all my loves

He spends Wednesday night in the hockey-house kitchen complaining that she’s been suspiciously affectionate since the weekend, as though her sitting sideways across his lap is evidence of organised crime. He pulls her closer each time she tries to stand, mouth finding the side of her neck while Dean watches from across the island with the hollow expression of a man being punished for sins committed in a previous life.

“What’re you hiding?” Garrett murmurs against her skin.

“Nothing.”

“You said that too fast.”

“You ask stupid questions.”

His hand slides under the back of her sweatshirt, warm palm settling over the curve of her waist less than an inch above the tattoo. She goes still for one sharp second, then catches his wrist and drags his hand around to her stomach before his fingers can wander lower.

Garrett narrows his eyes. She kisses him before the investigation can advance.

By Friday, the secret has begun to feel hot, because it’s his. A tiny private mark resting beneath her clothes while Garrett walks beside her across campus with one hand hooked through the strap of her bag, completely unaware that forty-four is inked into her skin. 

He complains about practice. She complains about an exam question that used the phrase most appropriate intervention despite three answers being clinically reasonable. His thumb finds the bare strip of her wrist where her sleeve has ridden up. All the while, his number is sitting just above the waistband of her jeans.

The thought stays with her when he arrives at her dorm that night.

Her roommate has gone to visit her parents for the weekend, and Garrett appears just after nine in grey sweats and a black hoodie and cheeks pink from the cold. He has a backpack over one shoulder, though she doubts it contains a single item remotely connected to studying. The last time he brought a textbook to her room, it remained unopened beneath her desk for three days while Garrett insisted proximity counted as academic effort.

“Hi, baby,” he says when she opens the door.

She barely gets the lock turned before his hands are on her. It begins with one kiss, which is how most of their poor decisions begin now. Garrett catches her waist and pulls her into him with the deep, satisfied exhale of someone who’s spent the whole walk across campus anticipating exactly this. 

His mouth is cold from outside and warm beneath it, lips moving over hers slowly while she hooks both hands into the front of his hoodie and walks him backward toward the bed.

“You missed me,” he murmurs.

“I saw you this morning.”

“Exactly.”

“You slept in my bed.”

He shakes his head. “Not long enough.”

The backs of his knees hit the mattress. Garrett sits and draws her down with him before she can pretend she intended anything else, her legs opening around his hips as she settles over his lap.

The first press of him beneath her is enough to strip whatever remained of the evening’s patience. He’s already half hard through the soft fabric of his sweats, heat and shape caught between them when she rolls her hips forward. 

Garrett’s head tips back slightly. The smile that moves across his mouth is slow and knowing, his hands spreading over her hips beneath the oversized hoodie she’s stolen from him so many times it’s practically transferred ownership.

“There she is,” he murmurs.

She catches his curls at the back of his head and brings his mouth to hers before he can become any more pleased with himself. The kiss turns wet and deep almost immediately, Garrett’s tongue sliding over hers while she grinds down again, a little harder, friction catching warm between her thighs through the thin cotton of her sleep shorts and underwear.

He groans against her mouth. His fingers tighten. “Fuck, baby.”

Her hoodie is too warm suddenly. The dorm room is too small, too dim, the little lamp beside her bed throwing everything into soft amber while rain ticks faintly against the window. Garrett’s shoulders fill the space beneath her hands. His thighs flex under hers every time she moves, and she can feel him becoming fully hard beneath her, thick and insistent and still separated from her by several deeply unnecessary layers of clothing.

He kisses across the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, down the side of her neck with the greedy familiarity of someone returning to a favourite argument. His teeth scrape lightly beneath her ear. 

She inhales and tightens her fingers in his hair. “Garrett.”

“Mm?”

“That feels good,” she breathes.

“I know.” His mouth drags lower. “You’re humping me like you’re trying to start a fire.”

She rolls her hips again because Garrett’s smugness has always been more effective encouragement than he understands. His hands guide the movement, pulling her forward over the hard line of him and then back, slower on the return so the pressure catches exactly where her body has already become embarrassingly sensitive.

Her next breath breaks against his cheek. Garrett smiles into her throat. “Yeah?”

“Don’t.”

“Wasn’t saying anything.”

