JUST A PEDRO LOVING GIRL

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“Motherfucker!”

You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black. 

Great. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast. 

You miss the night shift.

It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out. 

Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea. 

He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind. 

“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”

Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips. 

“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”

Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.

“You sound like Jack.”

You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments. 

“Have you talked to Jack recently?”

Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.

“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”

Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.

“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”

Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence. 

It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with. 

“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”

“Mhm.”

That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.

“A little help here?”

You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other. 

“What’s the story here?”

You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.

“Bar argument gone ugly.”

The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.

“Is that glass?”

Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face. 

“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”

You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs. 

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”

Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground. 

“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”

You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance. 

“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”

Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.

“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”

“Oh, shit.”

Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.

“We need some help in here! You good?”

Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.

“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.

“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”

Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.

“Woah, what can I do?”

Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.

“Give them a hand, will ya?”

Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon. 

“Absolutely not!”

You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back. 

“What the hell is going on in h—?”

Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.

“Knock it off before I knock you out.”

Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.

“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”

Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.

“How you doing, Slugger?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”

Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient. 

This day can’t get any worse. 

Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.

“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”

His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.

“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”

You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.

“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”

You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.

Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s  a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.

Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him. 

“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”

Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.

“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”

If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.

“Abbot.”

Of course he is.

“I can’t get a hold of him.”

Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning. 

“He’s gone fishing.”

Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.

“Abbot is fishing?”

“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”

Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.

Oh. 

The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders. 

“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”

Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.

“I think I can manage that.”

Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage. 

“Where is she?”

Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity. 

“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”

Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you. 

“Exam room 11.”

Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You are a horrible patient.”

“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”

Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.

“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”

Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.

“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”

Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.

“Langdon. Out. Now.”

Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries. 

“It looks worse than it is.”

It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch. 

“Do me a favor?”

You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.  

“How are you here?”

Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to be fishing.”

His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.

“I got a call.”

“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”

“To everyone other than you.”

Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with. 

“But how… Perlah.”

Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell. 

“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”

Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”

Jack’s brow furrows at your words.

“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”

You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.

“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”

You almost smile at that.

“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”

You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.

“Two weeks is too long.”

“You’re not my boss, Jack.”

Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this. 

“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”

A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you. 

“Do what?”

Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.

“Get through the fucking night.”

A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.

“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”

Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart. 

“Why would you want that?”

“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”

Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.

“You don’t know where you stand with me?”

You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?

He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”

You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face. 

“You never said anything.”

Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.

“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”

You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.

“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”

You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.

“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”

Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows. 

“Him being here was unnecessary.”

You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.

“You were jealous.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“I have no reason to be jealous.”

You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.

“What makes you so confident?”

The grocery store was two blocks away from the hospital and the only place within walking distance that carried the sauce you liked, which was the only reason you were here and not horizontal in your apartment already.

You were almost at the door when you heard him.

"Hey."

You stopped. 

Marcus, your manager at the club, was leaning against the wall beside the entrance in a grey tracksuit, six pack under one arm, with the particular ease of a man who had never once considered that his presence might not be welcome. Like he'd been waiting. Maybe he had.

"Funny," he said, pushing off the wall. "You work two jobs and I still always manage to find you."

"Marcus." You kept your voice flat. "It's six in the morning."

"I know." He fell into step beside you before you could move toward the door, cutting the angle just slightly, enough to slow you down without being obvious about it.

"Just came from the club actually. Long night."

You said nothing.

"You weren't on." His eyes moved over you in the way they always did, slow and proprietary, like he was checking inventory. "Shame."

"I had a shift." you replied dry, trying to push past him but he didn't bother to let you.

"Right, right. The doctor thing." He said it the way he always said it, with that particular smile that meant he thought one job made the other smaller. "You know most girls don't bother with all that, two jobs and stuff.”

"Marcus." You stopped and turned to face him, because moving hadn't worked and neither had silence. "I'm tired. I've been on my feet for twelve hours. I want to get my groceries and go home."

"Sure, sure." He didn't move. "Just wanted to check in. See how you're doing." His hand found your elbow, fingers wrapping around it with the easy confidence of someone who'd never had a grip shaken off and had it stick. "You've been a little cold lately. At work."

"Let go of my arm."

"Relax."

"Marcus-"

"You know the slow season's coming." His voice dropped, low and pleasant and horrible. "Schedule's going to get tight. I'm just thinking about you, sweetheart. Making sure we're good."

"We are not anything," you said quietly. "Let go."

He didn't. His grip shifted instead, and before you registered it moving, his hand was at your throat, fingers curling against your pulse point with the slow deliberateness of someone making a point. His thumb pressed in, just slightly, just enough.

"Don't," he said softly, "make this difficult."

The pressure increased for three seconds. Maybe four or however long it took to leave slight bruising on your skin.

Long enough that your vision swam at the edges and your hands came up on instinct and then he stepped back like nothing had happened, adjusting the six pack under his arm, smoothing the front of his tracksuit.

"Think about it. You could be much more than a wanna be doctor." he said pleasantly, throwing you a wink before walking off like this was the most normal conversation in the entire world.

You stood on the pavement and breathed. Trying not to break into tears.

Your next and last nightshift for the month came two days later. Your throat was hurting, the bruises clearly visible and the scarf around your neck made you look ridiculous. So you wore a hoodie, hoping Santos wouldn't throw stupid comments your way.

“I see, you're running extra cold today. Getting sick?” she bumped into you with a smile.

“Please, Santos, I'm not in the mood”

“Oh c'mon girl, can't make jokes around you anymore?” she bumped her elbow slightly into your side and gained a small laugh from you.

“Just a rough couple of days is all, I'm tired. That's all” you mumbled and reciprocated her incoming hug. You bit your lower lip when she wrapped her arms around your neck and prayed for her to not notice.

She was about to say something, when Robby yelled out her name from across the room.

“God damn, can't catch a break around here, can you” she rolled her eyes and gave you another smile before heading into Robbie's direction.

Good. You're good. All good. No one knows. No one will know.

But it was the supply corridor that did it. You'd ducked in to grab a kit and hadn't heard him follow. When you turned around, Jack was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on your neck. The expression on his face was one you'd never seen before. Raw and more than the attending mask, something sharp and laced with curiosity.

"What happened to your neck?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing." you replied, trying to push past him.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"Jack, im just wearing a scarf, please leave it alone, please " you almost whimpered, his name slipped off your lips and tears were pooling in your eyes by the sudden confrontation of the inevitable.

"Don't lie to me, kid.” he answered more quietly.

“Marcus, my manager at the club” you whispered, your eyes dropping to his feet.

He was trying to be soft and gentle but underneath his words, you could feel that there was no room for argument.

“Let me see. Please” he slightly tilted his head, smiling softly.

You crossed the small space with a shaky sigh and stood in front of him. For a moment he just looked at you, his jaw was tight and his arms still crossed in front of his chest. Like a protective barrier that he put up to stay away from danger as far as possible.

Then his hand came up slowly, unraveling your scarf. His fingers curved under your jaw, tilting your head into the light.

“Sorry” he murmured and went quiet for a moment, studying the bruising.

The air between you felt thinner than it ever had. You could smell the faint trace of his soap, feel the warmth radiating from him. He had never been this close before. Not like this.

The marks had worsened overnight, purpling along the left side of your throat in clear finger shapes.

"Sit down," he commands.

"I'm fine standing."

"You've been on your feet for six hours. Sit." He pulled the supply cart out and waited for you to move close enough to it, before lifting you up onto it.

He stepped into the space between your legs, and you hoped that he didn't feel the heat radiating off of you.

"Has it been difficult to swallow?" he asked, brushing his fingers over your skin.

"A little. Better than yesterday. Feels better today."

“It happened yesterday?”

“Two days ago”

"Breathe for me."

You did. He watched your throat move, eyes dark and focused. Then, with deliberate care, his hand shifted. His fingers slid lightly around the side of your neck, not squeezing, gently testing the bruised areas while his thumb rested just under your jaw.

"Tender here?" His voice was low, professional, but there was a clear roughness underneath it.

"Yeah." you whimpered and his eyes met yours in that very moment. You should be in pain, not turned on by the way he touched you.

He pressed a fraction firmer, hiding it behind clinical interest, but the possessiveness flickered behind his eyes for a split second, like some darker part of him wanted to cover Marcus’s marks with his own. He caught himself immediately, easing the pressure.

"Sorry. What about here?"

"Nothing"

He nodded once, but didn’t pull his hand away right away. His thumb traced the outer edge of the bruising, barely touching, so careful it made your chest ache with something far more dangerous than pain. You wanted to lean into it.

You wanted to close the last inch between you and feel what it would be like if he stopped holding himself back.

You tried for lightness, desperate to cut the tension. "Y-You know… I usually don’t mind getting choked, but this wasn’t exactly the fun kind."

The joke landed flat. Jack’s eyes darkened a little more. He leaned in a fraction closer, lips hovering near your ear, voice dropping low.

"Don’t." The single word was quiet, but it drowned out everything else. "That's not turning me on. Not when his hands did this to you."

His breath brushed warm against your skin. "No one gets to put their hands on you like that. Not him. Not anyone."

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, the two versions of him warring openly now. On one side he was the controlled attending and on the other side was something far more possessive underneath.

“This shouldn't have happened to you. You shouldn't have been alone.”

His hand stayed gentle on your throat for another heartbeat before he finally let go.

"I know," you whispered.

"Good." His thumb carefully brushed one last time along the edge of the bruising.

“Because this is never happening again. Not while I can do something about it."

The silence stretched, thick and heavy between you. Jack straightened slowly, but he didn’t step back as far as he usually would. His gaze lingered on your throat, then dropped to your mouth for half a second before he caught himself and looked away.

He cleared his throat. “I’m pulling you from the floor for the next hour. No arguments.”

“Jack, I can still-”

"Don't," he said.

"Don't what?!” you blurted out unintentionally.

"Don't tell me you're fine." The corner of his mouth moved and for the first time that night, he looked a little tired.

"You're sitting on a supply cart in a corridor because someone put his hands on your throat. You don't have to be fine right now."

Your throat tightened. You knew he was right.

"I really hate it when you're right,"

"I know, terrible, right? I heard It's a consistent problem”

“God you're annoying” you sigh and rub the corner of your eye.

"I'm your attending." he smiled but got that one squared away quickly. "Occasionally that works in your favor.”

“Listen, I can work-”

“Oh i know you can, but you won’t.” His voice was firm, final and the way he said it felt heavier now, like the words carried more than just an order. He reached out one more time, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as he helped you off the cart. The touch was brief. Professional. Or at least he fucking acted like it was, because it still sent shivers down your spine.

You followed him out of the corridor on unsteady legs. He walked you to the small staff lounge at the end of the hall, the one hardly anyone used during shift. Jack held the door open, then stepped inside after you, closing it behind him with a soft click.

“Sit,” he said again, softer this time. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and set it in front of you before leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. Watching you.

The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. It was just..charged. You could still feel the ghost of his fingers on your throat, the warmth of his breath against your ear. Every time you swallowed, you were aware of it and aware that he was too.

“You’ve really never said anything,” you said quietly. “About any of this. About the club. The dance. Afterwards, i mean”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “It wasn’t my place. You’re a grown woman. You handle your own life.” He paused, shrugging his shoulders.

“But seeing those marks on you… it changes things. For me. I can't watch you getting mistreated like this, and especially not in a place i go to regularly”

Your breath caught. The way he was suddenly looking at you said enough like he was fighting every instinct that told him to pull you closer, to put himself between you and the rest of the world. When did that version of Jack surface? When did he learn to pull that stick out of his own ass?

“Jack-”

“Try again, Kid”

“Sir.” you whispered, slightly testing the waters. You didn't know what gave you the confidence all of the sudden, but you had to try.

He stopped and it looked like he was thinking for a moment.

“I accept that.” he pushed himself off the counter and came to stand in front of you again. Closer than necessary. Not touching, but near enough that you had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes.

