast learner.” You praised, the liquid already warming your insides.
He placed the next glass in front of you.
“Just got dumped?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I know that look. The look of someone who’s just had their heart ripped out.”
You laughed humourlessly. “You’re good.”
“It’s almost like it’s my job,” he grinned.
You took a sip of your second drink. You already felt lightheaded, your stomach and throat warm.
“I-I lost something…something good. And I kind of lost it before it ever really became something beautiful, you know?”
The bartender was quiet for a moment.
“I find losing the potential of what could have been hurts more than anything else.” He admitted quietly.
Your eyes burned.
He didn’t ask any more questions.
He just handed you another drink.
You thanked him with a nod, downing your second drink.
You turned in your chair when he served another customer.
You watched the couple at the end of the bar. Your stomach churned when you watched the man reach out to hold the woman’s hand.
You watched another couple at the pool table. You watched the way the guy cheesily leaned over the girl to help her with her grip.
Your throat closed up when you watched a couple on the dance floor, the way the woman’s eyes positively glittered when her date spun her.
Your throat closed up.
People laughed, people shouted, people smiled.
You were surrounded by people, and yet you had never felt so alone.
———
The fourth drink didn’t burn. It went down smoothly as you felt your body relax. For the first time in hours, your head was beginning to quiet. Your thoughts had slowed down, like they were wading through mud.
As you sipped your drink, you noticed that you could hear the music. You could hear the laughter and jokes too, but they didn’t bother you as much as they had earlier.
A group of girls on the other end of the bar were telling a story, and when all the girls laughed, you noticed that you’d missed the joke.
You must be further gone than you’d thought.
You didn’t care.
You were just glad to hear anything other than your raging thoughts.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Your head was slow to catch up to the source of the voice.
A sandy haired man around your age smiled sweetly at you.
His hair was tousled prettily and his jaw was sharp, his cheekbones high. He was handsome. But he wasn’t your type.
You stared at him a few seconds longer than was socially acceptable.
“Me?” You pointed at your chest.
“Of course you.”
You giggled.
“I see you’ve already had a few.” He said, eyeing your empty glasses.
You squinted at him, then laughed.
Not because you thought that what he’d said was funny.
It was either you laughed, or you cried.
“I’ve got-got more than enough men to-to worry about.” You got out between giggles.
He smiled a roguish grin. “Oh really? How many?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” You shot back.
“Oh yeah? Try me.” He said.
“Okay, but you asked for it.” You warned.
You laughed, forcing your hand to hold up three fingers.
His eyes widened.
You counted them off on your fingers.
“One, I just see as just a friend.”
Whitaker.
“One of them thinks I’m a whore.”
Robby.
“And one of them thinks I’m stupid and naive. Oh, and he also thinks I’m after him because he has a big flashy job. And did I tell you that he thinks he manipulated me into bed?”
Jack.
Abbot.
Whatever.
You laughed without any humor.
The man’s smile dropped.
He said nothing for a moment, then he spoke.
“Oh.”
You snorted, poking at the ice from your first drink with a straw.
“Yeah, oh.”
“So… it was nice meeting you and everything, but I’m just gonna-“ he jabbed a finger behind him.
You snorted again.
“I’m just gonna let you enjoy your drink.”
“Another fast learner!” You cheered.
He quickly backed away from you like you were a bomb about to explode.
Maybe you were.
You downed the last of your drink.
You didn’t care.
He sure didn’t.
—————
Your phone felt heavy in your pocket. The urge to check it for the millionth time won out, and you unlocked it, squinting as the numbers of your passcode danced.
The words blurred as you registered no notifications. Not a single call or text. Not even a damn spam email.
You let out another sad laugh.
He wasn’t thinking about you.
He didn’t miss you.
He didn’t care about you.
Maybe he never had.
Maybe you needed to call him and ask him if he ever did. You just wanted to know. You told yourself that you would be okay with the answer either way. You just needed to know.
You needed to know if you meant as much to him as he meant to you.
But then you had a better idea.
An idea that might hurt more, but might be more satisfying.
You needed to tell him how you felt.
Before you could think about it, you were opening your contacts.
Your thumb scrolled past your contacts. Dana, Dennis, all the way past Jack to who you really wanted to talk to right now.
Robby.
To your drunk brain, this made a lot of sense.
You hit call.
It rang one. Twice. Three times before he picked up.
“This is Doctor Robinavich.” Cold, neutral words.
You said nothing.
“Hello?”
You swallowed.
“Anyone there? Who is this?”
Guess that answers the question of if he had your number saved.
“Robby.” You breathed.
A moment of silence on the other end.
“Reid? Why are you calling me? Is everything okay?”
“I hate you.” Your words were quiet.
The other end was quiet.
“What?” He finally asked.
“I hate you,” you repeated.
“Where are you right now?”
“You ruined everything.” You spat.
“Reid-“
“You ruined- you ruined everything.”
“What’s going on?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“You made him doubt me. You made him doubt himself.” You snarled into the phone remembering how Jack had thought he- thought he had taken advantage of you. He was so convinced he was the bad guy.
“Who?”
“You know exactly who, Robinavich.”
You heard his breathing stutter.
“Reid-“
“You- you took him away from me.”
“I don’t- come on, be reasonable here. What was I supposed to do?” He sounded almost sad.
“I- I don’t know- not that.”
“You left me no choice.” He said.
The girls down the end of the bar laughed loudly, snapping your gaze to them.
“You know that he wouldn’t even look at me?” You spoke into the phone, anger igniting in your gut.
“Reid-“
“You made him think-“ your breathing hitched. “You made him think that he- he took advantage of me. That he manipulated me. That none of it was real.”
You fought back a sob.
Silence answered you from the other end.
“Have you been drinking?” He asked finally.
“What do you care?”
“Don’t do this. Just answer the question.”
“No,” you lied.
“How many?” He heard your lie.
You looked at the empty glasses, your fifth in your hand.
“Counting the one in my hand?” You asked.
“Sure.”
“Five.”
“Shit,” he swore. “Where are you?”
“Your moms house.” You snorted, thinking you were hilarious.
He swore again. “Where are you?”
“A bar.”
“I gathered. Which bar?”
“I don't know.”
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like… it hurts. There’s couples dancing. And there’s some girls nearby that keep laughing. And there’s a guy playing pool just like- just like Jack and I did.” Your throat closed up.
“Is it- is it Sonny’s?” He asked hesitantly.
“Is that the one that we danced at?” You didn’t need to clarify who ‘we’ referred to. It was you and Jack.
“Yeah.” He said quietly.
You dropped your phone to the bar counter when you took another drink. You only remembered that Robby was still on the line when you heard your name, the voice tiny and high pitched coming from the device.
You picked the phone back up.
“Hello?” You asked.
Hello. That was a funny word. Hell-o. You giggled.
Robby didn’t think you were very funny.
“Reid, listen to me. Are you alone?”
“Huh?”
“Focus. Are you alone?”
You looked around the room. There were people everywhere. Of course you weren’t alone. People were dancing and drinking and flirting and playing.
“Robby, you silly billy. There’s people everywhere! It’s a bar.”
“I know you’re in a bar. But who are you with?”
“Who am I with?”
“Yes.”
“No one. You made sure of that.” You said with a giggle, even though nothing was funny.
He swore again.
You didn’t understand why. This was what he had wanted.
“Okay. Stay where you are.” He instructed.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Why?” You felt like a kid, always asking why.
“Because I’m on my way.”
What?
The words hit you like a bucket of cold water.
“No.” You snapped.
“No?”
“I don’t want you to come.”
“Reid, just listen to me-“
“You’ll just lecture me. Maybe you’ll even ruin me like you ruined him.”
He was silent for another moment.
“I’m not going to lecture you.”
“Well, whatever. I don’t want you here.” You argued.
“I don’t care. You’re drunk. Abbot wouldn’t want you alone like this.”
“Who cares what he would want? He’s gone.”
“Don’t talk like that, Reid. He would want you to be safe. You know that.”
You didn’t speak for a while. When the bartender looked at you with a raised brow, you spoke to him.
“Another one please. Make it a double. Thoughts are getting loud again.” You admitted.
“You got it.” The bartender got to work.
“Reid, stop this right now. Don’t you think you’ve had enough? You’re gonna give yourself fucking alcohol poisoning.”
You laughed. “Maybe then you could treat me.”
Robby didn’t answer that. Instead you heard background noises coming from his end. You heard the jingling of keys and the slamming of what sounded like a door.
“Reid, if you care about Abbot at all, I need you to stay right where you are. Don’t leave, and don’t drink that drink.”
You eyed the drink the bartender dropped in front of you.
“Im on my way.” He told you.
“I don’t want you here.” You argued.
“Don’t care. And I’m calling backup.”
“Backup?”
“Im picking up Abbot on the way. Maybe he’ll know what to do with your drunk ass.”
Wait what?
The words sobered you.
He was going to what?
“Abbot?”
You tried to speak but the call was already disconnected.
The last sound you’d heard was a car starting.
—————
You stared at the phone in your hand.
You couldn’t make sense of what had just happened.
You furrowed your brows as your head swam. Why would he call Jack? You didn’t need him. He didn’t need backup.
You didn’t touch your new drink. You wanted Jack. You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to hear his voice. You wanted him to call you sweetheart again. You wanted to ask what went so wrong.
You scrolled through your contacts again.
Maybe you should just call and ask him.
Your thumb pressed the call button before you could stop yourself. You were just going to tell him not to come. To tell him you didn’t need him. Even if you didn’t believe it.
The phone didn’t even ring once.
“Sweetheart, are you- are you okay? Where are you?” His voice sounded so concerned, so warm.
“There it is.” You sighed.
You could die happy now.
“Robby just text me. He’s on his way to pick me up. What’s going on?” He sounded so panicked, you wanted to just hold him and reassure him.
“I’m at Sonny’s. And I’m a little, teensy, tiny bit drunk.” You giggled.
“Why are you drinking by yourself?”
You hesitated. “Because. Because I hurt. You hurt me, Jack. It hurts. Everything hurts.” You wrapped your arms around yourself.
A beat of silence passed.
“Oh, baby.”
“I just needed- I just needed to stop thinking. Just for two seconds.” You admitted.
Then you heard the sound of a car engine on the other end.
“I get it. My head hasn’t stopped spinning since this morning.” He admitted.
Then you heard the sound of a car door slamming coming from his end.
“Is that her?” You heard what sounded like Robby speaking from his phone.
But that couldn’t be right. It was Jack’s phone.
“Yeah.” Jack answered.
“Tell her to stay put.” Robby ordered.
“Is that Robby?” You asked.
“Yeah, it is. He’s really worried about you, you know.”
Then a thought hit you.
“How can you even stand to be in the same car with him after what he did?” You asked quietly.
He paused. “Because he didn’t do anything wrong. I did.” He answered, and your heart broke apart further.
How could he still think that? After everything?
“You’re wrong.” You snapped.
“You always did love to argue with me.”
“I hate him.” You spat.
“You don’t.”
“I do. I hate him.”
“I know you think you do.”
“I do.” You insisted.
“If you say so.”
You were both quiet for a moment, and you heard the sound of him breathing on the other end.
You looked at your untouched drink, running a hand through your hair. Your thoughts were slow to form and even slower to make sense of, and you'd almost forgotten he was still on the line.
“Why are you calling me?” You asked him after a moment.
“You called me, sweetheart.” He said calmly.
Oh. Right. Maybe you had had one too many.
“Oh. I forgot about that.”
You heard his quiet chuckle on the other end. Even through the phone, the sound made butterflies erupt in your belly.
You heard the tell tale sound of a car's indicator ticking on the other end.
“How does she sound?” Robby asked. He sounded far away.
Jack's voice was crystal clear. Like he didn’t even bother to cover the microphone.
“Drunk.”
“I am not drunk!” You argued.
“Oh, baby, you’re plastered.” His deep voice did things to your insides.
“Hey! I’m…pleasantly buzzed.”
“How many drinks have you had?” You could practically hear his eyebrow raise from here.
“One.” You lied.
“You have not had one.” He laughed.
“Okay. You caught me. Two.”
“Sweetheart.” He drew the word out, and you felt dizzy.
“Maybe four.” You answered, a smile on your face.
“Four what? Vodka cranberries? Spiked lemonades?” He guessed.
“Nope. Whiskeys!” You said with a broad grin.
He laughed again, and the sound washed over you.
“I miss your laugh.” You admitted.
He stopped laughing.
“You were laughing…yesterday. Before…you know.” You added.
He still remained silent.
Then you heard someone clear their throat.
“We’re five minutes out, Reid. Just hang on.” Jack said, the warmth gone from his voice. Reid. No baby. No sweetheart. Reid.
“Hey Jack?”
“Mhm?”
“Can you…not tell Robby that I called you?”
His voice was quieter when he spoke next. “I hate to break it to you, but I think he already knows.”
“Dammit.” You grumbled. “He’s such a busy body.”
“He really is.” Jack agreed.
You plopped your chin to rest on your palm.
“Can you tell him to not lecture me?” You asked after another moment.
“He won’t.” Jack vowed.
“He’s mad at me.” You grumbled.
“He’s not mad at you.” Jack reassured you. “Hes just worried about you.”
“He wasn’t worried about either of us when he yelled at you,” you argued.
“He didn’t yell at me.” Jack said automatically.
“Yeah? Then why are you not speaking to me?” You asked.
“I’m speaking to you right now.”
“No, you’re not. Not like- not like how we used to.” You said sadly.
“I know.” He said quietly.
You heard the unmistakable sound of tires on gravel.
“We’re in the parking lot.”
Your stomach dropped.
“What parking lot?” You asked, your brain slow and muddied.
“The parking lot for the bar that you’re in, swee- silly.” You noticed the way he stumbled over his words towards the end. Like maybe Robby was watching him disapprovingly and he had to quickly correct himself.
“I’ll see you in a minute, Reid. Just stay put.” Jack ordered.
“Okay.” You sighed. There it was again. Your name. Your chest physically ached. How could he make the sound of your name feel like a punch to the gut?
You gripped your untouched drink. The action made your head swim. You forced your hand to lift the glass to your mouth.
You emptied the contents into your mouth. The burn from the drink hurt a whole lot less than the aching in your chest.
———————
I have already got a part three planned! Drop a comment if you would like to be tagged in the part three!! <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The three times you think Jack is keeping you a secret and the one time he proves he’s not.
You stared at the lunch on the counter for a long minute before deciding on whether or not to do it.
You grabbed the bag and your keys before you could change your mind. Jack was covering days. Between the usual night shifts and the extra day shifts, he was exhausted.
The drive to the hospital was short, and when you hopped out of your car, you realized you had never been here before. You had only been seeing each other a few months, and a work visit in the middle of the night wasn’t your typical forte.
You pulled your phone out and called him.
“Sweetheart? Is something wrong? Is everything okay?” His voice rang through, worried.
“Oh yeah, you just forgot your lunch, I’m outside. I don’t know where I should go in?” You said tentatively.
“Um, give me ten and I can come find you,” he said quickly.
“I don't mind coming in, I can leave it with someone,” you suggested.
“No,” he said quickly. “Um, no, no need.”
He hung up the phone.
Was it the hospital? He didn't want you seeing the everyday horrors he tried to keep you away from? That had to be it.
But you couldn't help the feeling of insecurity that started to bubble in your stomach. Did he not want you to meet everyone? Was there someone specifically he didn't want you to meet?
Ten minutes stretched into nearly twenty.
You stood awkwardly near the front entrance, watching doctors and nurses weave in and out of the automatic doors. Every few seconds someone laughed with a coworker or stopped to hug a family member before heading inside.
Finally, Jack jogged through the doors.
“There you are,” he smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before taking the paper bag from your hands.
“You okay?" he asked.
“Yeah,” you said, plastering an easy going smile on your face.
“You didn't have to drive all the way here,” he said, his eyes holding your gaze.
You shrugged, “I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, love,” he said quietly,
There was another awkward pause.
You glanced toward the lobby. “So... this is where you disappear every night.”
He laughed softly, “pretty much.”
Then his pager went off.
“I have to get back in there, I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” he gave you a quick kiss before all but running back inside.
And then he was gone before you even had the chance to ask him how his shift was going.
You watched him disappear through the sliding doors.
Not once had he turned around.
It was almost two months later when the phone call incident occurred.
“Your phone is ringing!” you yelled from the kitchen, but to no avail.
Jack was taking his post-shift shower, probably enjoying the hot water and a moment of peace.
So, you put the phone to your ear and answered, “hello?”
“Jack— oh, sorry... who is this?” A man's voice carried through the speaker.
You said your name, only to be met with a moment of silence.
“Who?” he asked quickly, but before you could respond, he answered himself, “actually, it's okay. Can you just tell him Shen called?”
Shen.