She tugs hard enough on his curls to lift his mouth back to hers. Garrett laughs into the kiss, low and rough, then grips her beneath the thighs and stands. The movement steals a startled sound from her. Her legs tighten around his waist on instinct, arms locking behind his neck while Garrett takes one step, turns and lowers her onto the mattress. The bed gives beneath their combined weight, springs creaking a small complaint that neither of them acknowledges.

He comes down over her immediately. Their mouths meet badly at first, teeth knocking, her laugh caught between them while Garrett braces one hand beside her head and uses the other to drag her higher beneath him. Then the angle settles and everything goes hot again. His body fits heavily between her thighs, hips pressing down until she can feel the full hard length of him through his sweats.

She arches into it. Garrett’s breath catches. “Jesus.”

His hoodie becomes an obstacle. He sits back just long enough to grab the hem and strip it over his head, hair coming up with it in a dark, disordered mess. The shirt underneath follows, both pieces dropped somewhere near the foot of the bed while she pushes herself onto her elbows to watch.

Garrett catches her looking. His grin flashes. “See something you like?”

“Not especially,” she grins.

“Liar.”

He climbs back over her before she can improve the insult, one hand sliding beneath her hoodie and over her stomach. His palm is hot against her skin, callused fingers spreading over her ribs while he kisses her again and starts working the fabric upward.

She lifts her arms. The hoodie catches briefly around one wrist. Garrett frees it with a sharp tug and tosses it toward the chair, where it lands halfway over a clean pile of scrubs.

The air moves cool over her bare stomach and the little green lace bra she chose that morning with absolutely no ulterior motive. Garrett stills above her. His gaze drops. His eyes travel slowly over the lace, the soft rise of her breasts above the cups, the way her nipples have tightened beneath the fabric from cold air and attention.

“Fuck,” he says.

Her face warms. “You’ve seen this bra.”

“Don’t remember.”

She tilts her head. “You took it off with your teeth.”

“Must’ve been distracted.”

He bends before she can answer, mouth closing over one breast through the lace. Her head drops back. The thin fabric turns damp and warm under his tongue as he mouths her through it, one hand slipping beneath the other breast to lift it while his thumb presses over the sensitive peak. He sucks harder. Pleasure catches bright and immediate low in her stomach, dragging a helpless sound from her throat.

Garrett hums against her, he likes this part too much. Seeing the change in her breathing. Feeling her thighs shift more restlessly around his hips. Learning which pressure makes her voice climb and then repeating it with the focused persistence he brings to anything he has decided matters.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, mouth moving across the centre of her chest. “Know what you looked like all week?”

She swallows. “What?”

“Like you were thinking about me.”

“I was doing other things.”

“Mm.” He slips one finger beneath the edge of the bra and drags it slowly along the skin there. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”

His mouth finds the other breast. One hand reaches behind her, and the clasp opens with the efficient little flick he’s far too proud of having mastered. Garrett pulls the straps down her arms, drops the bra beside them and immediately puts his mouth back on her.

His lips closing around one nipple while his hand covers the other, squeezing and rolling it between two fingers until her whole body pulls tight beneath him. She grabs at his curls. “Oh, fuck.”

Garrett looks up at her without lifting his mouth, dark eyes warm and wicked beneath the hair falling over his forehead. He gives one slow suck, then releases her with a wet little sound. “Sensitive tonight.”

“It’s been days,” she whines.

“Four.”

“That’s days.”

“My poor baby.” His voice drops into false sympathy while his thumb circles the damp nipple he has left behind. “Been walking around all needy because her boyfriend had practice?”

“I’ve had exams.”

“Those are over.”

“Exactly.”

His grin presses against the skin beneath her breast. “So now you’re mine.”

The words send a hot, liquid pull through the centre of her body.

Garrett feels the way she shifts against him. His hand slides down her stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. “These off?”

She lifts her hips. He drags the shorts and underwear down together, impatient once they catch around her thighs, his mouth following the movement over her stomach and hip. The clothing disappears over one ankle and lands somewhere beyond the bed.

Garrett spreads her knees. The air touches her first. Then his eyes, and his face changes.

There’s something shamelessly gratifying about Garrett looking at her like this, the same boy who can stand beneath arena lights in front of thousands of people without blinking now visibly losing the thread of his own breathing because she is naked on a dorm bed. He presses one palm against the inside of her thigh and opens her wider. “Baby.”