Jack lingered there a moment longer, the restraint in his posture visible. Then he stepped back, putting that professional distance between you once more.

“Drink your water. Rest. I’ll check on you before I leave the floor.” At the door he paused, hand on the frame. “And if you need me… you come find me. Immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” you replied immediately.

The corner of his mouth twitched, it was almost a smile.

“Good girl.”

He left before you could react to the words, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sat there in the quiet lounge, heart hammering, skin still tingling where he’d touched you. The ache in your throat was nothing compared to the new, far more dangerous ache he’d left behind.

“Andrew…” Your quiet voice got his attention. You didn’t know what he was glaring at of course but Andrew just glared a lot of the time. It didn’t phase you anymore. You’d never suspect it was that. 

“N…nothing.” He says, just as quietly as he turned to face you. His gaze raging like the storm outside.

He had come. Like he always did as soon as the storm started, climbed up the side of your house and through your bedroom window. This time though he didn’t get into bed with you. Just sat on edge of the bed by your legs. 

You wished for storms so you could be huddled under the covers in his arms, your favourite place. 

It was always innocent. You needed him and he was there. 

Seventeen and still slightly nervous around this suddenly very adult version of Andrew you assumed it was just a new boundary he was putting in place. All you could do was try not to stare at the way his wet t shirt stuck to him or his damp curls on the back of his neck. Not think about how much you wanted to touch them. 

You would usually. Making some kind of an excuse or reason to touch each other was already a well rehearsed dance between the two of you at this point. 

His rough voice cracked as he asked you a question.

“Who was he?”

“What?” Your hands are playing with the blanket that’s over your lap. The oversized band t shirt you’d ‘stolen’ from him hanging off one shoulder where you’d gone at it with scissors wanting to look like Julia. 

“At the beach today.” He was still glaring at the wall and if you didn’t know his face so well you might not have caught the slight pout he adorned. Clearly unhappy. 

You couldn’t help the jolt of satisfaction that ran through you. Whether he cared because he was protective or because he was jealous you still couldn’t help it. The ideal would obviously be both. 

“Why?” 

“Because I need to know who I need to beat the shit out of if he does anything to you.” His eyes meet yours but only briefly before turning back away. He looks mad but there’s something else there that doesn’t make sense to you.

It took away the satisfaction slightly. But not all of it. 

At seventeen you’d never been kissed. Never done anything more than hug a guy that wasn’t Andrew. That was the only reason you’d gone to the beach with this guy in the first place. You wanted to experience what everyone else your age seemed so crazy about. 

“He’s not gonna do anything to me.” 

“He’s a guy.” He says, his voice flat. That new rasp you loved so much really coming out. “He’s eventually gonna want something.” His face darkens as he looks at you again, his face tilted down slightly. “You think too highly of people.” 

“Well he’s not gonna get anything.” You tell him, looking him dead in the eye. “He tried to kiss me…” 

Andrew unconsciously leans forward. He smells like rain and thunder. “And…” 

Your stomach flips. 

“An…and I dodged it.” You tell him quietly. A slow almost predatory smile spreads on his lips, you can tell it’s just a natural response. Everything he did was. He was the most honestly himself of anyone you knew. He did nothing unless he meant it. That’s one of the things you love about him. “Then he called me weird and left.” 

You scoff and the smile drops off his face as he sees the look on yours. You can’t help but be a little embarrassed. Andrew was older. He had also had sex before. You had cried yourself to sleep the night you heard about it at a party. 

Courtesy of Baz announcing Pope had finally ‘had sex with an actual girl.’ 

Because of course it was Baz who made sure you knew. 

Sobbing in bed with your window locked you were confused as to why it had made you feel like something inside you had cracked and wouldn’t repair. Why you felt physically sick. 

Julia had come to you the next day having seen your abrupt exit and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as she told you the truth. That Smurf had paid some random girl to do it to get back at Julia and probably you in some way.

Two birds with one stone. You’d both agreed to keep it to yourself and not tell Andrew. He found out anyway and admitted it when you were both older. You’d added it to the long list of reasons you hated Smurf. She really couldn’t let him have anything. 

Julia had said that even though he was our Andrew he was still just a boy and it won’t have meant anything to him. It’s just what they did. Couldn’t resist.

It still didn’t make sense to you then. It had eased off over the last couple of years but you’d been right. For some reason whatever cracked hadn’t repaired but that piece of advice from Julia had helped you in the future, when things got more complicated. 

“Name?” He pulled you from the memory of it but it still sat uncomfortably on your chest. 

“It’s just a new kid.” You say it dismissively, annoyed and Andrew knows not to push. He can easily find out who he was. Pretty sure his brothers had probably already asked around for him. 

“You didn’t want to kiss him?” 

“I dunno.” You say with a shrug and hate the way his face drops. “No. I just feel stupid that I’ve never…” A blush spreads over your face as you stare at your hands. 

He turns to face you now, lifting one leg onto the bed so it’s touching your own crossed legs. “Hey… look at me. You’re not stupid. You’re not stupid at all. You’re amazing.” His voice is soft and you do look up at him. 

The look in his eyes is one your recognise. The one that makes you feel adored and safe. “You will say that. You’ve been kissed.” 

His runs a hand through his hair as he looks away and when he looks back there’s a serious look on his face. “It wasn’t… I felt gross afterwards.” He says not meeting your gaze. He would never tell anyone else that. “I wouldn’t count it. That was just… lips touching.” 

You wish it made the pit in your stomach go away but it doesn’t, you just sigh heavily and shake your head trying to get the thought of it out of there. 

“Still more than me. It’s getting tragic.” 

The storm is raging louder outside and the dangerous look in his eyes grows. He swallow like he’s fighting something. 

“You want to be kissed?” His voice rougher than he intended and your heart rate picks up as you nod slowly, not trusting your voice. 

His gaze drops to your lips. He’s trying to play it cool but you see the slight shake of his hands before he clenches his fists. “I can kiss you.”

You literally go dizzy. He says it so casually, so Andrew that you couldn’t tell that he wanted to kiss you more than he’s ever wanted anything his whole life. 

He watches you closely. 

“I don’t want you to kiss me cos you feel bad for me.” You say trying to keep the sadness out of your voice but failing. 

“I don’t.”

It shouldn't reassure you as much as it does.

But Andrew has always had a way of saying things like they're facts rather than opinions, leaving no room for you to not believe him. Like he sensed that there was this part of you that needed a little more and matched it without hesitation. 

“Okay.” You say and he immediately leans in. 

“Are you sure?” He asks because what could he have possibly done to deserve this? He shouldn’t have offered. Should have told you the right guy would come along but he couldn’t. The need to kiss you overwhelmed any guilt. 

“Yes…” You whisper, your voice shaking with nerves. You remind yourself that this is Andrew. You’d known him almost a decade, he held you, looked after you. Your bond transcending anything people talk about or recognise. 

He can tell you’re nervous and he instinctively cups your jaw, just as he’d done countless times before because he needed you to be okay. He tilts your head up, thumb brushing you cheek bone  as he looks you in the eyes waiting for any sign you don’t want this. That you’ve remembered who he is. 

He’s giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Then his lips are on yours. Soft, warm and tentative like he’s cherishing you. Which he is. He wants to remember this. Sure it will be his only shot. You let out a soft moan before you feel like you lose the ability to breathe all together. The sound goes straight to his head, and cock. He still makes sure to pace himself. He doesn’t use tongue, just kisses you slowly, lips pressing and sliding against yours again and again like he’s learning the shape of you. 

Your hands go to his neck as you uncross your legs, pull him towards you. The branches from the tree outside your bedroom crash against your window and his groan is covered but the thunder and rain lashing onto the house. 

He’s still cradling your face as his other hand goes to your hip, keeping you upright. Not sure how he would handle you pulling him down on top of you. His kisses become more confident and your tongue slides against his lips experimentally. His own meets yours and you learn together. 

When his hand leaves your face moving down to slip under your t shirt you whimper. His hands on your lower stomach, stroking and sliding up until his big hand holds your waist. Fingers grazing your ribcage. You break the kiss as your mouth falls open with a desperate moan. His eyes are wide as he pulls back. He had not been expecting that. 

You were enjoying it. Just as much as he was. 

“You okay?” He asked breathlessly. He doesn’t pull back, lips brushing yours as he speaks as though he thinks it’s somewhere he can’t return to once he’s left. “I can stop if you…”

“Please don’t.” You practically beg and it switches something in him. There’s a confident look in his eyes you only usually ever see when he’s fighting someone or stealing something. 

“I won’t.” He whispers against your mouth, his tongue tracing your bottom lip. “I’ve got you.” As if to prove the point his other hand goes under your shirt to your waist, hands spread wide and he pulls you closer to him before kissing you again. Deeper. He’s pulling you into him, his hands stroking over you, to you back as he pulls you flush against his chest. 

He thinks the fact that you’re braless may actually kill him but when feels your hard nipples against his chest he realises he can’t die yet. He can’t because he wants to rip every scrap of clothing off you. 

He’s trying his best to hold back but it’s getting harder and harder. He pushes you gently onto your back, never breaking the kiss. You’re both moaning now, thankful that the storm was so loud. And for the chair that Andrew always propped under your door handle to stop your parents getting in. 

He freezes when you grab one of his hands, guiding it to your breast. 

“Andrew…” Your voice is needy and your hips rock up to him unconsciously. 

He reacts the only way he knows how who when it’s you. 

“What do you need?” His breath is ragged as he pulls back and looks at you. A picture he promises himself he will remember forever. Your hair splayed on the pillow, flushed cheeks and lips swollen. “Just tell me. I’ll give you whatever you need.” 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” You whine. You’re not an idiot. You know you need him to touch you and you know where. You’d touched yourself there many times but your inexperience stopped you from being able to ask. 

When he shifts slightly to rest on his forearms he notices the way your hips lift off the bed, he realises you’re just going off feeling, instinct. He knows exactly what you need. His hand cups your breast and he lets and a shaky breath as his thumb brushes your nipple. 

“Does this feel good?” He says in a soft yet wrecked voice you’d never heard before but you decided was your new favourite. 

You can only nod. 

“Yeah?” He grinds his hips against you and your back arches, a small smile of relief on your lips as the ache changes to a more pleasurable one. 

“Oh…” You moan.

“Like that?” 

“Mmmm.” You’re writhing under him and he starts to wonder if this is a dream. When you pull off your t shirt leaving yourself completely bare except your for your little sleep shorts he’s sure of it. But no matter what it is he’s going to make the most of it. 

He mesmerised by you, flushed and breathing hard from his touch. The most beautiful version of you he thinks he may have ever seen. He lifts his arms for you, in a daze when you pull his shirt off and your hands stroke over his chest, shoulders and arms. You’re looking at him like he’s attractive. Not weird. Not scary. 

He says your name, voice rough and you bite your lip a little shy all of a sudden. Nobody had ever seen you like this. And of course he understands. That you’re giving him something you’ve never given anyone and it hits him so hard he swears he leaves his own body for a moment. You’re trusting him with this. He is worthy. You think he is worthy. 

“You’re beautiful…” He murmurs and he lowers himself back on top of you. “So beautiful. You’re everything.” 

You struggle to differentiate between the memory and a dream as you’re woken by the same strong hands sliding over your waist and hips. His large body pressed into your back and the arm you’d fallen asleep on reaching to stroke your hair. His face is pressed into you beck as he pants. His hard cock, big and heavy as he ruts into your ass. 

“Please…” 

You moan sleepily and push back into him. You had both gotten in bed after the reunion. He wouldn’t leave your side. Wouldn’t even let you pee alone and you’d eventually fallen asleep together with him spooning you. Whispering apologies into your hair. 

He takes your movement as a yes and pulls your sleep shorts down over your ass, just enough so that he can sink into you. 