His coworker.
You'd heard his name in dozens of stories.
You don’t think he meant to sound dismissive or rude, but it was coming off that way.
You tried to keep your voice light, “um, yeah.”
“K thanks,” the line clicked dead.
Your mind spiraled so quickly you hadn't heard the water shut off or your boyfriend pad into the kitchen.
“Honey?” He came up behind you, nearly startling you.
His grey curls were damp on his forehead, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips.
He was so unfairly attractive you almost forgot why your chest suddenly felt tight.
“Shen called,” you said quietly, “he asked you to call him back.”
Jack reached for his phone without thinking, “thanks.”
He noticed your expression almost immediately, “you okay?”
Years of reading people and their injuries as a doctor left very little room for you to get stuff past him.
You hesitated, “does Shen know about me?”
Jack looked up, “what?”
He took a deep breath, hating how crazy you felt, “he didn’t know who I was… when I picked up the phone.”
He blinked.
You tried to laugh, “it was just kind of awkward.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don't really talk about... my personal life at work.”
The words landed heavier than he intended. He opened his mouth to continue his explanation, but you interrupted.
“It’s okay,” you said with a practiced smile, “I get it.”
Because he'd met your coworkers, your friends, your family, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was purposely keeping you separate from the rest of his life.
Maybe this was more serious for you than it was for him?
Everyone important in your life knew him by name.
Yet somehow the people he spent twelve hours a day with had never even heard yours.
The third time nearly sent you into a psychosis.
The coffee shop was small and quaint.
It was the perfect blend of comfort and actually good coffee, which was hard to find these days while living in a world of eleven dollar lattes.
When you got your drink, you nearly walked into the woman standing behind you.
She had bright blonde hair pulled into a small ponytail and looked like she commanded any room she walked into.
You mumbled a polite apology, and as you stepped around her, your eyes caught the PTMC badge clipped to her scrub top.
Dana Evans.
Jack's stories made this woman sound like an absolute force of nature.
You felt like you were standing before a celebrity, “oh my god... Dana?”
You felt a pang of embarrassment as you just acted like a fan sitting in front of their favorite actress.
She looked up with an amused smiled, “I’m sorry, hun. Do I know you?”
You laughed nervously, “um no, I’m sorry. I’m Jack— Jack Abbott’s girlfriend.”
The smile on Dana's face froze, “night shift attending Jack?”
You nodded, suddenly feeling hyper aware of every movement you were making, “yeah.” You felt so small.
Dana's eyebrows lifted just enough that anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed, “you have a boyfriend named Jack Abbott?” she asked carefully.
You nodded again, not sure how much clearer you could be.
She smiled politely.
“It was nice meeting you,” you said, before walking around her. You decided to spare yourself any further humiliation.
No, I've heard so much about you.
No, the pictures don’t do you justice!
No, Jack finally found someone.
No, You're the girl he disappears to after shifts.
Nothing.
She hadn't even known he had a girlfriend.
You got into your car and placed your head on the top of the steering wheel, willing yourself to not spiral.
Maybe he was just private.
Or maybe you weren't as important to him as he was to you. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. So, you drove to his apartment. You were supposed to meet him there anyways, might as well get this over with now.
The apartment was quiet when Jack came home.
You were curled up on one end of the couch with a book open in your lap, though he was fairly certain you hadn't turned a page since he'd unlocked the front door.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he leaned down to kiss your forehead.
You accepted it, but your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.
His brow furrowed, “you okay?”
“Can we talk?” You asked quietly.
You could see him tense as he sat down on the couch next to you, “yeah. What's going on?”
You looked down at your hands, “I met Dana today.”
His eyebrows lifted, “what?”
“At that coffee shop I like, by the park,” you explained, “I recognized her because you talk about her all the time. And I saw her badge and it clicked.”
He smiled faintly, “that sounds about right.”
“I introduced myself to her.”
The smile faded.
“I said I was your girlfriend,” you took a deep breath, “and she had no idea who I was.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, “I don't really talk about my personal life at work.”
“I know that,” your voice cracked despite your best effort to keep it steady, “you told me that after Shen called.”
“So—”
“So I'm trying to understand why,” you interrupted him.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
You scoffed at his silence, growing frustrated, “you spend twelve hours a day with these people.”
He nodded.
“They know what coffee you drink, they know you’re a veteran, that you’re from Boston,” you looked up and held his gaze, “am I right?”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded.
“But they don’t know you have a girlfriend?” You sounded small again, the same way you did with Dana in the coffee shop.
“It makes me feel like I’m a secret, from something or someone, I don’t know,” you ran a hand down your face.
His head snapped toward you, “what?”
You laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it.
“I honestly started wondering if you were embarrassed by me,” you admitted.
His face fell, “what?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.”
He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, “no because that's insane. It shouldn't even be a thought in your head.”
“Well it is.” You said firmly.
Silence settled between you.
He exhaled heavily, “I never wanted you to think that."
You looked at him with a blank face, “then… why?”
He took a minute to think before looking up at you again, “because you're mine.”
You blinked, “what?”
He shook his head, “not mine like…” He sighed, “god, that sounded terrible.”
You gave him a tight lipped smile, “it did.”
He huffed a laugh, searching for the right words, “my job is loud. Everyone is in everyones business, in and out of the hospital. It’s like a pit of gossips and rumors.”
You listened without interrupting.
“I hated the idea of anyone making judgement about me and you before getting to know you. You’re younger than me it’s no secret, sweetheart,” he glanced over at you, “I just wanted you for myself.”
You reached out and grabbed one of his hands in yours.
“I liked having one thing that belonged outside those walls, to me and only me,” he looked at his hand in yours.
“I didn't want everyone talking about you… or us,” his shoulders slumped, “so... I just never mentioned it.”
You were quiet for a long moment, “I can understand that.”
He looked hopeful.
“But they don't even know my name,” you said quietly.
He nearly winced at how sad it sounded, how hurt you sounded.
He looked at you again, “I was so worried about protecting what we have that I never stopped to think what it looked like from your side.”
A sad smile tugged at your lips, “it looked like you didn't want anyone to know I existed.”
He scooted close, taking your other hand, so he had both of them, “I hate that I made you feel that way. I love you, so much.”
He laughed quietly at himself, “I guess I got a little selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“I liked having you all to myself,” his thumb brushed over your knuckles.
He smiled sheepishly, “i didn't realize keeping you to myself also meant pushing you away from this huge part of my life.”
You softened slightly at his words, “you really weren't hiding me?”
He looked almost offended by the thought, “honey,” he leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. “I’ve been trying to convince myself you're real since the day you agreed to go out with me.”
A tiny laugh escapes you and you smiled, despite yourself.
He kissed your forehead, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Less than a week later, things felt better than they ever had before.
“Get dressed,” Jack called from the bedroom.
You looked up from your phone as you were sprawled out on his couch. You went to question him, but he answered before you could, like he read your mind.
“I promised Robby I'd stop by O'Malley's after shift,” he said casually from the bathroom, “I want you to come.”
You blinked, “really?”
He looked confused, “yeah.”
You locked your phone and put it down, getting up and walking to the doorway of the bathroom.
“And you’re not just inviting me because you think that’s what I want? Because of the talk we had last week?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
He smiled at you, “no honey, I want you to come.”
You nodded, biting back the excited smile, “okay, I’m gonna go change.”
The drive there was quiet on your end, you couldn’t help the nerves that were eating at you.
Jack rested one hand on your thigh the entire way, absentmindedly rubbing circles with his thumb while he told you about his day.
By the time you walked into the crowded neighborhood bar, your nerves had settled deeper into your stomach.
“You made it!” Robby called from the high-top table.
Dana looked over first. Then Shen. Then Lena.
There was a younger group huddled close to them, also hospital workers you assumed.
All four of them watched Jack approach.
“Everyone,” he said easily, “this is my girlfriend.”
Robby slapped the table, “we finally get to meet this mystery woman that makes him smile at his phone.”
He leaned over and kissed your cheek in front of everyone.
Robby lifted his beer, “to Jack finally showing human emotion!”
Dana rolled her eyes and Lena smiled into her drink.
The banter continued, and you even joined in on it when it felt right. Jack bought you a drink, and all your worries suddenly felt far far away.
For the first time since you'd stood outside the hospital with a forgotten lunch in your hands, that knot in your chest loosened.
Man-child / Why you always come a-running to me? / Fuck my life / Won't you let an innocent woman be? / (Why so sexy if so dumb?) / And I swear they choose me, I'm not choosing them
Overview: You're the Codys' new neighbor. You seem boring enough, not much of a threat. But Smurf and Baz are interested in that cushy new job at the bank you'd told them about.
So they send in Pope, hoping to get some decent information out of you. And he knows the rules, don't fall for the marks. But you make it impossible to stick to that rule and Smurf sees that as a threat. She sees you as a threat.
wc: 17.0k
Belle’s 3k follower extravaganza!!
It’s hard to stare at the interior of your new home and not think that the past two years of your life have been a complete waste. You’ve dedicated them to one man who couldn’t offer you anything more than broke-boyfriend hugs and a complete absence of emotional availability.
Twenty-four months of your life were spent financially, emotionally, and physically supporting a man who crawled right back to his mother’s basement when you finally dumped him. He had slept with every one of your friends, maxed out all your credit cards, and generally been a blight upon your life in every conceivable way.
Now, with no family or friends, you hauled out what little belongings you had from your U-Haul and dragged them into your new house. It had been an absolute steal, one you were still suspicious of. In a prominent neighborhood with houses that look straight from an architecture digest, you managed to find one you could afford with a bank teller’s salary. Which, admittedly, is not as much as you need right now to get rid of your ex’s debt he’d so generously left you.
The realtor had been more than happy to dump the keys in your palm. The owners themselves had dropped their price to your last-ditch offer in a way that made your stomach turn. But you needed something new. Something that didn’t remind you of the man-child you’d spent two years cleaning up after and re-mothering.
So, despite the red flags and klaxon alarms, you took the keys and ignored the pitying way the people across the street watched you. You’d researched the neighborhood, it didn’t have any higher crime rates than your old one. You hadn’t read any headlines in the news that would make you regret your choice.
It wasn’t until your second night there that you realized why, exactly, everyone had treated you like a kicked stray.
You have your pillow wrapped as tightly as possible around your head without actually suffocating yourself. The house right beside you has its music blaring on obnoxious speakers, girls screaming the lyrics, and guys cheering as they jump off the roof into your neighbor’s pool.
Despite the fact that everyone over there looks, at the very least, thirty, they’re partying like it’s Y2K and the world’s about to end.
So, this is why the house was so fucking cheap. Figures.
You let out a low groan and bury your face into the mattress. You have your TV on, white noise playing, even music blaring from your phone. It doesn't even put a goddamn dent in the howling happening in the next house over.
The universe really just did not feel like giving you a break. Dating Colin wasn’t enough punishment for the sins of your past life. Now you had to live next to the goddamn Playboy Manor.
The number of women who had streamed in there in thongs and barely-there bikinis had been concerning, to say the least. And the fact that half of them received payment on entry was even more disturbing.
Admittedly, you probably shouldn’t have been posted at your window, glaring down at the neighbor’s house. But, really, you didn’t have a choice. At least that’s what you tell your nosy ass.
Tomorrow, you swear to yourself. You will march over there, demand an explanation, and then politely ask them to shut the fuck up. Tonight, though, you were too damn exhausted to do anything but bask in your own misery.
Fix the bitch face, you remind yourself, forcing a half-pleasant smile on your face as your neighbor opens her door. The smile slips into a slightly awed expression as you take in the older woman. Her hair perfectly tousled, boobs right in your face with that bikini, and a silk robe wrapped around her like a second skin. Holy shit. You’d been expecting some finance ass in his thirties, not a hot mom in her fifties.
“Hi,” you draw out uncertainly. Her eyes narrow, flitting up and down your form as she appraises you. Your shoulders straighten, chin jutting out under her judgment.
“Can I help you, baby?” The rasp of her voice should have been expected, but it still takes you off guard.
You hold out your plate of (poorly-baked) cookies and adjust your smile. “Yes, hi,” you give her your name. “I just moved in next door,” you tell her, nodding toward your house. “I thought I would introduce myself to my new neighbors.”
And politely ask you all to shut. The. Fuck. Up. On weeknights. You’re a reasonable woman.
The stern look on her face makes way for something you wouldn’t describe as soft, but at least it didn’t look like she was about to pull a gun on you. “Well, isn’t that sweet?” She opens the door and motions you inside. You almost protest but the sharp look on her face has you stepping forward with your tail tucked.
“You know,” her hand hovers over your lower back as she leads you deeper inside. “Not enough girls are like you, anymore. No manners,” she scoffs, voice airy like she’s already a world away from your conversation.
“Why don’t you change, we’re having a little party by the pool.” Of course you are, the only reason you don’t roll your eyes is because you’re 90% sure she would spank you like a child.
“Oh,” you flounder. “I just wanted to introduce myself, that’s all. Besides, I don’t have a suit.”
She laughs, the noise unkind, and turns you toward a bedroom. “You know the great thing about string bikinis,” she rasps into your ear. “They look good on anyone. Bottom drawer,” with a slight shove, you’re stumbling into the room and the door is closing behind you.
That woman is a witch, you’re so sure of it. Not only did you obey, picking through different sizes of bikinis until you found your own, you found yourself waiting for her next instructions. Standing outside the bedroom in your heels and half naked, you feel ridiculous but that doesn’t stop you from smiling when she lets out a low whistle at the sight of you.
“Smurf,” she offers, holding out her hand. You repeat your name again and follow her through the glass doors of her patio.
“Let me introduce you to the boys.”
Your eyes widen as you trip slightly. “Boys?” You croak. Meeting Smurf was bad enough, especially now that she’s got you half-naked prancing around her pool. You had no interest in meeting any of the rowdy assholes screwing around in her backyard.
She hums and sends you a smug smirk, “My boys.” Great, more of her. You’d hit your quota of mama-boys in your life after your ex. You had no interest in meeting any more, but there wasn’t much of a choice as she shouted, “Boys, get over here!”
Four messy heads of hair whip toward her and suddenly, four grown men are racing toward you. Your nails bite into the palm of your hand as you swallow down the urge to turn tail and run back home.
“Craig,” she motions toward the tallest and the one eyeing up your body like you’re a slab of meat at the butcher’s. You’ve never wanted to crawl out of your skin more. “Baz,” he offers his hand. You take it tentatively. His gaze isn’t any better. Only Deran and J, the other two, seem to be looking at you like you’re a human being.
“She brought us some cookies,” Smurf holds out the plate and you frown at the condescending tone of her voice.
“Who are you?” Craig mutters around a mouthful of chocolate chips.
“New neighbor,” Smurf answers for you. Baz’s gaze darts to her and you don’t like the narrow-eyed look they share.
“Really?” Baz asks. The interest in his stare is entirely different now. So unsettling you almost wish he would go back to objectifying you. It feels like he’s trying to crawl under your skin, pick you apart until he’s got your inner workings memorized.
Smurf hums and places the plate down on a nearby table. “I thought we should keep her around, maybe have her for dinner. Get to know her,” the men’s eyes widen slightly and you know that they’re hearing something you’re not. Your stomach rolls unpleasantly.
“Well,” your voice cracks as you take a shaky step back. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
Baz steps toward you, herding around you until you’re being pushed toward a lounge chair. “No intrusion,” he insists as you pretend not to notice the woman doing a line off her hand beside you. You sit stiff and straight, praying as desperately as you can that you’re not about to be trafficked.
“Stick around,” he instructs. “I want to get to know our new neighbor.” You offer nothing more than a squeaky hum. He walks back toward his family and suddenly you’re a deer caught in a fox's den as they stare at you, whispering amongst themselves.
God, you really stepped in it this time.
You’ve had three drinks shoved in your hand in under an hour. Each of them has gone untouched, passed off to whatever partygoer walked by you. Smurf doesn’t speak to you, just sits in her chair and watches everyone. J and Deran asked you brief questions about yourself, but it’s been Baz who’s truly been hounding you.
Every ten minutes, he’ll stop beside you, ask you some “innocent” questions about yourself. You keep your answers brief, each response feeling like a test that you have no luck in passing. Your limit for strangers and loud music is about ten minutes and by this point, you feel ready to pass out or throw up.
Not only is Smurf’s family disturbing and intimidating. The people all around you have been snorting, sniffing, and smoking illicit substances that you want no part in. You actually don’t care how loud they are at night, now, you just want to get out of this party alive.
So, when Baz gets held up breaking up a fight between Craig and Deran, you take your chance. Your heels click against the stone path as you make your way toward one of the doors. Smurf’s blocking the one she led you through, so you end up finding your way into someone’s bedroom.
Just as you’re sliding the glass door shut, the one behind you clicks open. “Fuck,” you hiss.