She covers her face with one arm. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Make what weird?” His thumb skims along the crease where her thigh meets her body, close enough that her hips lift toward it. “How wet you are?”

Her entire face heats behind her arm.

Garrett laughs softly, then kisses the inside of her knee. “That’s not weird. That’s hot.”

“Garrett.”

“Been like this since I got here?”

She lowers her arm just enough to glare at him.

His mouth curves. “Longer?”

“Come here,” she groans.

“I am here.”

“Higher.”

“No.” He presses another kiss farther up her thigh, then another, slow enough to make every inch between his mouth and where she needs it feel deliberate. “Like it down here.”

She knows that. Everyone in a three-mile radius may know that.

Garrett Graham treats getting his mouth between her thighs less like foreplay and more like a personal calling. He’s arrived late to parties because he refused to stop. He’s missed the beginning of a movie, let Tucker’s dinner go cold and once remained there long enough that she had to pull him up by the hair and remind him she possessed other body parts.

Now he settles onto his stomach like this is where he intended to spend the evening, one arm hooking firmly around her thigh while the other hand spreads her open.

His first lick is slow. It moves from low to high with the flat of his tongue, collecting the wetness already gathered there before pressing deliberately over her clit. Her hips lift from the mattress. Garrett keeps her there with his forearm and does it again.

“Fuck,” she breathes.

His mouth closes over her. There’s nothing tentative about the way Garrett eats her out. He licks like he’s hungry and has never been embarrassed by appetite, tongue circling and flattening and flicking until her legs are tense around his shoulders and the fitted sheet has begun to twist beneath her hands. He kisses her between strokes, wet open-mouthed presses that feel obscene in the quiet room, then drags his tongue lower and pushes it inside her.

Her breath punches out. Garrett groans into her. The sound vibrates through her body, low and rough, while he fucks his tongue into her with one hand still holding her open. She reaches down blindly, finds his curls and pulls, to keep him exactly there.

He understands. His fingers tighten around her thigh. “Missed this,” he murmurs against her, the words broken by another slow lick.

“You saw me yesterday.”

“Didn’t do this yesterday.”

His mouth closes over her clit again before she can argue, sucking with enough pressure to make her legs jump. She gasps his name. Garrett answers by pressing two fingers against her entrance.

He pushes one in first, slow only because her body is already clenching around the intrusion. The second follows quickly, stretching her with the familiar pressure that makes her thighs fall wider even as the rest of her pulls tight.

His fingers curl. Pleasure strikes deep and sharp, the angle exact enough that her back arches from the mattress.

“There,” Garrett murmurs.

She makes a sound that has no language left in it. His fingers begin moving properly, pumping into her while his mouth stays fixed on her clit, the rhythm deliberately uneven at first as he listens to her breathing and watches the twitch of her stomach. Then he finds it. The pace that makes her hips start chasing him, makes her fingers clench in his hair and her other hand grab uselessly at the pillow beside her head.

The room has narrowed to wet heat, the sound of Garrett’s mouth and the steady drag of his fingers and rain brushing softly at the window like the whole campus has agreed to look away.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers. “Baby, I’m–”

Garrett moans against her, his fingers curling harder. He knows. The fact that he knows makes it worse. She comes with her thighs clamping around his head and his name breaking high out of her throat. Pleasure rolls through her in hard, pulsing waves, stomach tightening beneath the drag of his forearm while Garrett keeps licking her through it, slower only when her body begins jerking away from the sensitivity.

By the time he lifts his mouth, she’s breathing like she’s run somewhere.

Garrett wipes the lower half of his face against the inside of her thigh with no dignity whatsoever and starts kissing his way back up her body. Her skin feels loose and over-warm beneath him, every place his mouth touches sparking faintly in the aftermath.

He kisses her stomach, between her breasts, the base of her throat. Then he comes over her and catches her mouth.

She tastes herself immediately. Garrett doesn’t ease her into it, tongue sliding between her lips while one hand wraps around the side of her neck, thumb resting beneath her jaw and fingers spread gently along her pulse.

The hold is firm without pressure. Familiar. Enough to keep her face angled exactly where he wants it while he kisses her slow and filthy, swallowing the little post-orgasm sound she makes when his hips settle between her thighs again.

He pulls back by half an inch. “Hi,” he murmurs.

Her mouth curves before she can stop it. Her body is still humming, muscles heavy against the mattress. “Hi.”