And when he does he sighs with a heavy relief, his hand cradling and squeezing your ass. He doesn’t even move. Just positions himself back to lay down behind you, sliding his muscular arm under your head again and you place a kiss there. Your hand finding his to lace your fingers together. So happy to be completely wrapped up by him again. 

When he starts to rock into you, you moan his name and he pushes the covers off you both. He grabs your leg, lifting it slightly to get deeper.

“You’re mine. No matter what.” He growls in your ear as the arm you’re lying on slips down to bend and lock around your throat forcing your head up due to the size of him. 

“Yours.” Your choke out and you feel every inch of him sliding in and out of your exposed hole as he spreads you open, still holding your leg up by your thigh.

“I’m so sorry…” He says his voice cracking. He had already apologised so many times but the thing he seemed to not be able to get over is the way he took you at Deran’s bar and then left. You know that’s what he’s apologising for in that moment. 

“It’s o… okay.” You reassure as your pussy clenches around him. 

“Gonna make it up to you, sweetheart.” He says as he hits the spot he knows makes your eyes roll back into your head. “Everyday. Every.” He speeds up and grits out the words with each thrust. “Fucking. Day.”

“I know… yeah…” Your gripping at his large forearm. “Im so close, handsome.” 

“That’s my girl…” His praise does exactly what he means it to and you come with a shout. Not caring who hears in the house. Hoping they do, if anything. 

When you come down from your orgasm he’s kissing your back and shoulder as he pulls out of you slowly to lay you down before crawling on top of you. 

It’s late at night. Like he’s woken up with you in his arms and had to wake you. The moonlight means you can make out his broad shoulders as he settles between your legs like he’s making a home there. 

And he does. 

You loose count of how many times he makes you come. All you know is that at some point you notice the sun starting to come up. 

He’s laid flat on his front with one of your legs over his shoulder, his head leant against the soft part of your thigh as he licks and sucks at you leisurely. He’s apologising. He’s showing you how he thinks you should always be treated. How he would always treat you from now on. 

You have to grab his head and pull him up to you to get him to stop and when you look down, thanks to the morning light you see his thick cock, painfully hard and dripping. It’s obvious he hadn’t been allowing himself any kind of relief. 

“Come here…” You coo as he finally hovers over you. You kiss every bruise and mark on his face as he ruts against your wet, swollen pussy. Not allowing himself entry. He’s panting pathetically in your ear and despite how many times you’ve come you need him inside you. Need to make him come.

Reaching down you grab his ass and tilt your hips just right making him whimper as the tip enters. You gasp as he sinks into you, sliding in easily due to how wet you are but your swollen walls convulse around him. Sucking him in. 

He moans your name almost sounding in pain. “So tight… fuck.” 

“Andrew…” You whine, so sensitive and just like always he knows. Senses you’re on the aching edge of overwhelmed. 

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart.” For a second his grip on you tightens, his face burying itself against your neck as a rough sound leaves him.

Not pleasure.

Relief.

Like something he'd been holding together for months has finally cracked as he rocks into you. 

You feel him press a kiss beneath your ear, then another against your jaw.

"Sweetheart..." he breathes. The word is shaky around the edges.

When he lifts his head, he doesn't look away. Just stares at you for a moment, like he's trying to memorise the fact that you're here.

That you're real.

That he found his way back to you.

He comes deep inside of you with whispered apologies. You shush him as your legs wrap around his waist. Cradling him between your thighs as you both moan and sigh at the aftershocks. 

“I love you.” Is the last thing he whispers as he turns you both onto your sides, facing each other this time, still inside of you with your leg hooked over his hip. His grip on your thigh doesn’t loosen even as he falls asleep. 

The days after he barely left your side. Even when you were at work he would drop you off and pick you up when he could. 

There was a job coming up you could tell. All you really knew was that J was the one to bring it to the table. 

J who had come to you the day after Angela had finally left. Something he had apparently been trying to make happen the whole time. He knew her true colours better than anyone. Even you. 

“Thank you.” He said simply as he walked into the kitchen. You hadn’t had much interaction with him over the last year or so. He seemed to have his own things going on and other than a quick chat it was clear that he still saw you as one of the people who abandoned his Mom. “For getting rid of Angela.” 

You just shook your head with an awkward smile as you wait for your toast to cook. “I just… made him see what was obvious to everyone else. 

“My Mom. When she was… herself. The rare times she wasn’t completely out of it. She used to say you were the only other person who understood him.” You didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “I see that.”

Julia and you had always had an understanding. That one of you would always be there for him, always make sure he wasn’t consumed by Smurf. You’d always thought she’d come back. That you would’t ever actually have to do it alone. A heavy wave of grief hits you as they often do, out of nowhere. 

“Everything I ever learn about who Andrew is… your Mom already knew.” You smile sadly. “I try.” You shrug not wanting to start talking about his Mom. Not feeling worthy of it. You jump slightly as the toast pops up and clear your throat. “Want a piece?” 

“Sure.” He nods, a softer look in his eyes than you’d seen aimed at you before. 

“You want diagonal or horizontal?” You ask as you pick up the knife. You only hear him scoff and when you look at him he’s trying not to laugh. 

“What?” You ask confused. 

“Whatever. You choose.” Is all he says. 

You furrow your brow at him before buttering the toast and cutting it diagonally. He nods in thanks, smirking as he takes it before walking away. 

As confused as the interaction leaves you it’s also the lightest you and he had ever had. You’d take it. 

You walk out bare foot, eating your own piece as you walk towards the sound of Andrew’s grunts and the thuds of his gloves against the punch bag. He turns as soon as he hears the gate open. 

“Watch your feet.” He says seriously, zoning in on them straight away as you walk over to him. Like he’s not covered in cuts and bruises. 

The concrete is hot but you know he means because you’re out front near the garage and cars. It had been drilled into you by the endless times he’s lectured you about the risk that nails and tools and ‘god knows what else’ could be on the ground out here. 

“You look good.” Grinning as you say it, before taking another bite. “Real good,” He just scoffs and dips his head before striking the bag once, his torso twisting with it. You forget about your toast. He hits hard like he’s getting out a wave of aggression but you know it’s not that. 

The look in his eyes tells you everything. It’s the one that makes you flutter from top to bottom. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you since he first held up last night and you had no complaints. 

“What times the fight?” The disapproving tone in your voice makes him turn his attention fully back to the bag. 

It was one last fight. That was the compromise you’d both come to. Your argument that he got hurt enough as it was with the job he did went completely over his head but the slight pout and those eyes you make at him didn’t. 

You didn’t use them often. But they were very effective.

Slowly but surely his edges were beginning to soften around you again. His confidence slowly following. 

“Soon.” Is all he says in a grunt. 

Smurf walks out the gate behind you. She’s wearing her sunglasses so you can’t gauge her mood as easily as usual but when she simply says your name you nod back as you finish eating. Glad your mouth is full. 

“Morning baby.” She says to Andrew as she walks past. He doesn’t say anything back. 

You walk to his side instinctually as she gets in her car and drives away. He needs you. Especially since you had by some weird turn of events ended up the only other person who knew Smurf had cancer. 

You’d discussed it that first night back in his arms. 

It was tearing him up, you could tell. He had wished death upon her more than he’d ever admit recently but you knew he couldn’t help but love her in some messed up way. A bond forged in trauma, blood and manipulation. So very different to the one he shared with you but even more part of him than himself. Not something he could ever escape. 

Even in death.

“You good?” You ask, placing one hand flat on his chest and the other on his arm. He steps into you, taking steadying breaths. His glove covered hand resting above your head on the punch bag. 

He crowds you, surrounds you, just walks until there’s nowhere else to go and his body, damp from his training sticks to you. His mouth finds yours but it’s more like he’s borrowing some of your steadiness than a kiss. You give it of course. 

As much as he needs. 

Smurf, in what you decided was the most Smurf move of all time said fuck chemo. Because if she could find a way to make this anymore traumatic for Andrew and the boys then of course she would. 

The thought of Smurf with a death wish terrified you. 

The day of the J job came around quick and you could barely sit still in work. In a way you preferred it when you didn’t know the jobs were happening. 

You went straight to Smurfs after work pacing, cleaning… wondering where Smurf was. Trying not to let that make you more nervous. The second Andrew walks in, staggering slightly and holding his side you rush over to him. His other arm is covered in cuts and blood and his face has yet more bruises and cuts on top of healing ones. 

“Why are you always covered in fucking blood?” You curse as you rush over to him but it’s not through anger. Just frustration and worry. 

“Bathroom.” Is all he rasps out and you wrap your arm around his waist knowing it’s not really helping much as he leans heavily on the wall too. 

You can tell he’s in a lot of pain by the way he is breathing heavily as he lowers himself onto side of the bath. He lifts his shirt and you both look at the deep cuts in his side. 

“I think there’s some broken glass.” He say’s it like it’s just another day at the office because for him it is. 

“God damn it.” You go to the counter where you know they keep the medical supplies. Not your first rodeo after being around the Cody’s so long but your hands are still shaking. It’s never easy to see any of the boys hurt but when it’s Andrew you can’t bare it. 

You sit beside him and you really don’t like the way he sways, your stomach twists as your shaking hands clutch the tweezers.

His ruff, pained voice saying your name stops you. His free hand steadying yours but the blood makes it slippy. 

“…the job went bad.” 

“No shit.” You say seriously but your eyes are reassuring. “Is everyone okay?” It’s a stupid question because you know he wouldn’t be here letting you care for him if anyone wasn’t. But it was a way to distract him from the pain you were about to cause him. 

It works and he seems to become more aware letting out deep breaths as the tweezers grip the first piece of glass. 

“Nothing serious.” He grits. 

“I’m sorry…” you whisper gritting your own teeth. 

“It’s okay sweetheart… I’m okay.” His hand stayed over yours for a second longer than necessary.

Not restraining you. Just steadying you. Still putting you first even like this. 

You swallowed hard and carefully pulled the first shard free. Andrew hissed through his teeth, his shoulders tightening, but he didn't pull away. You knew if it were you, you’d be half way passed out by now. 

”There," you murmured. "Got it.”

A bead of fresh blood welled up immediately.

"Just eight more to go," he said stiffly.

Despite yourself, you laughed.

His mouth twitched and he leant down to kiss your forehead.

The tension in your chest loosened slightly. Not enough. It never would until he was patched up and sleeping beside you.

Once he was patched up you grab a beer for each of you before walking over to him where he sat on the couch. Putting them down on the table you sit beside him, his eyes following you as they always do. 

You saw it then. The exhaustion. Not the physical kind.

The kind that Andrew carried all his life. As the eldest. The one everyone counted on to fix everything. When he looked at you with those sad eyes you wanted more than anything in the world to be able to fix everything. 

He looked at you like he believed you could. 

Like you were the answer somehow. 

“Andrew." You sigh, voice thick with tears you won’t dare let fall. 

You brush a curl from his forehead. Your fingers stroking against his temple and tracing around his injuries gently. He leans into your touch. 

"You don't have to pretend with me. You know that.”

Something in his expression cracked.

Not completely. Just enough. Enough for you to see the fear he'd been carrying since he walked through the door. The fear he didn’t understand since he’d found out Smurf was dying. 

You lean against his good side so gently he truly believes you’re some kind of angel as you take his face in your hands. 

"Everyone got home.” You tell him softly. 

For the first time since he'd arrived, some of the tension bled from his shoulders.

“Yeah." His voice was rough.

You pressed your forehead against his.

"Because of you.” Your lips brush against his cheek as you speak and Andrew let out a shaky breath.

“No."

“Yes."

For once, he didn't argue. You kissed him gently.

Not passionate or desperate as a lot of them had been since you reunited.

Just there.

A reminder. A promise.

When you pulled back, his forehead stays resting against yours until he pulls away and pushes you to lay down gently. You know exactly what he wants and so you lay back against the pillows opening your arms to him. He crawls to you wincing ever so sightly before settling down on your chest, his strong arm banding around your middle. 

He nuzzles into your chest as you stroke his head and back, fingers running through his thick hair. 