“Who are you?” The voice is gruff, sharp in a way that has chills breaking out along your body. With a tight smile, you whip around, back pressed to the cold glass.
Hazel eyes are narrowed in your direction, cold and emotionless. “Hi-”
“Who’s that?” A little girl pops up behind him, head tilted curiously.
“Don’t know,” he replies. The man turns, pushing her out of the room. “Find your dad,” he tells her. He waits until she runs off to close the door and you realize how well and truly fucked you are. Because not only are you in a stranger’s house, you’re now being cornered against a bed by a man who looks like he hasn’t felt remorse in years.
“Who are you?” He asks again. He doesn’t raise his voice, but you still feel a shock of fear regardless.
“Neighbor,” you stutter out. His eyes dip down your body, not admiring, assessing. Still, you find your arms wrapping tightly around your stomach, wishing you were in more than, essentially, a bra and thong.
“We don’t have neighbors,” he takes a step closer, rolling up his sleeves in a way that has your breakfast coming up your throat.
“Now you do,” you offer weakly, hands splayed like you’re some sort of surprise. “I, um, brought cookies and Smurf told me to stay. Gave me a bathing suit and…” you trail off as he comes to a stop. His shoulders roll back and for a moment, you feel a little bit of your anxiety ease.
“I was trying to figure out how to sneak out of here. I didn’t realize this was your room, I’m sorry.” He nods once, eyes still roaming across your body. Finally, he steps back, opening up the door and nodding you forward.
You hesitate just a moment before he lets out a slight huff. “Get out.” He doesn’t say it unkindly, just bluntly. It’s enough to get you hightailing your way through the rest of the house. You feel him following behind you, rather than hear him. His presence is looming despite his size, broad and an imitation of your own shadow.
When you pause at the entrance of the bedroom you’d first walked into, he comes up beside you, arms crossed. “What?”
You startle at his sudden appearance and wrap your arms around yourself once more. His eyes narrow on the movement but he says nothing. “My clothes are gone.”
“Clearly,” you’re so caught off guard by what could, almost, be a joke that you forget to take offense.
“No,” you stutter over his audacity and glare. “Smurf put me in this. I left my dress in here. It’s gone.”
The patio door opens behind you both and he shoots you a sharp look. “Go home.”
You glance down at your half-naked body and then back at him. “Like this?”
His hand, rough and calloused, is already wrapped around your arm and dragging you to the front door. “Either that or stay for dinner.” Even if you did want to stay, he gave you no choice. With a light nudge, you’re stumbling down their front steps and the door is slamming behind you.
Before any other neighbors see you, you book it toward your home and throw yourself inside. Tomorrow, you’ll mourn the loss of that dress. Right now, you’re just thankful for the shark-eyed stranger who hustled you out of there.
“Again, Mr. Murray, I’m not allowed to date our clients.” You offer the eighty-year-old man in front of you a forced smile. He laughs you off and leans against the counter. There’s a distinct pop that you’re sure is his hip slipping out of place.
“Nonsense, sweetheart, it’s just a little lunch.” Normally, the older clients are sweet, a little touchy. But they just want someone to talk to, to have someone listen to them, since their kids gave up on them years ago. Mr. Murray, however, is nothing more than a pushy nuisance who thinks sexual harassment is a PC snowflake term invented by prudes.
You glance around him and groan at the long line forming behind his hunched back. “Mr. Murray, you’re flattering me, really, but I have a lot of people waiting.”
His brows draw in and you brace yourself for a temper tantrum when a frighteningly familiar voice interrupts. “Are you done?” Mr. Murray turns and you find a man with shark-eyes and auburn curls watching you. Jerking back slightly, your hand smooths over your hair, primping, as your neighbor moves beside the old man.
Mr. Murray draws back with a why-I-oughta look but he cowers under the younger man’s intense gaze. It’s not even a glare, just the kind of stare that makes you completely rethink who you are as a person.
“Just a joke,” Mr. Murray grunts as he wanders off.
It’s just you and shark-eyes now, you can’t tell if you’re excited or dreadful. “Hi, again.” He says nothing and you scratch the back of your neck. “Nice to see you while I’m fully clothed.” It takes everything in you not to drop your head to your desk, because what compelled you to say that?
A small noise leaves him, nowhere close to a laugh but you think it’s the best you’ll get. “Need to open an account,” it’s all he says before sliding a large pile of hundreds toward you.
“Oh,” your eyes widen as you gape at the obnoxiously large amount of money. You’re used to working at credit unions. They’re homely, poorly furnished, and not used by the richest people. This new job is cushy, a bank so fancy it’s even got a chandelier dangling from the ceiling.
You haven’t had much time to grow accustomed to people with real money working with you. Still, though, this seems like an obscene amount. “Uh,” you clear your throat and tidy the bills into two piles. “My manager opens accounts, just give me a moment.”
His hands ball into fists and he lets out another sharp huff. “I’d prefer if you did it,” he insists and your brows turn in.
“I don’t think I’m-”
“What’s going on over here?” Your manager comes up behind you, hand trailing across your shoulders as he leans against your desk. Shark-eyes tracks the movement and how you shudder. Your manager’s attention falls to the stacks of cash and his breath stutters.
“He wants me to open his account.”
“Why aren’t you?” He demands sharply, pulling back.
Your eyes dart between the two men and you shrink back. Switching jobs was supposed to help you regain control over your life, not put you under the thumb of another poorly developed man-child.
“I’m not supposed to,” you grit out. “You said that, Mike.”
He rubs his hands together and lets out a nervous laugh, “Good day to start.” He collects the other man’s cash and pulls out your chair. He says your name and places his hand on your lower back. “She’ll take you to one of our offices and help you get set up.”
With a huff, you jerk away from Mike’s hand and motion for your neighbor to follow you. He’s eerily silent as he trails behind you. Opening up an empty office, you motion him inside, letting the door shut quietly behind him.
Situating yourself behind the desk, you pull out the new account paperwork. “Alright,” you hum to yourself, leafing through the papers.
“Is he always like that?”
Your eyes widen as you glance up. “Sorry?”
He leans back in his chair, elbows on the armrests and body stiff with tension. “Your boss. Is he always like that?”
You scoff and log in to the bank’s system. “If you mean domineering and a pain in my ass, then yes.” Somehow, his lips fall even flatter at your blunt admission. “It’s a new job,” you find yourself explaining for some reason. “Once the ‘fresh meat’ interest wears off, I’m sure he’ll back off.”
He hums but doesn’t offer you anything else. “Okay,” you draw the word out and slide him the papers. “First things first, need your name.”
He picks up the pen and scribbles it down, you tilt your head in curiosity. “Andrew,” you muse. His shoulders stiffen but he says nothing. “I thought Smurf only had four sons.” It’s an innocent enough inquiry, but from the glare he sends you, you’d think you’d told him you ran over his dog.
“Sorry,” you back off, sliding the papers back toward yourself. Your nails click against the keyboard, struggling to figure out the alien system as you try and finish this as quickly as possible.
“Three,” he suddenly announces.
You hum absentmindedly. “What was that?”
Andrew clears his throat and shifts slightly, but his stare remains strong. Practically burning into you. “She’s got three sons. Deran, Craig, and me. Baz and J aren’t hers.”
You glance over at him and your brows furrow at just how uncomfortable he looks at such a small admission. Further confirmation that you should probably stay as far away from the Codys as possible.
He clears his throat, shifting around again. “What about you?”
You count his money and cast your eyes briefly toward him. Each question he asks sounds like someone’s pulling teeth to force it out of him. He hasn’t looked away, not once, but you’re wondering if that’s just a different sort of stress tic. As if taking his eyes off you means leaving himself vulnerable.
“Nope,” you click your tongue and pass him more forms to sign. “All on my own.”
He straightens and lazily scribbles out his signature. “No family? Boyfriend? You moved into that big house on your own?”
Your fingers still on the keyboard as your shoulders stiffen. From anyone else it could just be a hopeful ploy to see if you’re single. But this is the same man whose mother practically kidnapped you last night and all of a sudden, he’s popping up at your place of work.
With a sly grin you don’t truly mean, you turn to him, arms crossed on the desk. He doesn’t falter, eyes never wavering. “Are you trying to ask me out, Andrew?”
For the first time, you get a true reaction out of him. He blinks rapidly, lips parting as he pulls back from you. “No,” he sounds incredulous and you can’t help but laugh.
“Relax, I’m messing with you. Because, honestly, you sound like I’m going to find you waiting at my house for me tonight.”
He settles and crosses his arms. “I am your neighbor.” If you could read anything about him at all, you might have recognized it as a joke. But it feels more like a threat to you. Stiffening, you draw back and place his money in a bag.
“I’ll just go deposit this for you.” You rush out of the room before he can say anything else.
Andrew turns and watches as you practically run down the hall. He sinks back into his chair with a heavy sigh. He hadn’t even wanted to do this. It's not like he was exactly eager to be back in banks again.
But Smurf and Baz got on his ass about checking out the new neighbor. Making sure she wasn’t a plant or going to cause any trouble. He’d watched you all morning up until now. From all he could tell you were on your own, working a boring nine-to-five, and there was absolutely nothing interesting about you.
You also seemed pretty smart, already aware of just how far you should be staying away from his family. Even more reason you’re not going to be causing any trouble for them. Hopefully, this meant Smurf would get off his back and his day wouldn’t have to revolve around some harassed bank teller.
The low murmur of conversation catches his attention and he turns back toward the glass door. Your manager has stopped you in the hall, hand cupping your elbow as he stands far too close.
You’re actively shrinking back, face curled with displeasure as Mike only gets closer. Pope’s lips curl slightly as he watches you jerk away. You rush down the hall, bag clutched tightly to your chest. Mike glowers until he turns to find Pope watching him.
With a lazy smile, he approaches your office and takes a seat behind the desk. He steeples his fingers, eyes eager as he watches Pope. “Is she treating you alright?”
“She’s fine,” he grits out.
Mike shrugs and gives him a smile like they’re sharing a secret. “No need to cover. We’ve gotten quite a few complaints about her already. There’s only really one reason we hired her, you know?”
Pope doesn’t feel like entertaining the conversation anymore. He wants Mike gone, he wants you gone. He wants to leave. But Smurf always knows when he’s lying and he doesn’t have the option of bullshitting his way out of this ridiculous errand.
“No, I don’t know,” he’s speaking through clenched teeth and, still, Mike is incapable of taking the hint.
“Well,” Mike clears his throat, trying to find a way around a harassment suit. “It’s always nice to have something pretty to look at, you know? Decor’s just meant to be attractive, doesn’t have to be smart.”
“Neither does the manager, apparently.” It takes a moment for the insult to settle. Mike’s wide eyes only further prove Pope’s point.
He clears his throat uncomfortably and shifts, “Right. Well, I’ll just let her finish up here.” Pope says nothing, just watches the old man as he walks out with his tail tucked. He can hear you bump into him in the hallway, Mike snaps at you, taking his frustration out on the first easy target.
Pope turns again and when Mike catches his eye he shoves past you and storms his way back to the front. You watch him go with an awed expression and shake your head. Pope hears you mutter, “Jackass,” as you make your way inside the office.
You settle into your chair with a loud huff. “Here are your checks. It’s just a few, you’ll receive the book in the mail.” He takes it wordlessly, eyes darting to your phone as it lights up on the desk.
🚫drunk texting shows on your screen for a split second before you offer him a sheepish smile and turn it off. “Sorry about that.”
“Who is it?” He’s being invasive, that’s the whole point, but he almost hopes you don’t tell him. If you’re the type to just spill so easily, it’s going to cause trouble for you in the future.
“A mistake,” you bite out, not meeting his eyes. Pope lets out a small sigh as you shove his papers haphazardly into a file. “There you go, Mr. Cody. Please let us know if there’s anything else you might need.”
Your smile is tight, sharp at the edges, your tone is practiced. The same voice you’d given the old man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. You’re dismissing him and wordlessly making it clear that should he ever need anything you want nothing to do with it. Pope’s lips curl ever so slightly but they drop when he catches the surprise on your face at his expression.
He takes the folder from your hands and leaves the office without another word. Making his way through the lobby, he finds himself sitting in his truck, just watching. You never take a lunch break, not leaving your stall unless it’s to deposit money. Pope finds himself growing more and more irritated the longer he has to watch this.
You’re harmless, worth nothing to Smurf. Yet, every time he tries to get her to let this go, she insists he stays. The entire day is wasted on you. Finally, at 5:30, you make your way from the bank. You don’t wave goodbye to your coworkers, effectively ignored as they brush past you. You don’t even linger in the parking lot, just get started going down the sidewalk.
Pope’s brows furrow as he watches you go. “Fuck’s sake,” he mutters. You walk home. And it’s not like he can just trail beside you in his truck. Getting out, he follows after you, lingering behind just enough for you not to notice him.
He keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets, feeling more like a pervert than ever before. J or Craig should be doing this shit, not him. This is so far below him it's infuriating. After tonight, Baz better get that stick out of his ass about you.
You pause and Pope ducks back. You dig around through your purse, letting out a soft curse as your head drops to hang between your shoulders. “Dammit.” Pope has no warning as you pivot around, eyes widening as they land on him.
“Oh,” you let out a shrill sound that might have been a laugh and take a large step back from him. “You. Again.” Your eyes dart over his form and he can see as fear settles on you. “I really want to think this is a coincidence.”
Pope’s prolonged silence probably isn’t helping anything. But he genuinely has no excuse that could explain this away. And he knows what he looks like, unblinking, odd, something women don’t want to see following them home.
“You shouldn’t walk home alone,” he finally settles on. The disturbed look on your face doesn’t abate, but you’re also not running.
“Clearly,” you snap. “I knew your family was weird,” you settle on the word carefully and Pope almost laughs. Weird doesn’t even come close to explaining the Codys. He’s not sure any one word could. “But this is a lot.”
Pope shrugs and takes a step closer to you. You don’t move, eyeing him warily. “Do you want a ride back?”
“Are you going to kill me?” He gives you a flat look and you deflate. “Fine. I accidentally left my keys in the bank anyway.” This time, when you walk it’s beside him. Though you keep your purse clutched tightly to your chest, shooting him a wary look every so often.
“Do you want to tell me why you were following me?”
Pope watches you and you don’t shrink away like he expects. You face him head-on, lips set in irritation. “Wanted to check out the new neighbor.” He knows you understand what he means. He’s not looking for a good time, he’s checking out that you’re not going to be a problem.
Finally, you break away from his stare. “I’m boring,” you mutter and he couldn’t agree more. When you reach the parking lot, he waits in the truck while you head back into the bank. He’s shocked you don’t try to make a run for it and, instead, beeline straight toward him.
“Thanks,” you tell him, almost sounding like you mean it. It’s concerning, how easy it was to get you in his car.
Pope doesn’t say anything and you keep quiet all the way back to your house. When you get out, you shoot him a wary look. “Am I going to see you tomorrow?”
“No,” he responds. Baz and Smurf should feel better after all this. You give him a curt nod and he watches as you rush into your house before backing into his own driveway. In the house, everyone's waiting at the table, a family meeting that he hadn’t been warned about.
“Hey, baby,” Smurf smiles and puts a plate of food in front of him as he sits. “You hungry?” He just nods, eyes boring across the table into Baz’s.
“Well?” He prods.
Pope shakes his head. “Harmless, like I said. Works a bank job and goes straight home. It’s just her.”
Baz’s brows lift as Smurf hovers behind him. “Bank job?” She asks, the question anything but innocent. Pope’s stomach turns as his grip tightens around his fork. He just fucked himself right into another week of stalking.
“Could be useful,” Baz mutters. Smurf squeezes his shoulder and nods. Pope doesn’t need to hear the order to know what she wants from him.
For the first time in a week, you find yourself actually taking a lunch break. You rarely have the time for it and you know it’s a bad habit. You’re trying to break it, but with Mike always breathing down your neck, it’s difficult to do so.
Today, though, you’re settled in a sticky booth of the diner closest to the bank. Your nails drum against the table as you wait for your food. Your phone lights up once again, your ex calling you for the fifth time in an hour. The sudden influx of communication is making you wonder if his mom cut him off again.
The door’s bell jingles and you glance up, caught off guard as Andrew walks in. Your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. It’s been a week since you’ve seen him. You figured after that night he tried to follow you home, that was it. Maybe this is just a coincidence, he doesn’t seem to be looking for you.
“Andrew!” Your mouth clamps shut as you curse yourself out. You’re not sure what possessed you to actively vie for his attention, but you’ve got it. He turns toward you, eyes narrowed as he glances at you warily. Maybe he really wasn’t looking for you.
Slowly, he strides toward your table, hands in his pockets as he looms over you. “Want to join me?” You offer.