Garrett kisses her once more, quick this time, then brushes his nose over hers. “Roll over.”

His eyes are dark, cheeks flushed and mouth still wet from her. Whatever version of Garrett arrived smiling at her door has disappeared beneath something rougher and hungrier, the easy confidence sharpened now that he has her naked and loose beneath him.

She turns. The movement exposes the tattoo before she remembers it exists.

For the last twenty minutes, she’s been too occupied by Garrett’s mouth to think about anything except Garrett’s mouth. Now she settles onto her stomach, forearms folding near the headboard while the cool air brushes over her back.

Behind her, the mattress shifts. Garrett stands long enough to shove his sweats and boxers down, fabric dragging over his thighs before landing somewhere near the edge of the bed. 

Then his hand slides over the back of her thigh. He lifts one knee onto the mattress, catches the pillow near her head and says, “Up a little, baby.”

She raises her hips obediently. Garrett tucks the pillow beneath them, adjusts her with both hands and goes completely still. Every muscle in her body remembers at once.

Her eyes widen into the pillow. “Baby–”

Garrett’s hands close over her hips before she can turn. Firm enough that the message is immediate. Stay.

She swallows. The room is silent behind her.

Garrett’s thumbs rest on either side of her lower back, just beneath the small square of skin where the tattoo sits. She can feel him looking at it. The attention is almost physical, a line of heat dragging across the freshly settled numbers.

“Fuuuck,” he says eventually.

The word leaves him slowly, low enough to move through the mattress. She tries to glance back over one shoulder. His grip stops her from twisting too far.

“Is that real?”

The disbelief in his voice makes her want to laugh, though her stomach has gone tight beneath the pillow. “Mhm.”

“Is that…” He trails off. His thumb moves closer, hovering beside the tattoo without touching the healing skin. “That’s forty-four.”

She presses her face into her forearm. “Yeah.”

“When?”

“The other night.”

“What other night?”

“The girls’ night.” She bites her lip. “When we went out to the bar.”

Garrett says nothing. The silence stretches long enough that the heat in her body begins rearranging itself around nerves. She had imagined Garrett shocked. She had imagined him smug, turned on, maybe insufferable enough that she would have to threaten to remove his number with a vegetable peeler.

She hadn’t imagined silence.

She pushes herself onto one elbow. “Baby, are you… are you mad?”

“Mad?” His hands tighten and release against her hips. “I mean– shit. It’s…” He breathes out hard through his nose. “Baby, that’s a tattoo.”

“Yes.”

“That shit’s permanent.”

“I know how tattoos work,” she breathes.

“I’m just saying.” He sounds dazed. “You put my number on you.”

She turns her face enough that she can see part of him over her shoulder: broad chest, flushed skin, curls fallen over his forehead, eyes fixed helplessly on the tiny forty-four as though it's altered the known structure of the universe.

“Well,” she says, and the laugh caught in her voice makes it softer than she intended. “I love you.”

Garrett’s gaze lifts to her face.

She shrugs carefully beneath his hands. “And I think it’s hot.”

His mouth opens. Closes. Then his hand slides over her ass. The touch is slow, almost absent at first, his palm following the curve of one cheek while he continues staring at the tattoo. His thumb presses into the soft flesh. His fingers spread wider.

“Hot,” he repeats.

“Mhm.”

“You think this is hot.”

“I did when I got it,” she nods.

Garrett bends. His mouth lands on the curve of her ass, one open kiss followed by another. She gasps softly when his teeth catch the lower edge of one cheek, biting just enough to sting before his tongue smooths over the mark.

“Garrett.”

He kisses higher, across the small of her back, careful when he reaches the tattoo. His mouth stops just beneath it, breath warm over the healing skin without touching.

“No liquids on this yet, right?” he asks, voice rough.

A giggle slips out of her before she can stop it. “Not yet.”

Garrett closes his eyes. She feels the exhale against her lower back. “Fuck.”

His hands move suddenly. One catches beneath her hip and pulls her higher over the pillow. The other spreads firmly between her shoulder blades, pressing her chest down as Garrett shifts closer behind her.

She feels the blunt heat of him at her entrance. “Baby–”

He pushes in. The first thrust is controlled only in the technical sense that Garrett doesn’t injure either of them. He fills her in one hard, steady drive, stretching her around him so quickly that her mouth falls open and the sound tears out before she can soften it.