And for a moment, the weight he carried didn't seem quite so heavy whilst he was leaning into you. 

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calliesblooms

🎵 dandelion - ariana grande

liked by denwhitaker, trinisantos, vic_jav, and 7k others

calliesblooms It’s officially spring which means it’s officially my favorite season. Thank you Mr & Mrs. Joseph for allowing me to create such a beautiful floral wonderland for your very very special day ❀˖°

→ denwhitaker i see the bouquet i made on that table 👀

↳ calliesblooms i gave it some extra love and it was perfect

→ vic_jav soooo talented

↳ calliesblooms ily vicki

→ trinisantos not to be weird on the biz account but I think i’m in love with you… let’s have a colorful floral wedding pls

↳ calliesblooms i am no longer looking for a suitor, please email all inquiries to my business email!

calisnotok

🎵 black haired madonna - nessa barrett

liked by yologarcia, dr_mrobby, jabbot and 357 others

📸 tagged trinisantos, vic_jav, samiramohan

calisnotok somebody’s daughter (me) has got your daddy tonight

→ trinisantos single cal really said ‘ur playing checkers, i’m fucking ur dad’ and i’m here for it!

↳ calisnotok I like em the same age as my own father

→ samiramohan i will share endless cigs with u baby <3

↳ calisnotok sami can we shotgun kiss next time pls & thx

↳ samiramohan so polite i shall do as you wish ;)

→ denwhitaker covering for ur sorry asses at work and you post these… fake asf

↳ calisnotok i not doctor

↳ dr_mrobby not with that vocabulary you’re not.

↳ vic_jav ooooooo cal’s in trouble

↳ calisnotok robby get the fuck out of my comment section

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You sat in the passenger seat with your hands twisted tightly in the fabric of your shirt, staring straight ahead while Trinity drove. The sky was still that muted early morning gray where the sun hadn’t fully committed to rising yet, and the streets were mostly empty except for the occasional car heading toward the city for work. The quiet inside the car stretched on for long stretches at a time. Trinity had turned the radio off at some point without either of you acknowledging it, and now the only sounds were the steady hum of the engine and the soft clicking of the turn signal whenever she changed lanes.

Every now and then your brain tried to catch up with what had happened.

The fight.

The screaming.

The way the two of you had said things that felt too sharp and too final to take back.

Your throat still burned faintly. You’d screamed so hard at one point that your voice cracked, but neither of you had stopped. It’d been like watching something spiral out of control while still standing right in the middle of it.

You blinked hard and stared out the window at the passing streetlights.

Your reflection in the glass looked pale and hollow, the faint shadows under your eyes deeper than usual. Your hair was messy from the night before, and you were still wearing one of Jack’s shirts because you had grabbed the first thing you started packing.

Your chest tightened slightly when you noticed it.

You hadn’t even thought about that until now.

Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric before you forced your hands to relax again.

Beside you, Trinity glanced over for a brief moment before returning her eyes to the road. She hadn’t asked questions yet. She seemed to understand that if she pushed too soon, everything inside you might break open all at once.

You were grateful for that.

The apartment building came into view a few minutes later, familiar and comforting in a way that made your throat tighten unexpectedly. You’d been here so many times before. Movie nights where the three of you stayed up far too late arguing about stupid things. Takeout dinners on the couch. Nights where you fell asleep halfway through whatever show Dennis insisted everyone watch.

But walking in now felt different.

This time you weren’t just visiting.

This time you had nowhere else to go.

Trinity pulled into the parking lot and turned the engine off.

For a moment neither of you moved.

Then she looked at you gently.

“You ready?”

The question felt heavier than it should’ve.

You nodded anyway.

“Yeah.” Your voice sounded thin and fragile.

The walk up the stairs felt longer than usual. Your suitcase bumped against each step as Trinity helped drag it behind you, the hollow sound echoing softly in the stairwell. Your legs felt slightly weak, like the adrenaline that had kept you moving all night was finally beginning to wear off.

By the time you reached the door your chest felt tight again.

Trinity unlocked it and pushed the door open.

Dennis was already awake.

You could hear him in the kitchen before you even stepped inside, the faint clink of a spoon tapping against the inside of a mug followed by the quiet hum of someone half talking to themselves while making coffee.

He looked up the moment the door opened.

For a second his expression was just mild surprise. Then he saw your face and his eyebrows immediately pulled together.

“Oh.”

That single word held more concern than anything else he could’ve said.

Trinity set your suitcase down beside the couch and shut the door behind you.

Dennis stepped away from the counter slowly, still holding his mug like he’d forgotten what he was doing.

“You… uh,” he started awkwardly. “You good?”

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

Your eyes filled with tears so suddenly it startled you.

You’d kept yourself together through the car ride but the moment Dennis asked that simple question, something inside you cracked.

Your shoulders shook once.

Then again.

And suddenly you were crying.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped between breaths. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, no, no,” Dennis said quickly, setting his mug down on the counter with a small clatter. “It’s okay. Uh…”

He looked helplessly at Trinity.

She was already moving.

In two quick steps she was beside you, pulling you into a tight hug before your knees could give out completely.

You buried your face in her shoulder and sobbed.

Your whole body shook.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated weakly.

“Stop apologizing,” Trinity murmured softly, rubbing your back. “You’re allowed to cry.”

Dennis hovered nearby, clearly unsure what the correct move was but unwilling to walk away either.

He grabbed a box of tissues from the kitchen counter and held it out awkwardly.

“Here,” he said gently.

You took one with trembling fingers, trying to catch your breath.

For several minutes nobody said anything.

Eventually Trinity guided you over to the couch.

“Sit,” she said softly.

You collapsed into it heavily, wiping your face with the sleeve of the shirt you were still wearing.

Dennis perched nervously on the armchair across from you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“What happened?” he asked carefully.

You stared down at your hands.

For a second you considered brushing it off. Saying it was just another argument. Something that would blow over.

But the words that came out instead were quiet and broken.

“We had a really bad fight.”

Trinity stayed beside you, her arm resting around your shoulders.

“Okay,” she said gently. “Tell us.”

You swallowed hard. “He told me he wished he’d never met me,” you said quietly.

Dennis blinked.

“He what?”

“He told me he wished he’d never met me,” you repeated, your voice small. “Because it would’ve been easier.”

Your fingers twisted together in your lap.

“He called me naive and a child.”

Dennis frowned slightly.

“Like… actually said that?”

You nodded slowly.

“He said I was being ridiculous,” you murmured. “And I asked him if he liked feeling like he owned me, and then I told him to say he wished he’d never met me again and he wouldn’t.”

Your throat tightened.

“So I went into the bathroom and locked the door.”

You could still picture it clearly. The sound of the lock clicking. The way your hands had been shaking as you leaned against the sink trying to breathe.

“He started knocking,” you continued quietly. “Telling me to open the door.”

Dennis listened silently.

“And I told him no.” you said. “Then he told me not to shut him out.”

Your voice wavered with a pathetic laugh.

“But then he got frustrated.”

You looked down at the floor.

“And he told me he’d wished he’d never met me again.”

Trinity’s hand stilled slightly on your shoulder.

“I lost it after that,” you admitted.

You could still feel the rush of anger that had taken over the moment you unlocked the door and stormed back into the bedroom.

“I started yelling at him,” you said. “I told him my friends were right about him. That he was going to ruin my life.”

Your chest tightened.

“He kept telling me I was young and naive,” you continued. “That I didn’t understand what it meant to grow up and deal with real things.”

Dennis shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I told him he made me sick,” you said quietly. “That looking at him in the morning made my stomach turn.”

The room stayed very still.

“And he told me to shut the fuck up.”

You rubbed your hands together nervously.

“I started throwing his clothes at him,” you said. “Just grabbing things from the closet and tossing them across the room. Shirts, jeans, whatever I could reach.”

Dennis’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“I told him he ruined me. That he took everything good about me and turned it into something miserable.”

Your eyes filled again.

Dennis exhaled slowly.

“Oh.”

You wiped your face again.

“I wanted him to leave,” you said. “I started packing his things and throwing them at him. I told him to take them and leave.”

Your chest rose and fell unevenly.

“But he didn’t.”

You looked up weakly.

“He just stood there.”

Trinity squeezed your shoulder gently.

“So I told him fine,” you whispered. “If he wouldn’t leave, I would.”

You swallowed hard.

“I said fine, I’ll fucking leave.”

Your hands trembled again at the memory.

“I grabbed my duffel bag and started throwing my clothes into it,” you continued. “Like actually throwing them. I was so angry I couldn’t even fold anything.”

You could still picture Jack standing there in the doorway.

Watching you.

“I told him I was done,” you said softly.

Your voice dropped.

“And he grabbed me.”

Dennis sat up slightly.

“Grabbed you?”

You shook your head quickly.

“Not like that,” you said. “He just… stopped me from leaving.”

Your throat tightened.

“He kept saying I wasn’t going anywhere.”

You looked down again.

“And then this morning I woke up and realized I couldn’t stay there.”

The words felt heavy and exhausted.

“I can’t keep doing that.”

Silence settled over the room.

“But he’s been through so much,” you added quickly, almost defensively. “Everything he’s dealt with. His wife. His leg. The stuff he sees at work. It messes with him.”

Trinity listened quietly.

“He’s not a bad person,” you insisted softly.

Dennis rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t interrupt.

“He’s just… hurting.”

Trinity gently took your hands in hers.

“Listen to me,” she said softly.

You looked up.

“His trauma might explain why he acts the way he does sometimes,” she continued. “But it doesn’t make it okay for him to treat you like that.”

Your throat tightened again.

You stared down at your hands.

“I still love him,” you whispered.

Trinity nodded.

“I know.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

Dennis spoke carefully from across the room.

“Well… uh… right now you’re supposed to sit here,” he said awkwardly. “And… breathe.”

You let out a weak laugh.

He shrugged slightly.

“That’s kind of step one.”

Trinity squeezed your shoulder again.

“You’re safe here,” she said gently.

The words settled over you slowly. For the first time since the fight, your body finally began to relax slightly against the couch.

Jack surfaced from sleep slowly, dragged upward through layers of thick, restless dreams that clung stubbornly to him even as consciousness began to creep back in.

The sleep he’d gotten wasn’t real rest so much as his body eventually shutting down after hours of tension and anger, and it left him feeling heavy and dull when he woke.

His muscles were stiff in that deep, bone-level way that followed nights filled with shouting and pacing and adrenaline that never fully burned off. His leg throbbed faintly beneath the blankets, the familiar ache greeting him the same way it did every morning, a quiet but persistent reminder that no matter how much time passed it would never completely disappear. The pain wasn’t sharp enough to demand attention anymore, not like it had been in the early years, but it was constant enough that he noticed it before anything else when he woke.

He lay there for a moment with his eyes still closed, breathing slow and heavy as he hovered in that blurry space between sleep and wakefulness. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm while the last fragments of his dreams dissolved into nothing.

Normally when he woke up there was a certain sense of quiet comfort in the room, the subtle presence of another person nearby that he had grown used to without ever really acknowledging it out loud. But something about the silence around him this morning felt… off. The house was too still.

Normally by now there would be small sounds drifting through the room. The faint rustle of blankets shifting when you rolled over. The quiet creak of the mattress when you moved closer or farther away in your sleep.

Sometimes you woke before him and slipped out of bed carefully, thinking he wouldn’t notice, padding down the hallway in those soft steps that always gave you away anyway.

Occasionally he would hear cabinets opening in the kitchen or the soft hum of the coffee machine even though he had told you a hundred times you didn’t have to get up early to make it for him.

But this morning there was nothing.

Just silence.

Jack’s brow furrowed faintly before he opened his eyes, the unease settling into his chest without him fully realizing why yet. Still half asleep, he shifted slightly on the mattress and stretched one arm lazily across the bed the way he often did when he woke up, his hand sliding over the sheets beside him without really thinking about it.

Cold.