He seems caught off guard by the invitation, but sits nonetheless. “Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, your laughter trailing off as he remains quiet. You clear your throat and go back to tearing up the paper from your straw. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Why?” The suspicion in his voice is jarring, but you really shouldn’t be surprised.
“Just trying to make conversation,” you toss your hands up and lean back in the booth. Silence permeates the air between you and you shift restlessly.
“I… don’t.” He finally answers, voice stilted. “First time.” You suck your teeth and nod, nails once again drumming against the table. Blessedly, the waitress walks over with your food. Her eyes settle on Andrew as she sets down your plate.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
He shakes his head, “Not hungry.” Your eyes narrow on him as the waitress walks away.
“Don't tell me that you’re still following me.”
“Smurf wants you to come over tonight.” He slips out of the booth and briefly turns to you. “I’ll drive you home.” It’s not a question, there’s no room for argument as he leaves the diner. Your head thunks against the booth’s seat, your appetite suddenly diminished.
True to his word, Andrew had driven you home. He didn’t walk you to your door or wait to make sure you got inside, but you could appreciate that you didn’t have to walk all the way home tonight.
Now, you stand in front of Smurf’s door with a bathing suit on and a fishnet cover-up that makes you feel slightly better about being half-naked around her sons. She opens the door, wearing a similar style bikini to the one you’d first met her in.
“Glad you could make it, sweetheart.” As if you had any choice. You only offer her a tense smile, following as she gestures you inside. “I know Baz wanted to talk to you,” she glances over her shoulder and you force yourself not to grimace.
“Really?” She hums and you both step out toward the pool. Sure enough, Baz is right at the door, pretending to just casually bump into you.
“Hey there, neighbor.” It’s disconcerting how quickly his hand makes itself comfortable on the small of your back. You shoot him a sharp look but he ignores you, urging you toward the bar at the other end of the pool.
Any other setting, any other man, you would shove him off and tell him to leave you alone. But you’re not stupid, you know that there’s something off about these people. However Andrew made all the money he deposited, it wasn’t through any honest means. There’s a gut feeling screaming at you to run away and it just makes you all the more terrified of what might happen should you piss them off.
“I’ve been meaning to check in on you,” Baz says, passing you a beer that you hold with no intention of drinking. Getting drunk around these sorts of people seems like an invitation for life long trauma. “How’re you settling in?”
“Fine,” you tell him, pretending to believe he actually gives a shit about your life and isn’t just pressing you for information. “It’s different from my last place, but it’s not bad.”
“No?” He smirks and some distant part of your brain recognizes that its meant to be charming, but it just makes your skin crawl. “We’re not keeping you up with these parties, are we?”
Yes, “No, I sleep like a rock.” His eyes widen, lips parting with interest, and you suddenly wish you hadn’t said anything at all.
“Really?” He muses, the interest in his tone absolutely nauseating. Luckily, someone calls his name from across the pool and he lets out a sharp breath. “One second, sweetheart, don’t move.” You can hear the underlying threat in his voice but you really could not care at this point. Ditching the beer, you grab a water and take a quick look around the pool.
Almost every lounge chair is filled with multiple people, some doing drugs, others grinding in a way that makes acid burn in your stomach. But there is one shadowed corner, a small perimeter around it like people are afraid to toe their way past. Andrew stands in that little bubble, arms crossed as he glares across the pool.
It takes you a moment to realize that it’s you he’s focused on. It doesn’t unsettle you the way Baz’s poor attempts at charm had. Instead, you find yourself gravitating toward him, hoping for some form of peace in this god-awful party. He straightens as you approach, watching you warily. Or maybe watching you normally. You’re still struggling to figure out the nuances of his glares.
“Mind if I join you?” He says nothing and you take it as an invitation.
“Thought you would be stuck by Baz,” he mutters. There’s something in his tone that has your brows peaking with interest, but you can’t quite decipher his meaning.
You shake your head, placing your glass on a nearby table as you move to stand slightly in front of him. “You know, I think I liked your approach a lot better than his.” He raises a brow and you snort. “I mean, I’d prefer you following me home than having to deal with whatever bullshit was coming out of his mouth.”
Andrew shrugs, but you swear you see his lips curl up slightly. “He comes on too strong.”
A man rams into you before you can respond. You let out a sharp gasp and trip forward. Andrew’s arms shoot up instantly, grabbing you before you can crash into him. The other man lets out a drunken apology as Andrew works to right you.
“Sorry,” you mutter, hands lingering on his chest a moment longer than they should. He’s firm, beefier than you had expected. The slight thrill that shoots through you is cause enough for concern. You already knew your taste in men was bad, but this might be a new low if a chest is what’s getting you hot and bothered now.
“You alright?” He asks and you nod, letting your hands slowly slip away from him. You reach over for your water, frowning at the slightly metallic taste it leaves coated on your tongue. “Hate these things,” he mutters and you’re sure he hadn’t meant for you to hear that.
“Yeah,” you scoff. “So do I. I bet it’s worse for you, though, being at your house and all. You don’t really have any choice but to be here.”
The look he gives you now isn’t assessing or the same blank stare. He seems intrigued, if that’s the right word for it. “Used to have my own place,” he tells you. “They sold it while I was away.”
Your brows furrow and he watches as you work to connect the dots. Away? You think, but then you take in the sort of people you’re surrounded by and only one destination comes to mind. But you’re not about to outright ask the man if he’s been to prison.
You’ll just google it later.
“Damn, that’s brutal,” you mutter. Taking another sip of your water, you find the metallic taste has only grown worse. Sticking your tongue out slightly, you shake your head as you drop it back on the table.
“Is something wrong?” Andrew asks, eyes darting between you and the drink.
“Water just tastes off,” you tell him, shrugging.
His eyes narrow and he begins to reach for it when there’s a loud screech. You jump, whipping around to find a pile-up of bodies, each of them throwing punches as the sound of flesh breaking bone echoes through the party. “Hold on,” he tells you, rushing forward.
You’re not as compelled to leave like you were with Baz. No, you think you might even like to sit down. Your eyes droop as your head begins to grow heavy. Sinking onto a lounge chair you fight off the sudden urge for sleep, confusion fogging your brain as the world around you spins.
“Oh, Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing weakly at your brow. This doesn’t feel right. It’s like you’re floating outside of your body, just barely managing enough control to keep you upright.
“Hey,” Andrew’s voice materializes in front of you. He’s back quicker than you thought he would be. Or maybe time’s just passing by while you’re slowing down. The thought makes an odd-sounding giggle slip past your lips.
Andrew’s face appears before yours as he kneels down, rough hands cupping your cheeks and jerking your head up. You whine at the roughness while his eyes dart across your face. “How much have you had to drink?”
You feel like he knows, he’s been watching you this whole time, after all. Still, you manage to slur out your answer in a slightly comprehensible sentence. “Just the water,” your voice sounds like you're underwater.
Andrew’s thumbs tug at the skin below your eyes, trying to gauge the size of your pupils, the sudden bloodshot look about them. “Fuck,” he hisses and you try to move back, worried it’s you he’s mad at. His grip is firm, though, his hands insistent as he throws your arm over his shoulder and drags you to your feet.
“Come on,” he grits out, carrying the majority of your weight as your feet trip over each other.
“Andrew,” his name comes out wrong, garbled and barely comprehensible. But he manages to understand you, humming in answer as he pulls you through the house. “I feel weird,” you whisper, breath becoming harder to find.
“Yeah, I know you do.” A man whistles as Andrew carries you past, slapping him on the back like he’s just won a prize. Andrew stops and you wonder, briefly, if he’s going to drop you so he can fight the guy. But the other man just goes running off, recognizing his mistake in time.
He keeps going, pushing through the bodies until the cold night air is biting at your cheeks and he’s walking up your driveway. He’s gentler than you expected as he props you against your front door.
“Keys,” he demands, hands gripping your waist so you don’t topple straight into the bushes.
You shake your head, the movement making you painfully nauseous. “Didn’t lock it,” you reach for the handle, palm slipping across it uselessly.
His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing further as he clicks his tongue at you. “Always lock it,” he snaps, tugging you back into his side as he pushes the door open. “What if it wasn’t me walking in here?”
Your eyes narrow, vision blurring. Despite whatever you were slipped, you manage just enough cognitive functioning for an attitude. “How,” you slur, “are you any better than someone else?”
Andrew pauses at that, hesitating at the base of your stairs as you wait for an answer. He stares into your drooping eyes and only huffs before practically carrying you to your bedroom. It’s gentle, the way he sets you down, back pushed against the pillows so you don’t just flop back. But it only takes the brief second he steps away for your eyes to close completely and your body to go limp against your mattress. By the time he returns with a change of clothes, you’re already out.
It’s the sun that wakes you up. Normally, you remember to close your curtains before you pass out. But they’re wide open this morning, blinds pulled up, sun beaming down on you like it’s shaming you.
“Damn,” you drag yourself up, head throbbing as you try to remember what exactly happened last night. You know you went over to the pool, Baz had creeped you out. Briefly, you think you might have spoken to Andrew but that’s where it gets fuzzy.
Glancing up, you would scream if your throat didn’t hurt so much. Andrew sits in the chair by your dresser. His eyes are boring right into you, no malice behind the look, just careful consideration.
You clutch your chest, heart racing under your palm. “Whoo,” you breathe out, giving him an awkward smile. “Give a girl some warning next time,” you attempt to tease but your croaking voice impedes you.
Looking down, you find yourself in one of your sleeping shirts and different underwear. Bile rises in your throat as your mind races to remember even one thing that got you in bed.
“I didn’t look,” he tells you, finally getting to his feet. “But you kept complaining about wanting to change.” He walks toward you, brows set in concern as he takes you in.
Any other man and you probably wouldn’t believe him. You’re not even sure how he could have gotten you out of that suit without a little flash of skin. But you don’t really mind, better him than anyone else in that family. He seems to be the only one who understands the concept of morals.
“What happened?” You ask, grimacing as a pain akin to an ice pick digs its way through your temple.
Hesitantly, as if you might shout at him to get away, he perches at the end of your bed. His hands rest near you, he’s probably waiting for you to keel over.
“Think someone slipped you something,” he mutters, head tilting as his eyes trace over your pained expression. No shit. “I don’t know what it was, wanted to make sure you didn’t asphyxiate in your sleep.”
You look at him, frowning, and he nods toward something by your nightstand. You find a bucket by your feet, filled with what seems to be fresh vomit. “Oh god,” you groan, body crumpling under the weight of your mortification.
“I’m so sorry.” The thought of him having to stay up all night taking care of you makes you feel even worse than you do now. But beneath the shame and embarrassment, there is the smallest semblance of appreciation. Most guys would dump you at home and leave, Andrew’s practically a stranger and he took better care of you than your ex ever did.
“Why are you apologizing?” Blunt, like always, he gives you a sharp look. “It’s not your fault.”
“Feels like it,” you grumble. Hesitantly, you get to your feet, weak knees buckling slightly beneath you. Andrew stands, hand outstretched as you pick up the bucket and hobble toward your bathroom. “I should know better than to just leave my drink unattended like that.”
Andrew scoffs as you struggle to dump and clean the bucket. “Maybe people should just know better than to slip you something,” he mutters. He comes up beside you, taking the bucket from your hands and washing it out for you.
“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning against your bathroom counter as another wave of nausea builds up in your stomach. “You know, I’ve been roofied before,” his head whips up and you offer a wry grin. “Don’t remember it feeling like this.”
You think it’s the casualness of your statement that catches him so off guard. But mickied drinks had practically been a rite of passage at your university. Doesn’t make it good, but it softens the sharp edge of disappointment in humanity when you grow so used to it.
You let out a low groan and clamp your hand over your mouth, absolutely refusing to throw up in front of him. Again. Andrew drops the bucket in your tub and takes quick steps toward you. His hands wrap around your waist, head ducking to see the off-colored pallor of your skin.
“I think you should lie back down.”
Shaking your head, you let out another whine of discomfort. “I can’t,” you object. “I’ll be late to work.” Glancing at your nightstand’s clock, your stomach plummets. “Dammit, later than I already am.”
Andrew’s brows furrow and he shakes his head incredulously. “You’re not going in.”
“If only it were that simple,” you let out a low laugh. As reluctant as you are, you push his hands away, already missing the warmth he’d provided. “Mike already wants to fire me, I can’t give him any more ammo.”
His eyes narrow and he backs off. For a second, you think he’s actually going to listen. Then his hands are wrapping around your biceps and you’re letting out a surprised gasp. “Andrew!” You object, absolutely too weak to fight him as he wrestles you back toward your bed.
“I can’t,” you snap, futilely pushing at his arms. He says nothing, just lifts you up and plants you stubbornly on the mattress.
“Stay here,” he tells you, finger in your face like you’re a misbehaving dog.
You slap his hand away with a glare. “I’m going to miss the bus, Andrew. I can’t just stay home.”
He crosses his arms, completely silent as he stares down at you. For some reason, you can feel guilt bubbling in your gut and shrink back into your pillows. There’s also a shameful heat brewing between your legs at how easily he manhandled you back to bed. How firm he is in making sure you’re okay.
After years of nothing but men who wanted to be coddled and taken care of, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be on the receiving end of someone’s concern.
You like it a little too much.
“Stay,” is all he says as he walks out of your room, door shut firmly behind him. Your eyes narrow and you debate, for a moment, simply ignoring him and going to work.
You think being on the receiving end of his frustration might be even more interesting than this side of him. But some ridiculous part of you wants to listen, to do what he says so you might finally get something wriggled from that cold exterior of his.
With a dramatic huff, you toss yourself on your pillows. Prepared to stew for the rest of the day, you’re completely caught off guard by the sudden wave of exhaustion coming over you. Sighing, you promise to just let your eyes rest for a few minutes.
You’re out like a light in thirty seconds.
When you wake up it’s already four and you know there is no hope of making it to work. It’s not like you’re eager to deal with irritated clients all day while nursing the effects of getting drugged. But you are truly worried Mike is going to hold this over your head.
With nothing better to do, you take a shower and change your sheets to get rid of the smell of mistakes and vomit. As you’re transferring your comforter to the dryer, you hear the distinct click of your front door opening and closing.
Your hands freeze on your wet sheets while your body goes stiff.
Slowly, you creep out of the laundry room and tilt your head down the stairs. Plastic crinkles in your kitchen, cabinets opening and closing as dishes are retrieved. Despite the fact that you should be terrified, at the very least be grabbing some sort of weapon, you find yourself walking down the stairs without a care in the world. Subconsciously, you know who it is, and you should be afraid of him but you can’t find it in you.
“Hi,” you say dumbly, watching as Andrew dumps what looks like wonton soup into a bowl for you.
His head lifts and he lets out a huff. “You need to start locking your door.”
You shrug, taking a seat at your island and watching him move through your kitchen like he’s been here before. “How would you have gotten in?”
Andrew’s shoulders tense as he sets your bowl in front of you, slamming it harder than necessary. “Lock your door,” he warns. Rolling your eyes, you take the spoon he offers you and frown. He balls up the take-out bag, trashing it, and you realize he hasn’t brought anything for himself.
With a sigh, you hop out of your seat and grab another bowl. He watches as you split the soup between the two of you with a displeased look. “I’m not hungry,” he tells you.
“I don’t care,” you reply offhandedly, sliding him a bowl like you didn’t google him and figure out he was in jail for three years for armed robbery. Sentenced to six, apparently, but got out early on good behavior. At the very least, it wasn’t for murder.
Andrew glares down at the bowl, arms crossed and your tentative smile falls. “Please,” you implore, “I don’t like eating alone.”
He takes it, though you know he doesn’t want to. “I got it for you.”
You shrug, taking your seat once more. “Why did you, anyway?” You don’t usually look a gift horse in the mouth, but it’s hard to believe that a reformed felon is just going around fetching his neighbors' soup.
Andrew wraps his hand around the spoon, but doesn’t make any move to eat. Your head tilts as you take in the scars along his knuckles, spots where the skin has split and healed over one too many times. It should just push you further from him but you find yourself more enticed. After all, why would a man like him have any interest in taking care of you?
“You don’t eat,” his voice is low, the words a shameful secret he wasn’t ready to admit.
Your brows furrow as you process what he said. Glancing over at him, a wry smile finds its way to your lips at the little splotch of color you spot on his cheeks. “Are you still watching me?” You laugh off a sentiment that should have you calling his parole officer.
Andrew rubs the back of his neck, gaze pointed down at the soup. “Not really,” he says awkwardly, not even believing himself.
Giving him a break, you go back to eating. “Well, you’re right. I was probably just going to eat some saltines and call it a night.” The huff he lets out shocks a laugh out of you. Slowly, Andrew picks the spoon up and starts to eat. You’ll count it as progress to thawing him out.
At 8:30, you’re already running late to catch the bus. Tugging on your heels, you let out an aggrieved sigh as someone knocks on your door. Frowning, you double-check the time and throw open the door.
Andrew stands there, scowl disapproving as you give him a small smile. “Did you even check who was at the door?”
You consider lying but the way his eyes narrow into slits swats the idea away. “No.” You grab your bag and usher him back as you close the door. “What’s up?”
“I’m giving you a ride,” it’s all he says. Blunt, concise, not even an offer. Heat flushes through you as he takes your keys from your hand and pointedly locks your door. You almost wish he would scold you again.
His hand hovers over the small of your back as he guides you to his truck. You fight back a shudder at the warmth he emanates while he’s not even touching you.
You’re slightly taken aback when Andrew opens up the truck door for you, even offering you a hand up when your heel slips. The brush of his calloused hand against yours is enough to send warmth flooding your body, an ache settling between your legs.
As he rounds the front of his truck, you resist banging your head against the dashboard. You only just got out of a bad relationship a few months ago. You should not be so fucking eager to jump some man’s bones. Especially not when that man is a known felon and his family is probably full of them.
Andrew gets in and you jolt up, forcing your back straight and a strained smile on your face. The last few times you were in his truck, you had been more worried about what he was going to do with you to pay attention to the interior. But as you look around now, you’re taken aback by how clean it is. It’s practically spotless, not a speck of dust on the dashboard or even an abandoned bag of chips on the floorboard. It could be new, but you’re certain that Andrew just knows how to take care of his things.
Is it completely wrong that it only makes you hotter for him?
The drive is quiet, as it has been the last few times you’ve been with him. You’re surprised when you turn the radio on and he doesn’t object. You were starting to wonder if he’s quiet just because he prefers the silence or if it’s because he doesn’t know anything else anymore.
He was in prison, you’re certain he was probably thrown in solitary a few times. You can imagine silence became a habit rather than comfort.
When he parks and gets out of the truck, you’re just surprised enough to allow him time to make it to your side and open the door for you. The sudden surge of gentlemanly conduct is odd, to say the least, but you won’t pretend it doesn’t endear him to you further.
You wonder if this is how men in the 1800s felt when they saw a flash of ankle as you slip your hand into Andrew’s again and practically salivate at the feeling. “Thank you,” you murmur quietly. He only nods, not stepping back, letting your hand rest in his. But you grow worried about your palm being clammy and pull back before he can feel it.
Andrew glances at your hand and you swear you almost see disappointment on his face. “Um,” you clear your throat. “My lunch break is at one. Do you have any plans?”
You’re not the type to make the first move. You learned a while ago that if you’re the one who has to start the relationship, you’re going to be the only one participating in it. But something about Andrew gives you a boost of assurance you’ve never experienced before.
His eyes meet yours, lips in a flat line as you struggle to read the intricacies of his expression. “Can’t. Family meeting,” he explains vaguely. Your eyes widen as mortification draws the color from your skin.
“Right, right,” you clear your throat and back away from him, suddenly desperate to get inside the bank and have Mike yelling at you. “Well, uh, thanks for the ride.” He nods and you’re quick to rush into the bank, your lonely stall calling for you as you try and toss Andrew Cody from your mind.
Pope watches you go, he almost laughs at how quickly you run off. He probably should have clarified that he would like to have lunch with you, he wasn’t outright rejecting you. But, he figures he can just explain that to you when he picks you up after work today.
His phone buzzes and he rolls his eyes as Baz’s name invades his messages.
Get some info about the security switch-off from her
We don’t want to wait much longer but you’re taking a while here Pope
Pope considers responding when another message comes through.
Don’t forget to act like a human, don’t want you scaring her off too early
With a discontent huff, he shoves his phone back in his pocket and climbs back into his truck. He can just barely make you out through the bank's window. That old man from the other day is right back at the front of your line. You’re not great at hiding how you’re feeling and Pope almost laughs at the way your lips are curled up in disgust. He debates going in there and getting rid of him for you, but it would seem suspicious.
You already caught him watching you once. He needs you to think this is something else. Something more intimate. It's the best way to get your guard down, to get the information that Baz and Smurf want so this job can be over and done with.
So that you can be over and done with.
You’re getting used to the sight of Andrew’s car and what should scare you only serves to further excite you. As you wave goodbye to the security guard, John, you see Andrew get out and wait for you on the passenger side.
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to start getting used to this,” you warn him as you walk up.
He only shrugs, holding open the door for you, offering you a hand. “You shouldn’t be walking home alone,” his tone sounds like admonishment.
You almost ask him about his day when he gets in, but he beats you to the punch. “Did you eat today?”
You purse your lips and shake your head, receiving a barely-there scowl in return. “Mike had me work through lunch to make up for my no-show yesterday.” In response, Andrew doesn’t take the left turn back to your neighborhood, he goes right instead.
Narrowing your eyes, you stare at him suspiciously. “Kidnapping me?”
He only shakes his head, shooting you what you desperately want to be a playful glare. “Feeding you,” he clarifies. “Would’ve gone to lunch with you if Baz hadn’t been up my ass.” He mutters it under his breath, quiet in a way you know you’re not meant to hear.
“What did he want?” You find yourself asking, curiosity winning out over survival instincts.
Andrew stiffens, fingers tightening imperceptibly around the wheel as he shrugs. “Nothing important,” he dismisses, tone closed off in a way you know means the conversation is over.
Something tightens in your chest, the first real warning of threat you’ve felt around him. You dismiss it as nerves and shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Where are we heading?” You ask, attempting to gauge what his intention is here.
It’s pretty simple, a quiet, intimate restaurant and you know he means it as a date. Somewhere loud, however, slightly crowded and better for beer with buddies than going out with a woman, you know he’s just being strangely friendly.
“Here,” he nods and your stomach plummets as you watch him pull into Larry’s parking lot. A pub you’d grown acquainted with quite intimately when you were still with Colin. The same place he always liked to ditch you to get drunk with his buddies. The atmosphere inside dashes any hope of Andrew caring about you outside of your general welfare.
With a disappointed sigh, you help yourself out of the truck before Andrew can. He scowls and you ignore him, trying to tamp down any sharp jabs. It’s not his fault that he got your hopes up. That he got you all hot and bothered after showing you that half-decent men still do exist.
Andrew trails slightly behind you as you walk inside. “Oh,” the host’s eyes light up and you offer a brief smile. “I haven't seen you in forever.” Robby rounds the stand to give you a side hug that you barely return.
In a second, Andrew’s at your side, gaze darting between the two of you suspiciously. Robby pulls back with an awkward chuckle and grabs menus for both of you. “Come on,” he nods. You shoot Andrew an odd look but he doesn’t offer any explanation as Robby seats you both.
The second you’re seated, the atmosphere floods over your table. Loud, drunken conversations fill the air, five different sports commentary blasts on the TV. It’s so much that you nearly jump out of your seat and just book it home. Your fingers clench around the menu as you force yourself to stay seated and just remain calm.
Andrew grimaces as he looks around, seemingly regretting his choice. “Have you not been here before?” You ask.
He glances back at you and shakes his head. You’re honestly shocked he actually heard you. “I’m assuming you have.”
You nod and prop your head on your hand. “My ex used to drag me here all the time.” Andrew’s knuckles whiten as his grip goes deathly tight around his menu. With a low breath, he sets the menu down and his features soften into something you can’t place.
“I didn’t know it was going to be like this,” he tells you. Your eyes narrow and a little bit of hope blooms inside of you.
“Can I be honest with you?” He nods, leaning further over the table so he can actually hear you. You don’t have to, but you find yourself inching closer until your noses are nearly touching. You can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks and it only provokes you.
“I thought this was going to be a date.” Andrew pulls away slightly and you bite back a laugh at the first real emotion you’ve wrenched from him. He’s flustered, clearly, but he also seems incredibly caught off guard.
“You did?” You let out a low hum and nod, slowly sinking back into your seat. “Did you want it to be a date?” He asks, hesitant and completely unsure of himself.
There’s a slight crack to his voice, vulnerability shining through in a way that makes your chest ache. “Yeah,” you huff out a laugh. “I wanted it to be a date.” Slipping out of the booth, you hold out your hand to him.
His eyes dart between you and your open palm before he, very slowly, places his calloused hand in yours. “What are you doing?” You roll your eyes and tug him out of the booth. You know that if he wanted to, he could have just planted his feet and stayed where he was. But he lets you drag him out of the restaurant, hand squeezing yours slightly as you head back to the truck.
“I’ll make us dinner,” you tell him. “Then we can have a proper date.” You stop, lingering by the passenger door. His eyes are boring into yours and you swallow, some of your bravado slipping away. “That is, if that’s what you want?”
When his lips curl up, the first real sign of any semblance to a smile you’ve gotten, you know you have your answer.
It becomes a habit. Andrew picks you up, drops you off, sometimes he brings you lunch or you just see him at the end of the day when he drives you back home. Most of the time, he stays. Coming inside and helping you make dinner since your last attempt ended with you somehow managing to burn spaghetti.
It’s been innocent, a kiss on the cheek, or you reaching across the console to hold his hand while he drives. The majority of the time, you initiate the touch and he just reciprocates. You worry sometimes that you’re projecting your own desires onto him, not taking into account what he might want.
But he hasn’t objected, hasn’t ever pulled his hand away or told you to stop. You hope that means he doesn’t mind how affectionate you can be when you really care about someone.
You’re completely unaware of just how much the small kindnesses mean to him. Unaware that when he’s around you, he’s not Pope or a Cody, he’s just Andrew. He almost feels normal around you, like he’s just some regular guy who got lucky when he asked the pretty bank teller out.
Every time you touch him, kiss his cheek, and are just willingly in his presence without being intimidated, he thinks that he might be worth something. The feeling never lasts long, fading every time he goes back to his own house. It’s completely wrenched away by Baz or Smurf demanding updates, seeing if he’s gotten any decent information out of you.
He has, not that he’s told them yet. You let it slip that there was a transport coming through on Thursday, lots of cash that Mike will probably want to take a dive in. And then, when he’d come in to bring you lunch, you complained that the security guard was late. Let it slip that there’s a ten-minute gap every day at one when they switch shifts.
It’s enough for Smurf and Baz. He could tell them all of this and they’d relent, tell him to ditch you. Make sure you’re oblivious as he ghosts you and they take what they want. But he doesn’t want that. He wants to keep standing next to you and making dinner. To pick you up and drop you off like you’re actually something real that he has to look forward to.
Andrew pulls into your driveway, the routine becoming more familiar to him than when he goes into his actual home. As always, he opens the door for you, takes your hand and leads you up the steps of your porch. He likes to linger on nights like tonight when he can’t come in. Baz and Smurf want him home tonight and he knows they’re not going to be giving him any leeway.
But he’s almost tempted to say screw it when you turn toward him, eyes shining under your porch light, expression earnest as you smile up at him. “Do you want to come inside?”
It’s completely innocent, your question, something you’ve asked a hundred times before. That doesn’t abate the ache in his jeans and that tight feeling in his chest every time you look at him like this. Like he’s actually someone you want around and aren’t just using.
Not like he’s using you.
A hot flush of shame shoots through him and he shakes his head. “I can’t tonight.” Your lips turn down in disappointment and he wants to take it back immediately, but he forces his mouth shut.
“Alright,” you take his hands in yours and lean up toward him. He expects the usual kiss on the cheek, even looks forward to it. What he doesn’t expect is your lips brushing against his, arms winding around his neck as you pull back with a smile like you didn’t just stun him into silence.
His eyes narrow and when you let that breathy little laugh of yours slip out, he loses any semblance of self-control. Not that he had much to begin with.
Your shocked gasp against his mouth is enough for him to trace his tongue along the seam of your lips. And when you practically moan, body sinking against his, he can’t help himself. His hand cups the back of your head, pushing you up against your front door and slotting his thigh between yours.
Something warm stabs through him, slightly unpleasant and completely unfamiliar. It’s a feeling he only ever experiences around you and it never stops being overwhelming. Never stops drowning out any thoughts except ones that revolve around you, how you feel, how you make him feel.
You pull back, laughing when he chases your lips. “Andrew,” there’s a low purr in your voice when you say his name, has his hands tightening around your waist. When you ask, “Would you like to come inside?” He doesn’t say no, just opens the door, lifting you into his arms and not stopping until you’re breathless and smiling up at him on your bed.
He doesn’t make it home until after he’s dropped you off the next morning. He’d ignored all the missed calls last night, shutting off his phone so he could enjoy the feeling of your arms around him. It was surreal, waking up beside someone who his mother hadn’t paid off or he’d gotten drunk with and didn’t remember her name.
You’d held him in a way no one ever has before and it only made that piercing pain of guilt thicken in his chest. It’s practically suffocating as he steps inside, finds Smurf waiting for him with crossed arms and an expectant look.
“You didn’t come home last night, baby.” She says, watching as he brushes past her and grabs water from the fridge. He needs something to do with his hands, anything to not look up at her and see that she knows what he’s done. His hands flex, twisting the bottle cap around as the plastic creaks beneath his grip.
“Have fun with the neighbor?” She asks, tone innocent as she begins plating up the breakfast he’d missed. He doesn’t tell her that you already fed him, had taken care of him without expecting anything in return.
Again, Andrew stays silent, he’s already given too much away just by coming home late. “If I didn't know any better, baby, I’d say you actually like her.” She drops the plate in front of him, crossing her arms as she leans against the island. “But I know my baby boy, don’t I?”
It’s an effort not to jerk away as she drags her hand across his shoulders, smiling at him. “You’re taking too long, hun. I had to stop Baz from going over there last night, just getting the information he wanted and getting rid of the girl.”
Andrew’s hands tighten around the bottle, water seeping from the top. White hot rage flashes through him and he imagines the bottle is Baz’s neck for a moment. Smurf laughs, already knowing what he’s thinking.
“I’m not going to be able to control him much longer.” She could, she just doesn’t want to. “I’d hate for anything to happen to that sweet girl.” Her tone is laced with venom and Andrew’s head drops, knuckles white as he grips the counter. “Do you have what I need, baby?”
It’s because he cares about you so much that he tells her what he’s learned. He knows her words are never empty threats. Baz will hurt you, she will hurt you, if he doesn’t give them what he wants. He knows he’s trying to protect you, but that doesn’t lessen the weight of guilt.
It’s almost one, right around the time Andrew usually stops by if he’s decided to bring you lunch that day. You figure, after last night, he probably will visit. The thought sends a thrill up your spine that makes you giddy.
You really hadn’t intended for last night to go in the direction it did, but you weren’t complaining. And he hadn’t been either. Still warmed by the memories of the night, you check your watch.
The second hand ticks and it’s exactly one. John gets up, heading to the back to take his break while Nathan will take his time coming back from his lunch. The paperwork from yesterday’s delivery has finally been completed and you stand up from your stall, getting ready to pass it off to Sheila so she can look it over.
At exactly 1:01, the doors to the bank burst open and three masked men rush in. “Everybody down!” It’s shock, you think, that’s why you’re standing frozen. Why you’re not just doing what the big men with even larger guns say.
Then, he’s pulling the trigger, bullets embedding themself into the ceiling as the chandelier creaks dangerously above you all. Finally, your system shocks itself back to life and you’re dropping to the floor. Your fingers itch to press the emergency button beneath your stall, but one of the men has already found his way behind the divider.
“You!” He points at you and your heart beats an erratic rhythm against your ribs. He stomps over, grabbing your arm and wrenching you to your feet. A strangled noise slips through your lips, your coworkers cower as they watch you with misty eyes.
The tallest of all of them keeps his guns pointed at those on the ground. Then the shortest man comes running over, trailing behind you and the one holding you. He drags you to the vault and shoves you into the metal door.
Your palms sting as you catch yourself and it takes every iota of survival instinct you have not to give him a nasty glare. “You know the drill,” and he chuckles, the noise muffled beneath his hood. As if this is all one big joke.
Your fingers tremble over the lock pad as you shake your head. You try and step back but there’s a firm hand, almost familiar, easing you forward again. Your gaze shoots to the short one and he nods at the vault. “We’re not gonna hurt you if you just let us in. There doesn’t have to be any trouble.”
His voice is off, as if he’s purposely speaking strangely. Maybe it’s a way for them to mask their identity further. All it does now is serve to unsettle you even worse.
Then, there’s a cold plunge in your body, everything going still when you feel something dull and metal pressing into your side.
“Or,” the other one drawls. “I shoot you right here and we just go get one of your friends to open this for us.” The short one’s hand tightens around your shoulder and you grimace. He releases you instantly.
“Come on,” that sleazy voice is almost familiar to you. But maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks. “I’ve seen you take the money in here, sweetheart. I know you know how to get in.”