His eyes opened immediately.

The other side of the bed was empty.

The blankets there were rumpled and slightly twisted, like someone had gotten up not too long ago, but the warmth that should have lingered in the mattress had already started to fade. The pillow still held the faint impression of your head, strands of your hair caught in the fabric where you must have tossed during the night.

Jack stared at it for a long second, his mind still slow with sleep.

Then he pushed himself upright.

His leg protested the movement instantly, the dull ache sharpening for a moment when he shifted his weight forward to sit up on the edge of the bed. He ignored it automatically, running a hand down his face as he blinked hard a few times to clear the fog from his head.

You were probably just up already.

That was the most obvious explanation.

Maybe you were in the kitchen.

Or the bathroom.

Or sitting in the living room pretending to watch something on TV while you waited for him to wake up so the two of you could deal with the awkward aftermath of the fight.

The thought made his jaw tighten slightly.

Last night.

The memory didn’t come back all at once. It returned in jagged pieces, scattered images and sounds sliding into place slowly as his brain caught up with reality.

Jack’s expression hardened slightly as the memory pushed its way into the front of his mind.

He swung his leg over the side of the bed reaching out and grabbing his prosthetic to put it on and stood up slowly, gripping the edge of the bedside table briefly while his prosthetic adjusted to taking his weight. The bedroom still looked mostly the same as it had when he had finally collapsed into bed hours earlier, too tired and angry to deal with the mess left behind from the fight.

But now that he was fully awake, he started noticing things that hadn’t registered the night before.

The closet door was open.

Not just slightly open. Wide open.

One of the dresser drawers you had yanked out during the argument still hung crookedly on its rails, the corner of it tilted downward where it hadn’t been pushed back in properly.

And scattered across the floor near the wall were several pieces his clothing.

Jack stared down at them for a moment, his jaw slowly tightening. He inhaled slowly through his nose, his chest tightening slightly.

He bent down and picked one of the shirts up from the floor, tossing it carelessly back onto the bed before straightening again. His irritation was already building, simmering quietly beneath the surface as he turned toward the bedroom door.

You were probably still here somewhere.

Just avoiding him.

That seemed much more likely than anything else.

After the way the night ended, it wouldn’t be surprising if you were hiding out in another room waiting for him to wake up first so you wouldn’t have to deal with him immediately.

Jack stepped into the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked.

The house was still quiet.

“Hey.”

His voice sounded rough and low from sleep.

No answer.

He walked toward the bathroom first, pushing the door open with the back of his hand.

Empty.

Jack frowned slightly.

He checked the kitchen next, stepping into the doorway and glancing around.

The coffee machine was untouched.

No mugs on the counter.

No sign that anyone had been in there recently.

His irritation sharpened a little more.

Then he walked into the living room.

Nothing.

The couch was empty.

The television was off.

The entire house felt strangely still.

A strange feeling crept into his chest then, something he couldn’t quite identify yet. Not worry exactly. But something close enough to make his stomach tighten slightly.

Jack turned and walked back toward the bedroom again, his eyes scanning the room more carefully this time.

That was when he really noticed the closet.

It wasn’t just open.

It looked… wrong.

He stepped closer and pushed the door wider with one hand.

His eyes moved slowly across the hanging clothes.

Then stopped.

Your side of the closet looked half empty.

Several hangers were bare.

His gaze dropped to the floor.

Your suitcase was gone.

For a moment Jack just stood there staring at the empty space where it usually sat.

Then something hot and sharp flared in his chest.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” The words came out low and harsh.

He ran a hand through his hair roughly, pacing once across the room before turning back again.

You left.

The realization settled fully now.

You actually left.

After everything.

After the fight.

After the things you both said.

You packed your things and walked out.

Jack’s jaw tightened hard.

A memory from the night before flashed vividly through his mind.

You standing beside the bed with a duffle bag open, throwing clothes into it with angry, jerky movements while you tried to blink back tears.

Fine. I’ll fucking leave.

Your voice had been shaking when you said it the night before, trembling with a mixture of anger and something far more fragile underneath it, but you had still forced the words out anyway.

Jack could hear the exact sound of it in his head now as if it were echoing through the quiet house around him, the rawness of your voice when you said it, the way it had cracked slightly on the word leave like even speaking the possibility out loud had hurt you.

He remembered the way you had been standing in the middle of the bedroom with your bag half open on the bed, clothes scattered everywhere because you had been throwing them in without folding them, your hands shaking while you grabbed armfuls from the closet and dresser.

The whole room had looked like a storm had blown through it, drawers hanging open, fabric draped over the floor, the lamp lying shattered against the floor where you had hit it earlier in the argument. And he remembered how fast he moved when you said it. Before the words had even fully left your mouth he’d crossed the room and grabbed your arm, his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist to stop you before you could shove another handful of clothes into the bag. He could still picture the way your body had gone rigid under his grip when he did it, the tension in your shoulders, the heat radiating off you from the fight.

He’d told you that you weren’t going anywhere.

He’d said it with that same stubborn certainty he always used when he thought he could control the direction of an argument simply by refusing to acknowledge the alternative, like if he said it firmly enough the possibility of you leaving would simply stop existing. And for a moment he had believed it too. Because the truth was that you had said things like that before during fights. Threats thrown out in the middle of yelling. Dramatic ultimatums that both of you took back later when the anger faded and the exhaustion settled in. But the look on your face when he grabbed you had been different from those other times.

That was the part that came back to him now, replaying in his mind whether he wanted it to or not. Your expression had flickered through several emotions so quickly it had been hard to catch them all at the time. First there had been anger, bright and sharp and familiar, the kind he knew how to fight against because it meant you were still engaging with him, still arguing, still pushing back instead of shutting down. Then there had been hurt, something deeper that had made your eyes glassy even though you were trying to hide it behind the fury. But there had been something else there too, something quieter and heavier that he hadn’t been able to name in the moment and still struggled to identify now as he stood there remembering it.

Jack let out a slow breath through his nose as the memory rolled through his mind again, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as if he could physically push the thought away. At the time he had dismissed it. He’d assumed it was just another flash of emotion in the middle of a fight that had already gone too far, another moment that would pass once the yelling stopped and both of you cooled down. He hadn’t believed, not truly, that you would actually follow through with the threat you had thrown at him. Not really. The two of you had said dramatic things to each other before.

Things that sounded permanent in the heat of the moment but never actually turned into anything real once the anger burned itself out. You’d both slammed doors, raised your voices, said you were done or that you couldn’t do this anymore. But somehow the next morning always came and neither of you had actually left. The idea that this time might be different hadn’t fully settled into his mind last night, even when he watched you throw clothes into the bag with shaking hands and a furious kind of determination.

But leaving like that. Actually packing a bag. Actually walking out.

That was something else entirely.

His hands slowly curled into fists at his sides as that realization settled deeper.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, the word coming out low and rough in the quiet room.

The anger that had been simmering in the background of his thoughts began to flare hotter almost immediately, rushing up to fill the space where anything softer might have tried to form.

You left.

That was the fact that kept repeating itself in his mind now like a refrain he couldn’t turn off. After everything he had done for you. After everything he had tolerated, everything he’d put up with from you during your worst moods and your sharpest comments and the way you could push his buttons like no one else sometimes.

After the way you had stood there last night screaming at him like he was some kind of monster, like he was the only one responsible for how ugly the argument had become. His mind latched onto that part quickly, grabbing onto the memory of your voice during the fight like it was evidence he could hold up to justify the anger boiling in his chest now.

Looking at you in the morning makes me sick.

The words replayed in his head with painful clarity, your voice cutting through the memory of the room just as sharply as it had the night before. Jack’s jaw tightened so hard it ached, the muscles in his face pulling taut as he remembered the way you had said it. Your eyes bright with tears you refused to let fall.

Jack began pacing across the room again without realizing it, the restless movement coming naturally as his mind spiraled faster and faster through the fragments of the night before. His leg felt stiff and sore as he moved, the old wound protesting the sudden activity after sleep, but he ignored it the same way he always did when his thoughts were racing too fast for physical discomfort to matter.

Where the hell did you go?

The question formed sharply in his mind as he crossed the room again, his gaze flicking back toward the empty side of the bed before drifting to the doorway like you might somehow appear there if he stared long enough. But even as the question surfaced, the answer followed close behind it without much effort.

Trinity.

Of course.

The name came to him immediately, settling into his thoughts with the kind of certainty that made him scoff quietly to himself.

You always ran to Trinity when things got bad between the two of you. It had been that way since the beginning of the relationship. She was the one you called when you were upset, the one you vented to when Jack did something that hurt your feelings or frustrated you or made you question whether the relationship was worth the effort anymore.

Jack could practically picture the scene in his mind now with frustrating clarity. You sitting on Trinity’s couch wrapped in one of her blankets with your eyes red from crying, your phone clutched tightly in your hands while you told her every terrible thing he had said during the fight. Trinity listening with that sympathetic expression she always wore when you talked about him, nodding along while she reassured you that you deserved better than the way he treated you. That you should leave him. That you should stop letting him drag you down with his problems.

His jaw flexed again at the thought, irritation sharpening the edges of his breathing.

You always made him the villain when you talked to your friends.

Always left out the parts where you pushed him too.

The parts where your words cut just as deep.

His cut deeper.

I wish I never met you.

He’d said it in anger.

Pure, blinding rage that made the words spill out before he could stop them.

But the memory of your face when he said it lingered in his mind now with uncomfortable clarity. The way your expression had changed instantly like something inside you had snapped under the weight of that sentence. Like whatever fragile thread had been holding the two of you together through the argument had finally broken. Jack shook his head sharply as the memory threatened to settle into something heavier, pushing the thought away before it could take root.

No. You didn’t get to run away after that and pretend he was the only one who crossed the line.

You said horrible things too.

You weren’t innocent in that fight.

His chest felt tight again as the anger surged back up to fill the space where doubt might have settled, hot and immediate and familiar.

You wanted to leave? Fine.

But disappearing without saying a word afterward? Ignoring him completely like he didn’t deserve an explanation for why you walked out of the life the two of you had built together? That was something else entirely.

Jack turned toward the nightstand and grabbed his phone, his movements sharp and impatient as he unlocked the screen. His thumb hovered over your contact for a brief second as if some small part of him hesitated before pressing it, but the pause lasted only a moment before he hit call.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then your voicemail picked up.

Jack ended the call immediately, his jaw clenching as irritation flared hotter in his chest. He dialed again without thinking, the motion automatic now as he lifted the phone back to his ear. This time it went straight to voicemail before the first ring even finished. His irritation spiked instantly. He called again. And again. And again. Each unanswered call made the anger coil tighter inside his chest, winding around his ribs like a tightening wire with every second that passed without your voice answering on the other end. By the sixth call he was pacing the room again, his steps restless and uneven as frustration built under his skin.

“You don’t just walk out,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough in the empty room.“You don’t get to just disappear like that.”

He hit call again even though he knew it would probably go unanswered like the others. Voicemail. Jack let out a sharp breath through his nose, lowering the phone slightly as something unfamiliar crept beneath the anger now. Not quite fear. But close enough that it made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t like acknowledging.

That realization sat heavily in his chest for a moment.

But instead of softening anything inside him, it only made the anger burn hotter.

You were being dramatic.

Running away instead of finishing the fight.

Instead of talking like adults.

Jack ran a hand through his hair again as he stared down at the phone in his hand, the screen glowing faintly in the quiet room.

No. You were just upset. You would cool down eventually like you always did. You would answer your phone once the emotions settled and you realized leaving like this was not actually the solution you thought it was in the heat of the moment. And when you did answer… his jaw tightened slightly at the thought. You were going to have a lot to explain.

He hit call again and lifted the phone to his ear once more, letting it ring longer this time while he stared blankly at the far wall of the bedroom. His heart thumped harder in his chest with every passing second, the silence stretching uncomfortably while the call continued.

Pick up.

Pick up the damn phone.