Your breath stutters, terror wraps tight around your throat and blocks any further air. “You’ve been watching me,” you whisper, already reaching forward to punch in the code. The taller one hums with delight, gun easing as you slip your key from your blazer’s pocket. It doesn’t take long for the vault door to pop open.
The shorter man grabs the handle before you can, letting out a low groan as he tugs the heavy door open further. “Alright, come on,” the other one’s got his hands on you again. Your skin feels like it's going to rip under his tight grip, but you don’t say a word, just follow obediently behind him.
This all feels wrong. Like this is someone else’s life and you’ve just accidentally walked into it. You have poor luck, sure, but not this bad. This can’t be real, you swear to yourself. And it’s all you repeat as they open their bags, forcing you to stuff them full as you empty the safety deposit boxes.
They call the other one in the vault but there’s a dull buzzing in your ears and you barely hear what they say at all. The only thing you can truly focus on is the gun still pointed at your chest. “Alright,” he shoulders his bags and you can almost feel him grinning at you.
“On your knees, sweetheart.” Your stomach twists, bile racing up your throat as cold panic wraps around you.
“Hey!” The short one barks, but the other man just holds up his hand.
“Come on,” he urges, lifting his gun and leveling it with your face. Slowly, you drop to your knees the dull thud of cement is a welcome shock to your body. He kneels in front of you but you refuse to meet his eyes through the holes of his mask. You just bite your lip, stare boring into the ground beneath you and pray you wake up from one long nightmare.
“Let’s go, man!” Sirens begin to sound closer and you would be relieved if this man wasn’t still in front of you.
He doesn’t listen to his partner, just tips your chin up with the end of his gun. “You say a goddamn word about any of this, I will find you and I will hurt you, sweetheart.”
What could you possibly say?
Finally, you lift your head, meeting sharp blue eyes. Something stutters in your chest, mind racing to shove down the sudden familiarity you see in this man’s gaze. Slowly, you nod and he finally backs off, racing through the vault door. The shorter man lingers a second longer but when you don’t move he follows after his partner.
It isn’t until you hear the police rush into the bank that you finally collapse against the ground. Pained sobs wrack your body as you struggle to breathe deeply enough to get your heart rate under control.
Your name flashes on Andrew’s screen and Baz sends him a sharp look. “Don’t want to look suspicious now, do we?”
Andrew rips his mask off and glares at Baz. “If you’d stuck to the fucking plan, we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.” Craig glances between them both, looking at them like he doesn’t feel like breaking up a fight today.
Baz glares and pushes off the wall of the semi-trailer they’d hid themselves in. “Maybe if you hadn’t done that reassuring bullshit, I wouldn’t have had to threaten her.”
Rage surges through Andrew’s body, your ringtone going off over and over again as he and Baz stare at one another. “You wanted to,” Andrew grits out. “I got you the info you wanted, did what you asked, but you still wanted to hurt her.”
Baz sees the way Andrew takes a step forward and knows this is a fight he won’t win. Again, he nods to Andrew’s phone. “Answer the fucking call, Pope.”
If it weren’t you, if it were anyone else calling, Andrew would have just drilled Baz into the fucking ground. But he’s right, this will look suspicious if he just keeps ignoring your calls. Besides, after the shit Baz pulled, you’re probably terrified.
With one last glare at Baz, he picks up the phone, turning his back to the other men. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Your voice is tight and panicked on the other end, tone clogged like you’ve been crying. It just makes that ache in his chest burn worse and he hates himself a little bit more. For letting you get wrapped up in this. For ever pretending like he wasn’t going to get selfishly attached to you.
“Andrew! The bank was just-” you suck in a sharp breath and his anger only intensifies as your voice cracks. “Can you come get me, please? I need you.”
This is what he’s wanted this whole time. For Smurf and Baz to be appeased. For you to need him so badly you don’t have the choice of leaving. So why does he feel so shitty? “I’m pretty far away, it’ll take me a little bit.”
You blubber, another sob drowning out your voice. “Okay,” you finally whisper and Andrew hangs up, knowing he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve those small moments of kindness you’d gifted him, where he’d felt like a person again. Not some attack dog or errand boy. You made him feel real and he’d just held you at gunpoint.
By the time he picks up his truck and drives back to the bank, you’re gone. He wanted to ask the people still there if they’d seen you leave. But he doesn’t need the cops seeing his face right after a freshly robbed bank.
His chest is tight with panic as he peels out of the lot. You hadn’t called him that long ago. Thirty minutes, maybe. If he’s lucky, one of your coworkers offered you a ride and you just didn’t feel like waiting anymore. He knows he’s never lucky, though. He thought he had been with you and he’s already tainted this fragile thing you had between each other.
The dread that’s been brewing since you called is only worsened when he pulls into your driveway and sees you waiting on your front steps. He barely manages to get the truck in park before he jumps out.
You don’t twitch, don’t move an inch as he runs toward you. And that aching, festering feeling that burns inside him, it’s telling him a truth he’s not ready to admit. This is it. You’re too smart not to know what happened. And Baz was too much of a dumbass to just keep quiet and stay distant.
This is what he wanted, Andrew is sure, to get you away from him so Smurf has her dog back.
“Hey,” his hands cup your cheeks and a little piece of him finds hope when you don’t push him away. “What happened? You weren’t at the bank.”
Finally, you lift your gaze to meet his. The color of your eyes is dulled, face flat in an infuriating way he can’t read. “I didn’t want to wait. Walked home.” Andrew’s eyes dip to the heels resting beside your feet, the red backs of your ankles.
“Why?” He already knows why, but that doesn’t stop his hands from drifting down your legs, trying to soothe away the ache he knows has settled in your calves.
You let him just kneel before you for a little while. He can’t find the courage to meet your eye, hands just moving over your soft skin because he knows that this is it. Subconsciously, he can recognize that this sudden emptiness in your eyes isn’t because of what happened today. It's because of who was there. You’re keeping yourself hidden from him and he wonders if this is how you always feel around him.
“Andrew,” you whisper and his hands tighten around your leg. “Look at me,” your voice is so disarmingly soft and he knows it's a trap, but he obeys because he doesn’t know what else to do.
“I’m going to ask this once,” you tell him, hand lifting to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, soaking it up greedily as your thumb smooths over the planes of his face. “Were you there today?”
It’s like everything goes cold. Your hand stops moving, grip tightening around his jaw as your eyes flatten into something sharp. His heart skips a beat once before he’s sucking in a sharp breath. He can’t lie to you, he doesn’t want to, but he can’t hurt his family and outright admit his guilt.
Silence lingers between you before you’re ripping your hand away and he’s trying to chase after your warmth. Your legs kick out, gently getting rid of his hands as you finally stand. Andrew follows, palms outstretched, unsure of what he’s supposed to do with himself when you’re right there and he isn’t allowed to hold you.
“Oh,” you whisper and there’s a grin on your face that’s cold and slightly panicked. “I fucking knew it. I knew it and I still gave you a chance!”
Andrew shakes his head, but you just wave him off, not interested in anything he might have to say to you. “I was nothing but a mark to you, right? An easy way to get access to the vault, to figure out the quickest way in and out. Jesus, I just handed it to you, I actually fell for your bullshit.”
“No,” Andrew objects, following you as you climb up your stairs. “It wasn’t bullshit, none of it was.”
You whip around on him, eyes glassy as you stare at him with something that looks painfully like hatred. “You got what you wanted, Pope,” you hiss the name out and it breaks something inside of him. “Tell Baz he doesn’t have to worry, I won’t be calling the cops. I don’t want anything to do with you people anymore. Got it? Stay the hell away from me.”
Andrew tries to follow you, but you slam the door in his face. He lingers there longer than he should, eyes boring into the wood like you might change your mind and open it. But he heard the lock click a while ago and he knows you meant every word. He can’t blame you, shouldn’t blame you. Honestly, not calling the cops is more than he ever could have asked of you.
But logic doesn’t abate the anger, the sharp, barbed pain inside his chest. You hadn’t given him a chance to explain. You didn’t believe how much you meant to him and he had tried to show you constantly. You just tossed it all aside like it meant nothing. But it wasn’t nothing.
Andrew knows that.
It meant something. It meant everything to him and he can’t just let you pretend it never happened.
The bed dips behind you and you grumble tiredly, flipping over as you try to yank the blankets up to your chin. There’s a weight on them, though, pulling them down and away from you. Ever so slowly, the fogginess of sleep begins to fade and your brain shocks itself awake.
There is someone on the bed behind you.
Trying not to breathe too loudly, you lift your head and peer over your shoulder. You aren’t surprised when you recognize Andrew’s hunched form, the moonlight from your open window giving a good enough view.
With a loud huff, you flip on your lamp and leap out of bed. His shoulders jump but he doesn’t turn to face you. “What the fuck do you not get about staying away from me?” You snap. Your anger only grows when he remains silent.
“Fucker,” you mutter under your breath, rounding your bed so you can see his face. Your feet still, anger abating for a moment as you take in the redness along his cheeks. As if he’s been crying. But you’ve never seen Andrew cry before, you weren’t even sure he was capable of it.
At his prolonged silence, something wedges itself into your chest, apprehension and nervousness. He’s quiet but this isn’t normal. Baz’s threat from earlier rings in your head as you slowly approach him. Andrew doesn’t meet your eye until you drop to your knees in front of him.
Bloodshot and weary, you know he really has been crying. It tugs on something in you. That soft, weak part of yourself that’s so used to caring for other people, you can hardly resist the urge now. Your hands lift and cup his cheeks, brows furrowing as you take in the devastation on his face.
“Andrew…” You trail off, speechless as he nuzzles into your hand, eyes falling shut. “What’s wrong?”
It takes a long while for him to speak, but you just wait, dread building with every second. Passively, you smooth your hands over his cheeks, attempting to keep him calm. The last thing you need is Andrew snapping and you being the nearest target.
“She’s doing it again,” he finally whispers, hands coming up to trap your own.
Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you ask, “Doing what, honey?”
He shudders at the pet name, melting further into you until he’s nearly on the floor with you. “Smurf, what she did with Cath…” He shakes his head and you can feel it, the slight buildup before someone begins to cry. Slowly, you creep forward, arms winding around his neck as you pull him into your embrace.
Andrew clings to you instantly, head buried in your shoulder as you drag your fingers through his curls. You hope he can’t feel how your heart is racing against your ribs, that he can’t sense just how scared you are right now.
You’re not scared of him, not really. But you know what Smurf is capable of. You know how deep mothers like that can embed themselves in their son’s head. It’s her that’s terrifying to you. “Who’s Cath, sweetheart?”
He shudders again, arm winding tight around your waist. “I loved her,” he whispers the admission into your skin and it feels like something no one was ever meant to hear. “Smurf, she told me Cath talked to the cops, I,” he cuts himself off and you feel your breath catch in your chest. “I hurt her,” he finally settles on. But that’s not the whole truth. You can feel it, can hear it in how his voice cracks.
He killed her.
You jerk back, jumping to your feet. Andrew lets out a low noise, eyes cloudy and cheeks ruddy. He stares up at you, hurt by how quickly you pulled away from him. “Andrew,” it’s a Herculean effort to keep your voice steady. “Is that why you’re here? Did Smurf send you to hurt me?”
His eyes drop to the floor, posture slipping under the weight of shame. “Yes,” he finally whispers.
This time you can’t stop the way your voice cracks. “Are you going to?”
Andrew’s head whips up, eyes wide as he stares up at you. “No,” his voice breaks around the word. You step forward as his hands reach out, wrapping around your hips and tugging you closer to him. “No, I’m not,” he insists and you really want to believe him.
He sees it, the fear in your eyes. In the one person he never wants to see looking at him like that. “You don’t believe me,” he mutters, head falling forward as his forehead rests against the softness of your stomach.
Your hands go to his back, scratching through his hair and trying to use your touch to ground him. “I believe you, Andrew. I just,” you hesitate, eyes darting around the room like you might be able to find an escape. “I don’t know why you’re here if you’re not going to listen to her.”
He sucks in a deep breath, face nuzzling into the softness you provide before he pulls back. You startle as he stands, eyes wide as he keeps his grip on your hips and tugs you even closer. His eyes lose the softness of sorrow, narrow into something harsher.
“You can’t stay here. Smurf expects you gone and if you’re not, she’s just gonna send Baz.” You tense under his grip and his thumbs draw circles into your skin, as if that would calm you after threat of death.
Andrew reaches into his back pocket and you watch as he pulls out a large envelope. He passes it off to you, slightly reluctant to release it as you take it from him. You move away from him, dumping the contents on the bed. An ID, a passport, and a thick stack of cash sit in front of you.
“Got you a new license plate, too. I already put it on.” He stands beside you, eyes boring into the side of your head. You can hardly breathe, let alone try and muster up a response. Tentatively, his hand lands on your back, the touch is enough to have you jolting back.
“Andrew, what is this?” You know. You know what it is, no part of you wants to admit, though.
“You have to go,” he whispers your name and you shake your head, body going numb. “Yes,” he insists. “It’s that or Smurf sends someone else to deal with you.”
“And,” you stutter slightly, scrubbing your hands down your face. Not only were you held at gunpoint today by your boyfriend, and then broke up with him. Now, he’s standing here telling you his mother wants you dead.
Death or change your identity.
This is why you had sworn to yourself no more mama’s boys. Now look where you are.
“Are you coming?” You ask, noticing that the only identification there is for you. Andrew pulls back and your heart drops. “Tell me you’re joking,” you snap.
That sad look in his eyes is all the confirmation you need. Swallowing down tears, you try to turn from him. His hands snap up, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet his eye. “I can’t just leave,” his tone is desperate, eyes imploring you to understand. “I’m sorry but I can’t.”
“Fine,” you whisper, reality settling like a stone in your gut. “If I’m doing this right, then I guess this is it.” His brows furrow and you let out a shaky exhale. “Goodbye, Andrew,” you tell him, pushing up to press a light kiss on his cheek.
Despite the fact that it’s his mother getting rid of you, his fault you got wrapped up in this, he can’t let you go. You try to back away but his grip is firm as he drags you back and presses his lips to yours.
It’s the sort of desperate, dramatic kiss you thought you would only ever experience through movies. Tears are hot as they race down your cheeks, salty as they drip between your lips and you find yourself melting into him. He’s not kissing you like he’s saying goodbye. He’s kissing you as if he holds you close enough, this might not happen.
It’s you who pulls back, chest too tight to continue without taking a breath. Your forehead rests against his, hands sliding down to cover the ones on your cheeks. He lets out a small noise that rips through your chest as you finally pull him away from you.
“Thank you,” you whisper, incapable of looking at the passport on the bed, the new name you’ll be stuck with while you get away from the Codys. He tries to keep his hand in yours but you force yourself to break away, to put enough space between you so you can breathe again.
Without a word, you go into your closet to grab a suitcase. When you return, Andrew’s already gone. Another sob rips through your chest, but you force yourself through it, swallowing roughly as you start packing your life away.
You wait. It’s stupid, you know. Just a few hours ago, you were shouting at Andrew to stay out of your life, to forget you so you could forget him. But now, you’re sitting in your car, forehead resting on your steering wheel.
He told you he wouldn’t leave. That he couldn’t. And you know why. He feels obligated to his family, feels like their burdens are his to carry, even if they aren’t. He’d taken the fall for Baz once, and now he was doing it all over again.
Sitting up, your head thumps against the headrest as you suck in a sharp breath. You drag your hand down your cheeks, forcing away any remaining tears. You can’t wait for him forever. Smurf probably already thinks you’re dead. You know she’s got connections, like any good leader would, it wouldn't take her long to catch up to you. You have to leave now, while you still have the advantage of night.
“Alright,” you click your garage opener and finally force yourself to turn the ignition in your car. The car that Andrew had fixed for you, even if he still insisted on giving you rides after. The thought sends a stabbing pain in your stomach that you force yourself to ignore.
The headlights flick on, illuminating your driveway, and you bite your tongue to tamp down a scream. It takes a moment for the shock to wear off and for you to realize that the man standing in front of you is Andrew. Brows furrowed, you watch as he walks up to your car and tugs open the passenger door.
You’re left speechless when he just stares straight ahead, not looking at you once. “I need to make sure you get settled safely,” he tells you. You nod dumbly, trying not to let the relief on your face show so plainly. “Just for a few days,” he warns, trying to keep the hope in your eyes dimmed.
You both end up in Nevada. First, Andrew says just a few more days while he tries to help you find a place to stay. He tells you that when Cath happened, he’d gone AWOL for a while. Smurf wouldn’t go looking for him anytime soon. You hadn’t said anything to that, just shown him another listing for an apartment you could barely afford.
Days turn into two weeks as he gets some cash for you so he knows that you’re going to be able to settle in comfortably. You don’t ask where he gets the money from and he doesn’t offer you any sort of explanation.