But it kept ringing.

Until it went to voicemail again.

Jack lowered the phone slowly after that one ended, the quiet house around him suddenly feeling far too large and far too empty. The silence pressed in from every direction, filling the spaces where your voice and your footsteps and the small everyday noises of another person used to exist. His gaze drifted back toward the bedroom doorway and then toward the closet beyond it, the half empty space inside catching his attention again like an accusation he did not want to examine too closely.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest then.

But the anger swallowed it before it could turn into anything else.

Fine.

If you wanted to run to Trinity and hide there.

Jack’s eyes hardened slightly as he stared down at the phone still in his hand.

He would find you.

And when he did…

You were going to talk about this.

One way or another.

Your throat hurt from crying and talking so much, the raw soreness sitting low in your chest every time you swallowed or tried to breathe too deeply, and now that everything had finally quieted down the exhaustion from the night before was beginning to creep into every corner of your body.

The adrenaline that had carried you through was slowly draining away now. What it left behind felt heavy and hollow at the same time, like your bones had been filled with sand and your mind had been scraped raw from the inside.

The apartment around you had gone quiet after, and now that there was nothing left to distract you from the weight of it all your body was beginning to sag under the exhaustion.

You sat curled into the corner of the couch with your knees drawn loosely toward your chest, a blanket Trinity had pulled from the back of the couch wrapped around your shoulders like a soft shield, the fabric still faintly warm from the dryer. Your eyes felt swollen and sore, the skin beneath them tight from the salt of dried tears, and every once in a while another quiet tear would slip free and slide down your cheek even though the worst of the sobbing had already passed.

You wiped them away automatically with the back of your hand, almost embarrassed by them even though there was no real reason to be, the habit of trying to hide how much something hurt was so deeply ingrained in you that you did it without thinking.

Across the room Trinity and Dennis were standing near the kitchen counter speaking quietly to each other, their voices low and careful in a way that suggested they were trying to give you some space while still keeping an eye on you at the same time.

They had clearly moved a little farther away after you finally stopped crying so hard, probably hoping the distance would make you feel less watched, less like the center of attention in a moment when everything already felt too exposed. But the apartment wasn’t big enough for their voices to disappear completely.

The soft murmur of their conversation drifted easily through the open space between the living room and kitchen, each word carrying faintly across the quiet room.

You weren’t really trying to listen. Your gaze stayed fixed on your hands resting in your lap, fingers twisting slowly in the edge of the blanket while your thoughts drifted in that strange, empty way that follows emotional exhaustion. But even without trying, you heard them anyway.

Dennis rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he glanced toward the hallway that led to the spare room, his shoulders slightly hunched in that familiar way whenever he was trying to bring up something he wasn’t entirely sure how to say out loud. “I mean… we don’t really have a guest room,” he murmured quietly, his voice hesitant as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Trinity was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching him with a calm, thoughtful expression that suggested she already knew exactly where he was going with this conversation. “I know,” she replied simply.

Dennis let out a small breath through his nose and glanced down the hallway again like he was picturing the clutter in his head. “The room’s basically just… storage right now,” he continued, his voice dipping slightly with embarrassment. “Like half my old boxes are still in there. And those shelves we never put up. And that stupid treadmill that neither of us actually uses.” There was a faint, sheepish quality in the way he said it, like he was apologizing for the state of the apartment even though none of it had anything to do with you being there.

Trinity exhaled quietly, pushing herself upright a little from where she leaned against the counter. “Yeah,” she said, glancing down the hallway herself now. “I know what’s in there.”

Dennis looked over toward the living room again, his gaze flicking briefly in your direction where you sat curled under the blanket like you were trying to make yourself smaller against the corner of the couch. You kept your head lowered, pretending you hadn’t noticed the glance even though you felt it. “Well,” he said slowly, dragging the word out as he thought through the idea forming in his mind, “I could clean it out.”

Trinity lifted one eyebrow slightly, her expression curious but not dismissive. “When?” she asked.

Dennis shrugged one shoulder in that awkward, uncertain way he had whenever he wasn’t completely confident in a plan but wanted to help anyway. “My next day off, I guess,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway again. “It wouldn’t take that long if I just move everything down to the basement storage area. We could actually make it into a room. Like… a real room.”

The words drifted across the room toward you in a soft wave, and your chest tightened a little at the thought of what they were discussing so casually.

They were talking about rearranging their apartment for you.

The realization made something uncomfortable stir in your stomach. You shifted slightly where you sat, pulling the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders as if the extra layer might somehow make you less visible in the middle of their home. “I don’t need a room,” you said quietly before you could stop yourself, your voice hoarse from crying and softer than you intended.

Both of them turned toward you almost immediately, their conversation stopping mid-thought as they realized you had heard everything. You kept your gaze lowered, staring at your hands in your lap. “I can just sleep on the couch,” you added quickly, trying to make the offer sound casual even though the idea of sleeping out here alone made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine too closely.

Trinity’s face shifted instantly into a small frown. “You’re not sleeping on the couch,” she said without hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you insisted gently, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself like it was armor. “Really. I don’t mind.”

Dennis shifted where he stood, his eyes flicking between you and the couch like he was mentally evaluating it. “It’s not really a great couch for sleeping,” he admitted awkwardly. “It’s kind of… lumpy.”

You gave a small shrug, trying to brush off the concern. “I’ve slept in worse places,” you murmured.

Trinity’s expression softened immediately in a way that made your chest ache a little more. “Yeah well you’re not sleeping in worse places,” she said gently, pushing herself off the counter and stepping a little closer to the living room. “You’re staying here.”

You looked down again, your fingers twisting together nervously in the blanket pooled in your lap. Even though you had known Trinity for practically your entire life, since the two of you were small enough to sit cross legged on the daycare floor sharing crayons and juice boxes, there was still a strange shyness creeping into your chest now that made it difficult to meet her eyes.

You felt like an intruder sitting here. Like you had dragged the wreckage of your relationship into their apartment and dropped it right in the middle of their quiet life. “I don’t want to inconvenience you guys,” you murmured softly.

Dennis blinked, clearly caught off guard by the idea. “You’re not-” he started, but Trinity cut him off before he could finish. “You’re not an inconvenience,” she said firmly, her voice steady and certain in a way that left very little room for argument. It wasn’t harsh. Just final.

You didn’t argue with her, but the feeling didn’t completely disappear. Dennis cleared his throat quietly and shifted his weight again, glancing toward the hallway like he was trying to steer the conversation somewhere practical. “Well… uh… the guest room thing is still a good idea,” he said carefully. “I mean, eventually. If you’re gonna be here for a bit.”

You glanced up slightly at that, the words settling into your chest in a strange way. “I don’t know how long I’ll stay,” you admitted quietly.

The sentence felt unfamiliar leaving your mouth. You hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Everything about the future still felt blurry and uncertain, like a fog you hadn’t stepped into yet.

Trinity pushed away from the counter and walked back over to the couch, sitting down beside you again with an easy familiarity that made the space feel warmer immediately. She nudged your shoulder gently with hers. “You can stay as long as you need,” she said. Your throat tightened again at the simple kindness in her voice, and you blinked hard as you fought the urge to start crying all over again.

Dennis watched the two of you for a moment before speaking again, his voice softer now. “Do you need to go back and grab anything else?” he asked. “Like… clothes or stuff?”

The thought hit you instantly, twisting your stomach into a tight knot. Going back there. Walking into the house again. Seeing Jack. Seeing the bedroom still torn apart from the fight, the broken lamp on the floor, the closet half emptied from the moment you started throwing his clothes across the room in anger. You shook your head quickly before the image could settle too deeply in your mind. “No,” you said quietly. Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “I grabbed enough.”

Dennis nodded slowly, accepting the answer even though he looked like he wanted to say something else. “Okay.”

Trinity studied your face carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly like she was trying to read the thoughts you weren’t saying out loud. “You sure?” she asked.

You nodded again. “I’m sure.” The idea of stepping foot in that house again right now made your chest feel tight and hollow at the same time. You weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

Trinity seemed to understand without you having to explain it. She reached over and brushed a piece of messy hair away from your face in the same gentle way she had done a thousand times growing up, the motion so familiar it made something warm stir faintly in your chest. “Alright,” she said softly.

The three of you sat quietly for a moment after that, the soft hum of the apartment settling around you again. You stared down at the blanket pooled in your lap, your fingers tracing the edge of the fabric absentmindedly as your thoughts drifted.

Then another thought slipped into your mind and your stomach twisted again. “He’s going to wake up soon,” you murmured quietly.

Trinity tilted her head slightly. “Jack?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening in the blanket. “He’s going to realize I’m gone.” Saying it out loud made the reality of it settle deeper in your chest.

Dennis shifted slightly in his chair. “You think he’ll come looking for you?” he asked.

You gave a small, helpless shrug. “I don’t know,” you admitted. But a part of you had a feeling.

You knew Jack.

He would check the house first. The bedroom. The bathroom. The kitchen. The living room. And then when he realized you weren’t there… your chest tightened again at the thought. “He might go to the shop,” you murmured.

Trinity frowned slightly. “The flower shop?”

You nodded slowly. “That’s the first place he’d look.” The idea of him standing there asking where you were, looking around the space you had built for yourself, made your stomach churn uneasily. “I don’t want him showing up there,” you admitted quietly.

Trinity’s voice softened immediately. “Hey.” You looked up at her. “You don’t have to go to work today,” she said gently.

Your head lifted quickly. “No.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I can’t not open because of this,” you said quickly.

“This is a really valid reason to close,” Trinity replied. “You’ve closed the store before.”

“But not for this.” Your voice stayed quiet but firm.

Dennis leaned back slightly. “I think you shouldn’t open the store today and you should just stay here and rest,” he offered.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Trinity studied your face carefully. “You sure you want to be alone? I can ca-”

“It’s okay,” you said softly, wiping at your eyes again as you cut her off. “I’ll just stay here today.” The apartment felt safe. Quiet. Far away from the mess of the night before. “I’ll sleep,” you added weakly.

Dennis nodded slowly. “That’s definitely a good idea.”

Trinity hesitated for another moment before sighing softly in agreement. “Alright.”

A small wave of guilt washed through you as the two of them began moving around the apartment again, falling into the familiar rhythm of getting ready for work.

Dennis disappeared into his bedroom to change while Trinity grabbed her bag from the counter and began packing a few things into it. The soft sounds of their morning routine slowly filled the apartment.

Running water in the bathroom sink. The rustle of clothes. The faint clink of dishes in the kitchen.

You stayed curled on the couch the entire time, wrapped in the blanket like it was the only thing holding you together.

At one point Trinity returned to the living room and looked down at you thoughtfully. “You’re not actually sleeping on the couch,” she said.

You blinked up at her in confusion. “What?”

“You can sleep in my bed.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “Trin, no-”

“Yes.”

“But where will you-”

“We’ll both sleep there.”

You stared at her for a moment, caught between gratitude and disbelief. “That’s not necessary,” you murmured.

She shrugged casually. “It’s a big bed.”

Dennis’s voice drifted from the bedroom.

“It’s really not that big.”

Trinity shot an annoyed glare toward the hallway. “Quiet.”

Despite everything, a small tired smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

Trinity looked back down at you with a softer expression. “Until we clean out the guest room, you’re sleeping with me.”

You hesitated for a moment, the idea of not being alone tonight sending a quiet wave of relief through your chest even though you still felt strange accepting it. “You don’t have to do that,” you murmured.

“I know,” she replied gently, squeezing your shoulder. “But I want to. Besides it’ll be like when we were little. Maybe I’ll braid your hair and you can tell me how badly you wanted to french Josh from year twelve.”

A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “I hate you… but okay.”

A few minutes later Dennis emerged from the bedroom tying his shoes, glancing over at you with quiet concern lingering in his expression. “You sure you’re good here by yourself?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Trinity grabbed her jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder. “If you need anything, call me,” she said.

“I will.”

She hesitated for a moment, clearly debating something in her head, before leaning down and pulling you into another brief hug. It was quick but warm, the kind that made your chest ache in the best possible way. “You’re safe here,” she murmured softly. The same words she had said earlier.

Your throat tightened again. “Thank you.” A few minutes later the apartment door closed behind them with a quiet click, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room for the first time since the night before.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed sitting there after Trinity and Dennis left.

For a while you remained curled in the corner of the couch exactly the way they had left you, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor while the quiet of the apartment settled slowly around you. The silence felt different from the silence in your house with Jack. There it had always felt tense, like something ugly was just waiting beneath the surface for the smallest thing to set it off again. Here the quiet was soft. Calm. The kind that allowed your shoulders to slowly drop as the tension that had been holding your body rigid for hours finally began to loosen a little.

But the exhaustion sitting inside you was heavy.

You stayed there staring down at the floor for a long time.

At some point your mind drifted back to what Trinity had said before she left.

You found yourself glancing down the quiet hallway that led toward her bedroom. For a moment you didn’t move. Even though she had insisted, stepping into her room without her still felt strangely intrusive, like you were crossing some invisible boundary in their apartment even though you had known Trinity for your entire life.

But the couch beneath you felt uncomfortable now that the adrenaline had worn off.

And your body was so tired it almost hurt.

Eventually you let out a slow breath and pushed the blanket off your shoulders, swinging your feet down onto the floor. The apartment was still and quiet as you stood, the only sound the soft creak of the floor under your weight as you slowly walked down the hallway.

Trinity’s bedroom door was slightly open.

You paused there for a second, your hand resting lightly against the doorframe while you looked inside.

The room was simple and lived in, the bed slightly messy from when she got up earlier that morning, the comforter half folded back and the pillows pushed into a soft pile at the headboard. A faint scent of her shampoo and laundry detergent hung in the air, something clean and familiar that made your chest tighten a little.

You had spent nights in this room before.

Sleepovers when you and Jack were fighting.

Late nights when one of you needed someone to talk to.

But stepping inside now felt different.

Now you were here because your life had cracked open.

Because you had finally walked away from Jack.

You swallowed slightly and stepped into the room.

The floor felt cool beneath your bare feet as you crossed toward the bed, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you in a way that felt almost protective. You sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress first, like you needed to test the space before fully committing to it.

The bed dipped gently under your weight.

For a moment you just sat there staring down at your hands resting in your lap.

Then the exhaustion won.

You pulled the comforter back and climbed into the bed slowly, sliding beneath the blankets and curling onto your side almost immediately. The mattress felt softer than the couch had, the pillows warm where the sunlight coming through the window had touched them earlier.

You pulled the blanket Trinity had given you up around your shoulders again out of habit, even though you were already under the comforter, and tucked yourself into the bed like you were trying to disappear into it.

Your body relaxed almost instantly.

The quiet room.

The softness of the bed.

The safety of knowing Jack was nowhere near you.

All of it combined into something that finally allowed your muscles to let go.

Your eyes closed almost the moment your head touched the pillow.

You weren’t sure how long you slept.

It could have been an hour.

Maybe two.

Your sleep was deep and heavy, the kind that comes after emotional exhaustion when your mind finally shuts down because it has nothing left to give. The sunlight in the room shifted slowly while you slept, creeping further across the floor and climbing the edge of the bed where you lay curled beneath the blankets.

But eventually something pulled you back toward consciousness.

At first it was just a distant sound.

A faint buzzing.

Your brow furrowed slightly in your sleep as your body shifted deeper into the mattress, the noise tugging at the edges of your awareness.

The buzzing stopped.

Then started again.

Buzz.

Silence.

Buzz.

Your breathing changed slightly as your body began drifting upward from the heavy fog of sleep. The sound continued, persistent enough now that it finally dragged your mind fully awake.

Your eyes opened slowly.

The room was brighter now, warm sunlight spilling through the window and stretching across the bedspread.

The buzzing continued.

Confused, you pushed yourself up onto one elbow and looked around the room, your mind still thick with sleep as you tried to figure out where the sound was coming from.

Then you realized.

Your phone.

You’d left it in the living room.

The buzzing continued again from down the hallway, faint but unmistakable.

You pushed the blankets off and climbed out of Trinity’s bed slowly, your body still heavy and sluggish from sleep as you padded back down the hallway toward the living room.

The buzzing stopped for a second.

Then started again just as you reached the couch.

Your phone was lying on the coffee table exactly where you had left it earlier.

You picked it up.

The screen lit up in your hand.

And your stomach dropped.

Missed Call

Jack <3

Missed Call

Jack <3

Missed Call

Jack <3

Missed Call

Jack <3

Missed Call

Jack <3

Your phone vibrated again.

Jack <3 calling.

Your heart immediately started pounding harder in your chest as you stared down at the screen, the name glowing up at you like something dangerous.

The phone buzzed again in your hand.

And again.

Call after call.

Your phone was practically going insane.

Jack was awake.

And he knew you were gone.

You stood there in the middle of the living room for a long time after the phone finally stopped buzzing.

The silence that followed felt almost louder than the sound of the calls themselves. Your phone was still in your hand, the screen dark now, but your heart was beating so hard it felt like you could hear it echoing in the quiet apartment.

Jack’s name lingered in your mind like a bruise you kept accidentally pressing on. He’d called so many times in such a short span that it made your chest tighten in that familiar, anxious way your body had learned over the last year. The part of you that had been trained to respond immediately, to soothe the situation before it escalated into another argument, stirred instinctively. For a moment your thumb even hovered near the screen as if it might call him back before you could think better of it.

But you didn’t.

Instead you slowly lowered the phone and sat down on the couch again, the same spot you’d been sitting in earlier that morning when Trinity and Dennis left for work. The pillows were still pushed to the side, slightly twisted from when you had gotten up to move to Trinity’s room earlier.

The apartment felt different now that you were fully awake and completely alone inside it. Earlier the quiet had felt protective, like a shield that kept the chaos of the night before outside the walls. Now the silence felt larger. Wider. Like the world had suddenly opened up in front of you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Because now you were out.

The realization landed slowly in your chest as you stared down at your phone.

You had actually done it.

You left.

For months the idea had existed somewhere in the back of your mind like something theoretical, something you might do one day if things got bad enough. You had imagined it during quiet moments after arguments when Jack slammed doors or said something so cruel it stayed with you for days afterward. Sometimes you pictured packing a bag. One time you even wrote a letter that you’d planned to leave him when you left. Sometimes you pictured just walking out without anything at all. But those thoughts had always faded eventually because the next morning would come and things would be calmer and Jack would apologize or act like nothing had happened and somehow the days would keep moving forward.

But now you were here.

With your phone full of missed calls from the man you had lived with.

Your stomach twisted slightly.

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do now.

That part hadn’t really been planned.

Leaving had felt urgent and necessary in the moment, something your body had done almost instinctively after the argument broke something inside you. But now that the adrenaline had faded, you were left sitting in the quiet aftermath with an entire life suddenly stretched out in front of you that you hadn’t prepared for.

You shifted on the couch, your gaze moving around the room.

The small coffee table.

The half empty mug Trinity had left in the sink earlier.

The faint sunlight stretching across the living room floor.

Everything looked so normal.

And you had no idea what to do with yourself inside it.

For a while you just sat there holding your phone loosely in your hands while your thoughts moved slowly through possibilities. You could call someone. You could go somewhere. But each thought felt too big to actually act on right now. Your mind kept sliding off the future like it was too slippery to hold onto.

Eventually you did the only thing that felt manageable.

You opened your phone and texted Trinity.

think i’m going to call a therapists office

You stared at the message for a moment before hitting send, like even writing the words made the action feel more real than it had been a second ago.

A few minutes earlier you had been sitting on the couch scrolling quietly through your phone, not even entirely sure what you were looking for. At first you had typed things like “what to do after leaving toxic relationship” into the search bar without really thinking about it. The results were overwhelming. Articles and lists and advice from strangers that felt both helpful and completely impossible to process at the same time. But one thing kept appearing over and over again.

Talk to someone.

Find a therapist.

At first the idea made your stomach twist. You’d never actually gone to therapy before. But the more you sat there thinking about everything that had happened over the last year, the more the idea started to feel less intimidating and more like something practical. Something small you could do that wasn’t about Jack at all.

So you searched.

Local therapy offices.

Counselors near you.

Eventually you had found one that looked quiet and simple, a small practice only a few blocks away from the flower shop. Your hands had shaken slightly while you dialed the number earlier, your heart beating faster even though it was just a receptionist who answered.

You didn’t go into much detail.

You just asked if they were taking new patients.

They were.

They gave you an intake appointment later that week.

And now you were sitting on the couch staring at the confirmation email they sent afterward, feeling strangely proud of yourself for doing something so small.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

im proud of you

The message from trinity made your chest tighten a little, warmth spreading slowly through you in a way that felt unfamiliar after months of feeling like every decision you made had to be defended or explained. You typed another short message back before you could overthink it.

made an appointment

Three little dots appeared immediately as she started typing.

queen behavior

A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

For the first time all day the tightness in your chest loosened just a little.

The next few hours passed strangely.

Time moved both quickly and slowly at the same time while you stayed inside the apartment, drifting from one small task to another without any real plan. You made tea. You drank half of it before forgetting about the mug on the counter. You scrolled through your phone again, reading things about emotional recovery and boundaries and trauma bonding until the words started to blur together.

Every once in a while your phone buzzed again.

Jack <3 calling.

Jack <3 calling.

Jack <3 calling.

You didn’t answer any of them.

Each time the screen lit up your stomach twisted, but the longer the day went on the easier it became to let the calls ring out until they stopped.

Instead you started texting Trinity little updates like you were keeping a running list of small victories.

ate half a bagel

showered finally

Each one was short.

Simple.

But sending them made the day feel more structured somehow.

Like you were proving to yourself that time was still moving forward.

At some point Trinity stopped replying for a while.

You assumed she was busy with work.

You were sitting cross legged on the couch again scrolling through something on your phone when it buzzed suddenly.

A new notification appeared.

Dennis Whitaker added you to a group chat.

You blinked at the screen.

The chat title was simply:

and they were roommates

A message from Trinity appeared immediately underneath it.

dennis keeps asking me if you’re alive every ten minutes so now you both get updates

Dennis responded almost instantly.

she hasn’t been answering her phone i got worried

You stared at the messages for a second before typing slowly.

i’m alive

Dennis sent back a thumbs up.

followed by

good

Then another message from Trinity popped up.

did you eat anything besides half a bagel

You smiled faintly despite yourself.

working on it

Dennis responded again.

proud of you

Trinity added a heart.

You leaned back slightly against the couch cushions after that, staring down at the little conversation on your screen while a strange feeling settled quietly in your chest.

You still had no idea what your life looked like tomorrow.

You didn’t know what would happen when Jack finally stopped calling.

You didn’t know what you were going to do about the house or the shop or any of the complicated pieces of the life you had just walked away from.

But for the first time since last night, sitting there in Trinity and Dennis’s apartment with sunlight filling the room and your phone buzzing softly with messages from people who cared about you, the future didn’t feel quite as terrifying.

The emergency department was loud in the way it always was during shift change. The ambulance bay doors kept sliding open with mechanical sighs as paramedics wheeled stretchers inside. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee hung in the air. Nurses moved quickly between rooms while the day shift tried to finish their charting before the night shift fully took over.

Trinity sat at one of the central desks, her computer screen glowing faintly in front of her while she attempted to finish documenting the last few hours of her shift. Her fingers moved across the keyboard automatically, muscle memory guiding her through the routine process.

She’d been interrupted at least five times already.

First by a nurse asking for clarification on an order.

Then by Mel needing help tracking down a missing patient.

Then by a paramedic dropping off paperwork that needed to be signed immediately.

Each interruption pulled her focus away from the screen just long enough to irritate her before she forced herself back into the rhythm of charting again.