Conveniently, the very night he swears he’s going to leave, the apartment below you gets broken into. It’s not hard to call up the waterworks, to blubber and cry in his arms about how scared you are. He promises you a few more days, just until you feel better.
By then, you’re getting better at catching his family’s calls before he does. Dismissing the notifications and deleting the messages trying to figure out where he is. With less distractions, he starts to forget just how many days he’s promised to stay.
Then it gets easy. You distract him simply by caring for him. Holding him at night and making him feel human rather than an animal. His days blur into weeks until it’s been two months and he’s got clothes in your new closet.
“How was your day?” You ask as he walks into the apartment. He’s got the shirt of a local HVAC company on. Just something on the side he picked up for some extra cash, he told you. But he’s been asking for more hours and suddenly it’s almost like he’s got a full-time job.
“Hot,” he grumbles, cheeks flushed from the sun. You turn the heat down on the stove and finally turn to face him. You open your arms and he falls into them like he’s been trained to do it. Maybe he has, maybe you’ve both been conditioned to shower each other in as much affection as you can.
“Wanna take a shower?” You ask, running your hands through his curls and smiling at how his body sinks into yours.
He lifts his head and a smile that’s almost become frequent shows in his eyes. “Alone?”
You snort and reach over to turn the stove off completely. “Don’t blame me if your meal gets cold.”
There’s no warning as he hefts you up, you let out a short squeal, hands tightening around his shirt as he carries you up the stairs. “Got my meal right here.”
“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes, but there's a grin so big on your face that your cheeks hurt.
You’d once sworn off man-children, mama’s boys who were too reliant on their mothers to be emotionally stable. But Andrew was never so bad, he just needed Smurf’s leash cut so he could finally breathe. He’s fully reformed, you think, as he shuts the bathroom door and helps you strip out of your clothes.
Andrew deserves something good in his life. He deserves to know what it feels like to be loved without conditions attached to your affection. And you don’t deserve to be alone because of what his family did to you.
So, by god, you’re keeping him.
𝘔𝘢𝘯 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥
𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 ♥︎
⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻
⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵
💿 And I swear they choose me, I'm not choosing them 💿
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
warnings : domestic fluff ; married couple with a kid ; girl dad ryland grace ; hair braiding ; one toddler
This was not what Ryland had expected on a Friday evening when he settled onto the couch after dinner. After a long week of work, all he wanted was a lazy night with a cup of tea, a movie, and some time with his family. Instead, at that very moment, your three-year-old daughter marched into the living room, clutching her stuffed bunny under one arm. Judging by the determined look on her face, she had something very important to discuss. She stopped in front of Ryland's knees and stared up at him with wide eyes so much like his own.
"What's up, Bean?" he asked, peering at her over his glasses as he absentmindedly scratched his head. "Dada," Lily began solemnly, "make braid." You looked up from the book you'd been reading at the other end of the couch just in time to see your husband's eyes widen. "I'm sorry?" "Braid," Lily repeated, placing both hands on his knees. "Amy had at preschool. I want too." "Oh."
Ryland looked at you with the silent desperation of a man searching for rescue. You simply smiled and shrugged. This is between the two of you.
"You do science," Lily continued. "Make braid." "Sweetheart, doing science and making braids are two very different things. I think maybe Mommy…" A tiny hand patted his knee reassuringly. "You can, Dada. You smart." Then she turned around and disappeared back toward her bedroom. Ryland stared into space for a long moment before slowly turning to you.
"A braid?" he repeated. "Amy wore one to preschool today," you explained. "Lily talked about it all the way home. I think she even said Amy's dad did it, but I'm not completely sure." "I've never... How do you even make one?" "Do some research, honey," you said with a grin. "You're good at that. After all... you do science."
Ryland took the mission very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that he skipped the movie entirely and buried himself in his phone. Every few minutes you heard cheerful female voices drifting from the speaker, patiently explaining each step of how to create the perfect braid. You couldn't help smiling every time another tutorial started playing.
"You know it doesn't have to be perfect, right?" you asked later that evening as you walked into the living room after your shower, ruffling his hair as you passed. "Lily will love whatever you make." "I want to do it properly. My daughter asked me." "Okay." You laughed softly. "Coming to bed?" "In a little while, okay?"
It was just after six the next morning when you felt someone gently stroking your shoulder. You buried your face deeper into the pillow without opening your eyes. "It's Saturday..." you mumbled. "Honey," Ryland whispered, leaning over you, "I know it's Saturday, but... I really need you." One eye cracked open. "Actually..." he admitted, "to be completely honest, I need your head." You blinked. "More specifically... your hair." "You've lost your mind," you muttered. "A long time ago. Over you and Lily." He lifted the hand holding a hairbrush and several colorful hair ties. "But that's not what we're talking about. I spent all night watching tutorials on how to braid hair. I'm ready. I think. But before I try it on our amazing daughter, I need a practice run."
Rolling onto your back, you rubbed your eyes. Ryland Grace was the most devoted father you'd ever known, and there seemed to be no limit to how much effort he was willing to put into making Lily happy. With a sigh, knowing there was absolutely no chance he'd give up, and not having the heart to refuse, you sat up and let him do whatever he'd been planning with your hair.
It took thirty minutes. Maybe forty. Ryland worked with complete concentration. "Mrs. Susan said the sections have to be even," he murmured. "And Mia456 recommended lightly misting the hair with water if it's frizzy. Do we have any colorful hair ties? Maybe ones with flowers?" You started to shake your head, but Ryland stopped you immediately. "We'll have to buy some. Lily likes daisies." At last, after countless attempts, he stepped back and let you look in the mirror. The result was genuinely impressive.
Had it not been so painfully early in the morning when he'd dragged you out of bed, you probably would've shown a little more enthusiasm, but Dr. Grace clearly excelled at anything he decided to learn. You had barely stepped out of the bathroom, still admiring his handiwork, when your bedroom door creaked open. Lily stood in the doorway wearing pink pajamas covered in little white bunnies, rubbing one sleepy eye.
"Dada?" she asked in a tiny, drowsy voice. "Ready?" Ryland grabbed the hairbrush as though it were a sword he'd use to slay a dragon. "More than ever. Come here, Bean." With his help, Lily climbed onto the bed and sat perfectly still, hugging her stuffed bunny while you watched from the side, smiling. It was the sweetest sight imaginable.
Ryland carefully brushed through her soft hair while Lily happily chattered about the colorful hair tie Amy had worn yesterday. He promised he'd buy her even prettier ones. Five minutes later, after the hardest-earned braid of his life, Lily hopped off the bed and walked over to the mirror on your closet door. She turned this way and that like a little model before breaking into a huge smile.
"Good job, Dada," she declared, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "You're smart!" Ryland threw both arms into the air in triumph as Lily skipped happily out of the bedroom. He collapsed backward onto the bed with a weary sigh. "Hours of watching hair tutorials..." he groaned. "and it only took me five minutes." He looked thoughtfully toward the doorway. "Maybe I should tell her I can do a French braid too."
You sat beside him and ran your fingers through his wonderfully messy hair. "Save that for next time, hero," you said with a smile. "Lily's going to be the star of preschool anyway. I have a feeling every kid with long hair is going to line up for you. You've set the bar pretty high." Ryland groaned dramatically. "I'm a scientist, not a hairstylist." "Remember," you replied, looking at him with a teasing smile, "you're smart." He looked back at you, instantly recognizing the callback. "You'll figure it out." The two of you burst into laughter.
[SUMMARY: You struggle with Joel being so distant and break up with him, he does everything he can to get you back.]
Angst
Joel had always been difficult to reach, he wasn’t cruel to you, never mistreated you..but he was always distant. Sometimes it felt like standing outside a house with all the lights on and knowing someone was inside, but every door remained locked. You tried to be understanding to it, his ways, his habits, but sometimes it became harder than others to just let things be.
He’d brush his fingers against yours while walking through town. He’d quietly hand you the better portion of food without saying a word, he’d stand between you and danger before you even noticed it existed. Joel showed he cared in his own ways, you always noticed this. The problem was that caring was where he stopped, communication was always limited. The closer you got, the further he seemed to be. When he didn’t look fine, he’d insist he was, that was when he’d shut down the most.
Every time you needed reassurance, he’d look at you like you were asking him to translate a language he’d never learned. Yet, you kept trying, kept yourself hopeful that eventually something would change. You knew what he’d gone through and that was only because Tommy told you.
“Joel, talk to me.”
“Nothin’ to talk about.”
“Yes there is..”
“No.”
It happened so often it became routine. You reaching and reaching, him withdrawing. He disappeared further and before you knew it, months turned into years of the same cycle. You somehow convinced yourself to accept the scraps, a hand on your lower back, a kiss before he left.
The occasional “You alright?” muttered while cleaning a rifle. But the words you desperately needed never came.
No “I need you” or “I love you.”
Not even “I’m scared you’ll leave.”
You started telling yourself you didn’t need those things although your heart yearned for it. You convinced yourself that maybe this was simply who Joel was. Maybe loving him meant accepting less.
Until one night you simply couldn’t take it any longer..
You had a terrible day..enough small things piling together until your chest felt too heavy. You found Joel on the porch looking out into the sunset.
“Can I sit with you?” He nodded.
You sat beside him as he remained silent. The silence felt like forever until eventually you whispered-
“I don’t think you know me.”
Joel frowned.
“What?”
“I don’t think you want to.”
His jaw tightened.
“Here we go.” The words hit harder than if he’d yelled.
Here we go.
Like your pain was an inconvenience, as if your heart was a chore. You stared at him lost in thought.
“I’ve spent years trying to let you in.”
“You know me.” He uttered low.
“No.”
Your voice cracked.
“I know what you let me know.”
Joel looked away immediately and that told you everything.
You laughed softly..the kind of laugh that comes right before crying.
“I don’t know what scares you more, Joel. Losing me or needing me.” His face tense, he wouldn’t dare look at you.
“You done?” You froze then slowly nodded.
“Mhm.”
That was the first time you stopped trying..Joel didn’t notice. Not at first.
Avoidant people rarely notice when someone starts pulling away because they’re used to the distance themselves. You stopped asking questions, stopped seeking comfort. You even stopped waiting up for him.
Joel just thought things had finally settled down.No more difficult conversations or emotional confrontations. For a while he actually felt relieved.
Then he noticed you didn’t smile at him anymore.Not a real smile at least..the one that used to light up your entire face. A few weeks later he realized you hadn’t touched him first in over a month.
A month after that he woke up and discovered he couldn’t remember the last time you’d said “I love you.”Something cold settled in his chest, fear..
He ignored it.
Until the night he came home and found a packed bag sitting beside the door.
Joel stared at it, then at you.
“What is that?”
You folded a shirt, not answering him.
His pulse began accelerating.
“What is that?” Finally you looked up and the exhaustion in your eyes nearly stopped his heart.
“I’m leaving.” Joel’s heart sunk.
“What?” He walked towards you.
“I’m leaving, Joel.”
“No.” He responded instantly like a reflex.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Exhaustion in your voice.
“The hell are you talkin’ about? You been fine” he took a step closer, confused, defensive.
You smiled sadly.
“I’ve been fine becuase I haven’t been talking to you. That’s what you consider fine?” You shook your head as if that was all the confirmation you needed.
The realization hit him all at once, you weren’t fine. You had just given up..
“So that’s it huh?” He spoke louder, you could hear the anger in his voice. He was pissed but not at you, at himself.
Every conversation he’d dismissed, every time he’d watched you cry and convinced himself giving you space was enough. Every damn excuse he made.
You wouldn’t respond, swallowing your tears as he watched you, shoulders tense.
“And where the hell you gonna go at this time?”
“Maria said I could stay with her until they find somewhere else for me-“
“My brother?” He cut you off defensively, still you wouldn’t look at him.
“Tommy knew about this?”
“Joel, I just told her about an hour ago.” You spoke softly as you zipped up the bag. A wave of emotions coming over him, anger turned into guilt. Guilt that he had pushed you away…that he made you feel unloved. It couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
You turned placing your bag over your shoulder and that’s when it set in over him…panic. Joel’s expression changed.
“Wait a minute, baby-“ he rushed towards you, his hand brushing over your waist.
“Let’s talk about this, you don’t need to go.” A knot in your throat forming, a look of desperation in his eyes you hadn’t ever seen.
“It’s too late to talk-“
“You don’t mean that, come on, put your bag down. Well- we’ll fix this, whatever you need me to do” He took your hand in his as you slowly shook your head.
“I can’t-“
“The hell do you want me to do dammit?!” He suddenly yelled, anger taking over him, his tone harsher than he meant it to be. Never had he spoken like this to you before.
“The hell you want me to say huh?! What is it?! What do you need from me?!”
“I needed you!” You finally yelled back with tears. You pulled your hand away, Joel stood in shock. Just like that he watched you walk out of his life without turning back..
His chest felt tight, he stumbled slowly towards the wall and placed his back against it. He knew this feeling all too well. The walls feeling like they were caving in, he loosened a button at the top of his shirt as he closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. His fear becoming a reality.
~~
The first week after you left was the quietest Joel had ever known..your absence followed him everywhere. He hated it. The worst part was at night, he’d reach for you half asleep only to feel the cold sheets beside him.
I needed you.
Joel could hear your voice over and over again saying this, the pain in your voice haunted him.
He sat on his porch long after sunset, staring at the house a few doors down where Tommy and Maria had taken you in. He could see the light from the kitchen window. He could imagine you inside, laughing, safe..without him.
The thought made his chest ache, he looked away trying to shake the image out of his head.
~~
The next morning, Tommy found Joel repairing a fence that didn’t need repairing.
“You fixed that last week.”
Joel hammered another nail.
“It’s loose.”
“It ain’t loose.”
Joel eyes narrowed on him, Tommy sighed.
“Still thinkin’ about her?”
Joel stopped moving.
As if there had been a moment when he wasn’t. He stared silently at the screw.
“I screwed up.”
Tommy nodded.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t mean to, Tommy. I swear I didn’t” he looked up at his brother who gave him a silent nod.
“She..she ok?”
“She’s not talkin’ much but she’s fine” Tommy responded, Joel looked down pressing his lips together.
“Come on, let’s have a drink, you look like you need one.” He proceeded to turn towards his door.
“I can’t-“
“And why not?”
“She’s-she’s in there ain’t she?”
“She went to check on the horses with Maria, they won’t be back for a bit. Besides I’ll be damned if I can’t have a drink with my own brother in my house” Tommy chuckled as he led the way in.
As soon as Joel walked in he could see your shoes by the door, your favorite indoor slip ons he had found for you brand new a while back. He kept his head down following his brother to the kitchen, hadn’t even noticed his brother was talking till he slammed a cup on the counter before him.
“You there, Joel?” He quickly looked up.
“Huh, yeah. I’m ready”
Tommy laughed as he grabbed the bottle and poured them both a drink. He could see how hurt his brother was, how distracted he was.
“Shit, brother if you can’t let me in, at least let her in. You got yourself a good woman. Not much that would put up with your shit” he smiled before taking a sip. He tried to break a smile out of his brother but it was harder than he thought.
Then they both heard the door open.
Both men turned toward the door to see you and Maria walking in, a smile on your face as you spoke about how being around the horses felt relaxing. How you enjoyed taking care of them. So lost in the conversation you hadn’t noticed Tommy was sitting at the table with someone else across from him, until you looked up. You stopped right in your tracks, your smile instantly disappearing. Joel stood up awkwardly clearing his throat, he knew he wasn’t wanted there. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. He could see Maria giving Tommy a look, a hand on her hip piercing him with her eyes.
“Hey-“ Maria’s eyes softened as she turned to you.
“Let me show you what I was working on earlier” she took your hand and pulled you up the stairs. Joel’s eyes didn’t move from where you had stood, the hurt of the realization that you didn’t even want to look at him. He threw his head back chugging back the last of the alcohol in his cup and slammed the glass down. Without saying a word he walked out.
~~
Maria could see how distracted you were, seeing Joel completely threw you off.
“Sorry about that, I’ll have a talk with Tommy. He should’ve known-“
“No, it’s fine. They’re brothers Maria…don’t say anything. I’m not mad I’m just…I wasn’t expecting to see him.” You stared off into space thinking about how tired he looked. Maybe he was having trouble sleeping again.
Maybe he wasn’t eating right again.
You shook off those thoughts the best you could and sighed.
~~
Joel didn’t step near Tommy’s house for a couple weeks, giving you space but still he could see you from afar when you’d step out.
A few days later Joel showed up at Tommy’s house carrying a basket.
Maria opened the door then blinked with slight confusion.
“Is that bread?”
Joel awkwardly held it up.
You’d once mentioned loving fresh bread. So Joel had spent three miserable hours trying to learn. The loaf looked lopsided, burned on one side.