She was halfway through typing a note when the ambulance bay doors slid open again.

Jack walked in.

Trinity didn’t even realize she was staring until several seconds had passed.

He looked terrible. Tired.

Not the kind of tired that came from a rough shift. Not the normal exhaustion that every ER doctor carried after working twelve hours in chaos.

This was different.

His face looked drawn and hollow, dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes like bruises that had been there for weeks. His jaw was tight, the muscles flexing slightly as he walked, and there was a constant tension in his shoulders that made it look like he had forgotten how to relax his body entirely.

He moved through the department with the heavy uneven rhythm Trinity recognized instantly from working beside him. Prosthetic leg striking the floor with a quiet mechanical thud followed by the softer step of his other foot.

But something about his posture was different now.

Angrier.

More rigid.

The expression on his face looked permanently locked somewhere between frustration and exhaustion.

For a brief moment Trinity felt a flicker of something that almost resembled sympathy.

Then she remembered the look on your face when she picked you up.

The way your voice shook when you asked if she could come get you.

And the sympathy disappeared.

“You see Dr. Abbot?”

Dennis’s voice came from behind her so suddenly that she nearly jumped out of her chair.

“Jesus, Huckleberry,” she breathed out, pressing a hand against her chest as she turned to glare at him. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Dennis leaned casually against the desk beside her, sipping from a paper cup of coffee.

His eyes flicked across the room toward Jack.

“So that’s a yes.”

Trinity followed his gaze again.

Jack was speaking with one of the triage nurses, his voice low but sharp enough that the nurse looked slightly nervous as she nodded quickly.

“Yeah,” Trinity said quietly after a moment. “He looks like shit.”

Dennis hummed thoughtfully.

Trinity scoffed under her breath.

“It’s what he deserves.”

Before Dennis could respond, the group gathering at central suddenly grew larger.

Robby approached with a tablet in his hands, clearly in the middle of giving the night shift the report. Mel and Samira trailed behind him, both looking equally exhausted after their shift.

Langdon appeared next, his usual easy grin already spreading across his face the moment he saw everyone gathered together.

“Hey, since we’re all here,” he said casually, leaning against the counter, “we should figure out when the next poker night is.”

Samira groaned softly.

“God.”

Langdon ignored her.

“Winner hosts, right? Who won last time?”

“Dennis,” Mel and Samira said simultaneously.

Trinity’s fingers tightened instinctively around the edge of the desk.

“Oh,” she said quickly. “Actually maybe we skip that rule this time.”

Several heads turned toward her.

She forced a smile.

“Maybe we do it at Robby’s instead?”

Langdon raised his eyebrows slowly, amusement flickering across his expression.

“What are you hiding, Santos?”

Trinity felt Jack’s eyes on her then.

Her brain scrambled for an answer.

Thankfully Dennis spoke before she could.

“It’s my fault actually,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with exaggerated awkwardness. “One of my brothers is visiting.”

The group looked at him.

“He’s uh,” Dennis continued, clearing his throat. “Sleeping on our couch right now and the apartment is kind of a mess. Plus he’d be there which you guys really don’t want. Trust me.”

He gave a half hearted laugh.

“My brother is… a lot.”

Dennis completely missed the look that crossed Robby’s face.

A small frown.

A flicker of confusion.

Robby had known Dennis for awhile.

Long enough to know exactly how many siblings he had and where they lived.

And long enough to be informed when one was visiting.

“Yes,” Trinity jumped in immediately, clapping her hands together once. “His brother is a mess.”

She leaned forward dramatically.

“Brought a dog with him too. Apparently farm life never taught him how to function in an apartment. Huckleberry was exactly the same way when he first moved in. Remember how you tried to keep chickens on the balcony?”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I think they got the point,” Dennis muttered, scowling at her.

“Yeah,” Robby said slowly, clearly deciding not to push the subject further. “No problem. We can do it at my place.”

Langdon nodded.

“Works for me.”

The group gradually began to disperse again, drifting back toward their respective duties as the shift transition continued.

Trinity stood up from her chair and stretched her arms over her head, preparing to finally escape to the locker room and go home.

She had barely taken two steps when she heard his voice behind her.

“Dr. Santos.”

She turned slowly.

Jack was standing a few feet away.

Up close he looked even worse.

His eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them pale and tight. There was a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw that suggested he had not bothered shaving that morning.

“Yeah?” she said evenly.

Jack glanced around briefly to make sure no one else was close enough to hear.

Then he stepped closer.

“Where is she?”

The question came out quiet but sharp, each word precise.

Trinity felt something in her spine straighten automatically.

“I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” she said with a thin, polite smile.

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly.

They stared at each other for several seconds.

Then Trinity’s smile disappeared as she took a step forward.

“But if I did know who you were talking about,” she continued calmly, her voice dropping just enough that only he could hear it, “I’d say it’s in your best interest to stay the hell away from her.”

Jack’s jaw flexed.

“And her store,” Trinity added.

She took a small step back.

“For the foreseeable future.”

His eyes darkened.

“Unless,” she said lightly, already turning away, “you want me to report your behavior to the medical board.”

Jack’s expression froze.

Trinity glanced back over her shoulder once.

“I’m sure they’d be thrilled to know what you’re like behind closed doors.”

Then she walked away without waiting for his response.

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“It’s gotta be big,” Cath tells Andrew with her arms crossed over her chest.

Renn nods and agrees, “Huge. Like at a Padres game or something.”

Andrew's nose wrinkles and he shakes his head. “But she hates sports. And crowds. And being the center of attention in general.”

Andrew’s still turning the ring over in his hands, eyebrows pinched together, brain short-circuiting as he tries to parse the opinions of the council of women who gathered around him as soon as he mentioned wanting to propose.

Smurf huffs from the kitchen, “I don’t see why you’d marry someone who wouldn’t want a big flashy proposal; you need a woman who can-”

“Smurf,” Andrew says flatly, “I don’t like attention, either, and I absolutely hate the idea of a proposal at-” he practically shudders “-a baseball game. I know how stupid it sounds, but she's my other half.” Then he turns to his niece, who seems to be taking the whole thing the most seriously and, in his experience, is usually right. “Lena, what do you think?”

“Well,” she starts with an intense look on her sweet features, “she likes gardening and swimming and crafts and cooking. I think you should make her something. With glitter.” Then an idea dawns like a lightbulb over her head and she stands up, yanking her uncle’s hand. “I’ll help! Then she’ll say yes for sure.”

Andrew softens. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard so far.”

Four whole agonizing weeks later, it’s just the two of you on the back deck of the Cody house. Smurf and the boys are on a trip somewhere cold, so the pool is all yours as summer winds down. It’s been a glorious afternoon of swimming and fucking and laughing.

Now, you’re between Andrew’s legs on one of the oversized loungers, leaning your head back on his chest. His arms are wrapped around you and, every once in a while, his hands lazily caress your hips and arms and stomach through your sheer coverup. It’s quiet and perfectly peaceful, a cozy lull in the waning sunlight before he takes you out to dinner and a show for your weekly date night.

Andrew nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your cheek, and murmurs, “I want you to marry me.”

You flip around, sunglasses nearly flinging off your face. “What?”

Flirting with a smirk, Andrew repeats, “Marry me.”

“Is- is this a proposal?”

“Wait a second.”

While your head spins, Andrew stands up from behind you and slips through the sliding door to his bedroom. It’s not like you’ve never talked about getting married – you live together and you want a family with him, after all – but you’d figured his proposal would be some huge bash thrown together by Cath and Renn and Smurf, not a quiet moment between just the two of you.

But Andrew returns with a ring box. He doesn’t drop to one knee; he sits on the edge of the lounger and faces you. The little wooden box has clearly been decorated by Lena with glitter glue in your favorite colors and hearts painted around its perimeter.

Andrew pops the box open and says simply, “Now it’s a proposal.”

You have to clean your jaw up from the floor. The marquise-cut diamond has to be at least three carats, maybe four, absolutely brilliantly bright as it flings the early sunset’s colors around the charming box. It’s sitting in a subtle setting that really lets the stone sing. The band is delicate and floral, with other smaller diamonds like leaves branching off. It definitely screams ‘expensive,’ but it’s not gaudy. It’s unique and fun and personal.

Before you can manage to speak, to give him the obvious answer, Andrew nervously rattles off, “It’s, ah, it’s an ethically sourced diamond. I thought you’d like that. And I thought the pointy-ness was kind of badass, like you. Then with the leaves and everything it’s, um, it’s sort of all the different parts of you. That’s what I was thinking.”

“Oh, Andrew, this is…” The words die in your throat as you watch the ring catch the orange evening glow, imagining getting to wear it every day. “Jesus Christ.”

With a laugh, Andrew takes the ring from the box and toys with it in his fingers. “I was kinda hoping for a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, angel.”

“Got distracted by this iceberg,” you tease lightly. Then you rip your eyes from the ring and train them on Andrew. On the way the sun is kissing his freckles and the way he’s looking at you like he actually doubts whether or not you’re going to say yes. “You’re really sure you want a wife and not a girlfriend? You want someone to make you take your vitamins and buy you clothes that aren’t black and insist you come home in time for our daughter’s ballet recital?”

“I don’t just want a wife.” He takes your hand in his and holds the ring at the end of your finger, waiting expectantly. “I want to be your husband. I want to mow the lawn on Saturday mornings and wake you up with sex and always sit in the middle seat on planes so you don’t have to and try really, really hard not to forget our wedding anniversary.”

Wiping a sudden tear from your cheek, you tell him in a wobbly, sincere, gentle voice, “You won’t forget our wedding anniversary. You don’t forget things.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Of course it is.”

As he slides it onto your finger, a perfect fit, Andrew makes sure, “So you like the ring?”

“It’s perfect.” You admire it breathlessly, trying to process how something so beautiful could sit on your skin. “Literally, completely, totally perfect. How did you know what I’d like?”

He shrugs modestly. “I took pictures of all your favorite jewelry and clothes and showed the designer.”

“Smart. Sneaky.” With a proud smile, you ask, “You didn’t get this on a job?”

“No, I knew you wouldn’t be happy with that.” He explains, “A lady at the shop designed it for me; I don’t exactly have an eye for this stuff.”

“What shop?”

“Cath gave me the address. Carter or something, I think?”

You swallow hard. “Cartier?”

“That’s the one.”

You pause for a beat. Despite what he says, Andrew knows plenty about jewelry from stealing so much of it through the years. He knows what designers are expensive. He’s trying to be modest. But, for once, you don’t want him to be, so you probe, “Be honest: How much did it cost?”

Andrew sets the box on the nearby side table and takes your hand in his, looking down like he can’t believe this is real. That you’re actually his and there's concrete proof of the fact. “Am I supposed to tell you? Or is that some fiancé taboo I don’t know about?”

You lean forward to kiss him and giggle, “If I’m going to brag about it to everyone I’ve ever met and ever will meet, I should know how much it was.”

“I don’t remember exactly,” he replies honestly. You know that means it has to be bad. “Sixty or so? I told her there wasn’t really a budget, but I couldn’t swing a hundred unless I had a few months; we have that job in-”

You cut him off with a hand to the middle of his chest. “Sixty…thousand dollars? American dollars?”

He blinks a few times. “Is that…not okay?”

You laugh and shake your head at how Andrew he’s being about all of this. “That’s just a lot of money to be wearing around on my finger all the time.”

He brings your fingers up to his lips, kissing each knuckle soft and slow. His hazel eyes meet yours and he reaches up to cup your cheek in his large hand.“ They don’t make a ring expensive enough to show how much you’re worth to me.”

With tears on your cheeks, you kiss him hard and reply, “When did you get so sappy?”

Andrew stands and guides you to your feet to join him. Leading you toward his bedroom with a cocky smile, he says, “Well, a gorgeous girl showed up on my doorstep with cookies a while back. I’ve been screwed ever since.”