Maria stared, then couldn’t help but laugh.
Joel looked offended.
“It ain’t funny.”
“It absolutely is.”
She laughed harder.
Joel shoved the basket toward her.
“Just give it to her.”
Maria folded her arms.
“No.”
Joel frowned.
“What do you mean no?”
“You can’t buy your way out of this.”
“It ain’t buying.”
“It kind of is.”
Joel sighed heavily.
“Maria, please. I’m tryin’”
Maria sighed, she knew Joel long enough to see when he had regret. To see when something was hurting him to his core.
Maria continued. “Joel…she spent months feeling lonely while standing right next to you.”
Joel looked down, he knew she was right.
“Didn’t mean to…to push her away. Didn’t mean to hurt her” the more he thought about the pain he caused, the angrier he became with himself.
“Give her time.”
“How much time?”His voice came out rough as he looked up.
“As much as she needs.”
Joel hated that answer but he nodded anyway.
~~
He tried. God, he tried. For almost three weeks he didn’t knock on your door. Didn’t force conversations, instead he began to quietly change his habits.
The way you always wished he would..
He started showing up to community dinners.
Actually talking to people. He helped Eugene’s widow repair her roof, fixed playground equipment for the children. He thought of you as he did everything. He thought about how he shut everyone out..including you.
Especially you.
~~
One afternoon you were helping Maria hang laundry when Ellie appeared.
“You should go talk to him.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Not you too.”
Ellie shrugged. “I’m serious.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Okay.” You paused, that was suspiciously easy.
“Okay?”
Ellie nodded.
“Yeah.”
Then she smirked.
“But you should know he’s becoming annoying.”
You sighed.
“What?”
“Guy’s like a sad country song.”
You laughed despite yourself. Ellie pointed toward Joel’s house. “He stares at your window.”
“Oh my God.”
“Not in a creepy way.”
“That doesn’t help.”
Ellie snorted.
“He’s pathetic.”
Your smile faded slightly. Because a small part of you wondered if Joel really was hurting as much as everyone claimed.
~~
It had been a month.
A month since you told Joel you couldn’t keep loving someone who acted like he could take you or leave you. A month since you packed a small bag and moved into Tommy and Maria’s spare room. A month without feeling the warmth of his body beside yours in bed.
You’d cried enough that you simply felt numb.
The front door opened, Tommy stepped inside first as you chopped up potatoes on the counter.
“Need a hand with the rest?” he called over his shoulder.
A familiar voice answered.
“Already got it.”
Your knife stopped against the potato.
Joel. Your stomach turned…but not exactly in a dreadful way.
He walked in carrying two heavy sacks of flour over one shoulder and a crate of canned goods in his arms. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. He set everything down without a word, nodding politely to Maria.
“Found coffee beans too,” he said.
Maria smiled knowingly. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Joel shrugged.
“Figured I’d save Tommy another trip.”
Tommy snorted.
“You hate making trips into town.”
Joel scratched the back of his neck.
“Guess I don’t mind so much lately.”
You knew exactly who that comment was for.
You refused to look up.
~~
For the next hour he stayed busy. He helped out Tommy with a few things that needed fixing around the house. Eventually it was just you and Joel, you on one side of the room cutting vegetables and him on the other, fixing God knows what.
He never once asked for attention, he never looked to see if you were watching. Which somehow made it worse.
Because you were…every single second.
So much so as you began to chop up some carrots you weren’t paying attention and your hand slipped. You gasped loudly as the sharpness of the knife came into contact with your skin. Joel instantly looked up to see you quickly looking for a rag to cover the wound. Without thinking he put down what he was working on and rushed towards you. He had already seen the blood dripping down your finger so he knew it must’ve been deep.
“You alright?” Without hesitation he grabbed your hands but you held the rag still against it as he attempted to pull your hands apart.
“No it’s bleeding-don’t-“
“Let me take a look” his eyes met yours and you suddenly didn’t know how to speak. You watched as he gently removed the rag, his brows furrowed noticing the deep cut. In that moment you wished Tommy and Maria would appear from wherever the hell they were.
“It’s fine, Joel”
“It ain’t fine, you got yourself pretty good. Sit down-“
“Joel-“
“Damn it baby, just sit down” your heart jumped. He caught himself as he called you baby but he didn’t take it back.
After grabbing what he could find around the house he pushed everything on the table aside and placed a bottle of whiskey down with a first aid kit. Instead of sitting across from you at the table, he pulled a chair up beside you and turned your chair to face him, pulling it toward him.
“Could’ve just told me to turn” you rolled your eyes.
“Figure I’d move quicker.” He responded as you looked over at the bottle of liquor.
“Not the whiskey” you sighed.
“Yes the whiskey.” He responded without looking at you.
An entire month since the two of you had spoken more than a passing hello. A month since everything fell apart. Yet somehow you still found yourself sitting in the chair beside him without another word.
He unscrewed the bottle as you swallowed anxiously.
“This’ll sting.”
“I remember.”
His eyes looked up to yours.
“So do I.”
He tipped your hand over the table, his fingers warm around your wrist.
“Ready?” You nodded and he poured.
The whiskey hit the cut like fire.
“Shit-“ You jerked forward with a sharp gasp, eyes squeezing shut.
Without thinkinf you grabbed onto something, or rather..someone.
Your free hand had wrapped tightly around Joel’s. Your fingers dug into his calloused skin hard enough that your knuckles turned white.
He didn’t flinch or let go, instead he leaned in closer and softly blew across the cut.
The cool air eased the burning just enough that you slowly opened your eyes.
Joel was still there. Close enough that you could see every little line around his eyes, every fleck of gray in his beard. His knees against yours, you didn’t want to pull away.
His thumb absentmindedly rubbed small circles against the side of your wrist while he continued inspecting the cut.
“Little deeper than I thought.” He spoke low.
“But you’ll keep the hand.” A tiny laugh escaped you. It surprised both of you, he couldn’t help but smirk.
“There she is.” Then there was silence, your smile faded.
Joel finally looked down, then over and landed his eyes on your intertwined hands. Only then did you realize you were still holding his.
Your fingers hadn’t loosened once.
“Oh…”
You started to pull away. Joel’s hand instinctively tightened just enough to stop you.
You didn’t move.
His eyes lifted back to yours.
“You okay?”
There was so much hidden inside those two words. Not just about a stupid cut but about everything that’s happened.
You simply nodded.
“…Yeah.”
He studied you for another second like he wanted to ask a hundred more questions. Instead, he let out a deep breath.
“Alright.”
He didn’t want to pull away but he did so slowly to finish cleaning up your cut. Very carefully, he cleaned the last of the blood away. His fingers were gentle as he spread antibiotic ointment over the cut.
“You’ll wanna keep this dry today.” You nodded again.
He wrapped the gauze around your palm before securing it with tape.
“There.” He turned your hand over once to check his work.
“Should heal fine.”
You looked down at the neat bandage.
“..Thank you.”
Joel’s eyes lingered on your face.
“You don’t gotta thank me.”
“I know.” For a moment neither of you moved.
Then the back door opened.
“There you two are-“
Tommy stopped mid sentence.
Maria looked between the two of you sitting close together. Joel immediately leaned back, still holding your hand.
You quickly pulled your hand into your lap and looked away.
Maria frowned.
“What the hell happened?”
You stood a little too fast, nearly knocking the chair over.
“I-“
You held up your bandaged hand.
“I cut myself chopping carrots.”
Tommy’s eyes widened.
“Bad?”
“No.” You forced a small smile.
“I’m fine.”
Maria looked at Joel, then back at you.
Joel had already capped the whiskey bottle and closed the first aid kit, expression carefully unreadable.
“It’ll be alright,” he said simply.
“Really…im fine.”
“I think I’m just gonna…go lie down for a bit.”
Without waiting for anyone to answer, you slipped past Maria and Tommy, keeping your head down as you hurried toward the guest room. The bedroom door clicked shut behind you. Only then did you lean back against it, closing your eyes. Your hand still tingled beneath the bandage.
But what lingered far more vividly was the memory of Joel’s rough hand in yours…
And how, for just a few quiet moments, neither of you had wanted to let go.
You overheard Maria telling Joel to stay for dinner, a part of you not sure how to feel about it.
You didn’t hear Joel say much, his mind still lost in the moment of being so damn close to you.
Well feeling so close, yet so far.
~~
Everyone settled around the table. Ellie was away helping Dina with patrol schedules keeping herself busy. Conversation flowed around you. Tommy talked about a broken fence, Maria laughed about someone’s escaped chickens.
Joel mostly listened. Once in a while he’d look your way, not enough to make it obvious but still enough that you caught him every time.
~~
Halfway through dinner your fork slipped from your hand, clattering onto the floor.
Before you could bend, Joel was already kneeling.He picked it up then reached for another clean fork from the drawer.
“There.”
His voice was quiet, your fingers brushed when you took it. Neither of you pulled away immediately.
“Thanks.”
He nodded once.
“You’re welcome.”
Later that evening Tommy disappeared outside with Maria to check on the horses.
Leaving the two of you alone on the porch.
Neither of them was subtle.You sat on the swing, staring out toward the fading sunset.
Joel leaned against the porch railing, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Your hand ok?” He asked as if it hadn’t just happened a couple hours ago. He knew you were fine, but the silence killed him.
“Mhm, it’s fine,” you spoke softly as you looked down at your hand not noticing the way he looked over his shoulder back to you.
“I ain’t here to make things hard.”
“I know.”
“I told myself I’d leave you alone.”
“So why are you here?” You looked up at him. A slight smirk appeared on his lips.
“I lasted twenty eight days.”
“You counted?”
“Every one.” He looked down at the porch boards.
“I kept thinkin’ you’d be happier.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“I wasn’t either.” He spoke gently, he rubbed the back of his neck.
“I spent a lotta years thinkin’ if I kept people far enough away…couldn’t lose ’em.”
You stayed quiet.
“I realized all that did was make me lose ’em anyway.” You watched him carefully.
A month ago he would’ve shut down, changed the subject, hell not even have begun this conversation.
Now he stood there, uncomfortable as hell, saying the things he’d spent years refusing to admit.
His eyes finally met yours.
“Baby, I miss you. Every. Damn. Day.” His voice cracked.
“I’d wake up thinkin’ I’d hear you movin’ around the house. Hell, I still catch myself makin’ enough coffee for two.”
You looked down your lap, his stare too intense.
He continued carefully.
“I know it’s only been a month but I’ve done a lot of thinkin’ and I know what you need me to be and I’m sorry I failed you for so damn long.” His eyes teared up but you still couldn’t look up at him. Instead you fiddled with your fingers on your lap, your heart racing. And that’s when he slowly got down on his knee before you, his hands gently cradling yours.
“I can’t lose you, baby. You and Ellie are the only thing that keeps me goin’.” For some reason as happy as you were to hear his feelings, you almost also felt..angry. You pulled your hands away and shoved them into his chest but he held his balance.
“Why the hell did it take you so long to realize that?!” He began to shake his head.
“You don’t get it, baby I always realized it. I just…I just was too damn stupid to say it.” He noticed a tear falling from your eye and it pulled at his heart. He couldn’t take seeing you cry. He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw, his heart pounding hard in his chest.
“Please come home, baby. I can’t…I ain’t sleepin’ without you. I need you with me,” you looked up, his eyes big and puppy like. You’d never seen him so broken. You parted your lips but couldn’t speak at first.
“I’m..I’m not ready,” you spoke barely a whisper. Your words breaking him. You stood up with him still on his knees before you and rushed back inside into your room, holding your tears in until you locked the door.
Joel held his tears in feeling the burning knot in his throat, he looked down at the ground disappointed in himself. He knew you had every right to feel how you did.
Just as Tommy and Maria walked back towards their home they saw Joel leave with a clear look of disappointment. Tommy sighed and shook his head.
When he walked inside he found you in the kitchen washing dishes, Maria gave Tommy a nod and left you two alone.
“Should’ve left the dishes so your hand can heal” Tommy stood at the doorway. You jumped up at the sound of his voice not having heard the front door open.
“It’s fine” you shrugged. After a moment of silence he continued.
“I saw Joel leave.”
You shut off the water and took a slow breath.
“Did you?” You answered low.
“I haven’t seen him this broken in a while,”
“If you’re trying to make me feel bad it’s not working-“
“Ain’t trynna make you feel bad. My brother can be a bit of an idiot but he’s an idiot who’s crazy for you.” You didn’t respond nor turn to face him either.
“He’s tryin’, sis”
You slowly faced him.
“Now after all this time. It took me to leave for him to show-“
“I know, I know. I told you, he’s an idiot.” You sighed.
“Give him one more chance, let him show you who he really is.”
~~
That night you sat in your room in the dark, contemplating to see Joel. Thinking of what to say, what to do. Eventually you pushed yourself out of the room, Tommy and Maria both asleep you quietly walked out the front door.
You could see Joel’s light still on, of course he was awake. Taking a deep breath walking towards his steps you whispered to yourself what you would say, so lost in thought you were taken by surprise when Joel appeared out the side of the house carrying a lantern. He himself surprised to see you stood speechless. You suddenly felt stupid.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come” you proceeded to turn back but Joel quickly caught up.
“No” he caught your hand gently turning you back.
“Please, don’t go” he whispered. You stood silent for a moment, his eyes tracing your features.
“I thought about what you said” you whispered. “And I don’t know what to think, I don’t wanna feel what I felt for so long-“
“You won’t” he assured you stepping closer.
“I promise you I’ll give you every damn piece of me, whatever you need, baby I just can’t lose you again.” His eyes desperate, he meant every word he said. You didn’t respond at first, just quietly looked up at him before taking a deep breath.
“Can I stay the night?” You whispered as a look of relief took over him. He pulled you in closer, God he wanted to kiss you and you knew he did but you watched him stop himself.
“Kiss me you-“ Joel dropped the lantern and slammed your body against him taking your lips with his. You could feel the urgency he had for you, how much he missed your touch. You could feel how badly he never wanted to lose you again.
He is on his tippy toes!!! In the middle of the MMA/boxing training he did for S4 of Animal Kingdom…I always smile at the fact both Shawn and Pedro have had more physical roles the older they get!!!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Man Child - You're the Codys' new neighbor. You seem boring enough, not much of a threat. But Smurf and Baz are interested in that cushy new job at the bank you'd told them about.
So they send in Pope, hoping to get some decent information out of you. And he knows the rules, don't fall for the marks. But you make it impossible to stick to that rule and Smurf sees that as a threat. She sees you as a threat.
wc: 17.0k
Goodbye - You loved Andrew, even if that meant accepting he would always be in love with someone else. But things changed between you before he went to jail. You thought that maybe you finally meant something. Then you get the letter he'd meant to send to Cath and you have to accept that he never saw you as anything but an easy lay.
You left the Codys behind years ago. Now, Pope's at your door and you don't know what to do with the story he's telling you.
wc: 9.2k
Love for Sale - You used to be one of Smurf's girls. Always at her beck and call- until Deran helped you escape. But when she decides Pope needs to blow off some steam, she's got just enough dirt on you to have you right back in the palm of her hand. (Former prostitute reader)
wc: 31K
. mdni: 18+ implied sexual assault (not explicit, not done by Pope) one smut scene containing p in v, fem!receiving oral, rest is plot
Third act pregnancy- childbirth isn’t part of the story
ׂ╰┈➤ Sammy Bryant
Nobody’s Son - You've been his partner for years, but one fight with his wife and he's willing to throw it all away just for a brief night of relief. Now, your life is ruined and you don't want to ever see him again. But the death of your friend brings you back together and suddenly, you're backed into a corner you don't know how to escape from. (Basic knowledge of the show Southland is helpful but not necessary as this follows some plot points).
wc: 20.7K
warning: dark thoughts toward self and unborn baby, allusions to abortion but not explicitly mentioned
Never Getting Laid - You knew it was a risk, dating a cop and all, but Sammy is different. Or, he was, at least. He was probably the best boyfriend you've ever had, the only one you ever saw yourself getting serious with. But then, he had to go and make buddy-buddy with the assholes in his department. Now your sweet boyfriend is gone and you're left picking up the pieces.
wc: 12.7k
ׂ╰┈➤ Titus Danforth
House Tour - You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, a tale as old as time. Just like the one where they tell you about pretty, naive, broke girls getting swept off their feet by the murdering, Satan-worshipping rich man stalking them.
Oh... Do they not tell that one?
wc: 12.1K
Fire in My Heart - The Danforths like to play a little game with their new brides. They just didn’t know you were playing one of your own.
Mdni 18+ (relatively vanilla p in v, more so wanted to get a scene of mutual desperation/passion)
I love Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it was such a great show up to the addition of Dawn, I couldn’t stand that character 😡 anyhoo I loved Giles, RIP Anthony Head