“Oh, fuck, Garrett.” His fingers dig into her hip. “Holy shit.”

He withdraws nearly to the tip and drives back into her. The force sends her forward against the pillow, breasts dragging over the sheets while pleasure catches deep and hot through her body. She reaches blindly for the headboard. Garrett catches her other hip and sets a rhythm before she has finished taking the second breath.

Hard. Fast. No adjustment period because her body is already wet and open from his mouth, already clenching around him with every rough stroke. The bed knocks softly against the wall. Her dorm mattress squeaks beneath them with increasing distress.

Garrett’s breathing turns ragged behind her. “This is…” Another thrust drives the sentence out of him. “Shit. This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

She whimpers into the pillow. His palm comes down against the side of her ass – a sharp, hot smack that makes her body jerk and tighten around him.

Garrett groans. “Fuck, baby.”

Her hands lose their grip on the headboard. One slips back toward him, finding nothing but his thigh for half a second before Garrett catches her wrist and pins it against the centre of her back. The position lifts her shoulder slightly and arches her deeper over the pillow. Garrett looks down at the curve of her ass. His cock disappearing into her. His number sitting neat and dark above all of it.

Something in him breaks. He fucks her harder. There’s no uncertainty left in the movement now. Garrett’s hips slam against her with enough force that the bed shifts beneath them, one hand holding her wrist while the other grips her hip and drags her back to meet every thrust. 

The room fills with the wet slap of their bodies, her broken moans and the low, filthy things Garrett keeps saying every time the sight of the tattoo seems to hit him again.

“My fucking number.” She nods into the pillow, though he cannot see it. “On this ass.” His hand tightens around her hip. “Jesus Christ. You’re insane.”

The laugh that tries to leave her turns into a cry when he changes the angle, lifting her slightly higher and driving in deeper. “Oh God!”

“That it?” Garrett’s voice is rough and breathless now, all the usual smug control fraying at the edges. “Right there?”

“Yes.” She twists her pinned hand beneath his palm. “Baby, yes.”

He gives it to her again. Same angle, harder. Her whole body pulls tight. The pleasure is building too quickly, dragged out of the soft aftershocks of the first orgasm and sharpened by every deep stroke. Her thighs have begun to shake against the mattress, knees slipping wider while Garrett keeps her exactly where he wants her.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Pretty girl can’t even hold herself up.”

She presses her forehead harder into the pillow, voice breaking. “You’re fucking me too hard.”

“You want me to stop?”

She shakes her head so fast her cheek drags against the pillowcase. 

Garrett’s hand leaves her wrist only so he can reach around and catch her jaw, turning her face enough that he can see it over her shoulder. “Use your words.”

“Don’t stop.” Her eyes meet his badly from the angle, vision already blurred at the edges. “Please, baby. Fuck me.”

His expression goes wrecked. “Good girl.”

He pushes her hand back to the mattress and drives into her hard enough that the next sound comes out of her as a sob. The orgasm hits before she has time to announce it. Her body clamps around him, hard pulsing contractions that make Garrett swear and lose the rhythm for one brutal second. Then he keeps going, fucking her through it while her legs tremble and her fingers claw at the sheets.

“Garrett,” she cries.

“I know.” His hand spreads over the side of her ass, holding her open. “I know, baby. Give it to me.”

She comes apart around him, hips jerking beneath his grip. Pleasure rolls through her so hard that her ears ring faintly, body suspended in the bright, breathless place where everything hurts in exactly the right way.

Garrett doesn’t stop. He slows for perhaps two strokes, just enough to let her breathe, then pulls her hips higher again.

“Baby,” she gasps, oversensitive and loose beneath him.

His palm slides gently along her spine, avoiding the tattoo, while his hips continue moving. “You good?”

“Yes.”

“Still want me?”

“Yes,” she breathes, the answer comes without hesitation.

Garrett bends and kisses between her shoulder blades. “Then take it.”

His pace builds again. The third climb is different. Messier. Her body is already shaken open, every nerve sparking too close to the surface while Garrett keeps driving into her with the relentless focus of somebody who has discovered a new reason to lose his mind and intends to study it thoroughly.

He reaches beneath her, a two fingers find her clit. She squeals.

Garrett laughs once, breathless and filthy against her shoulder. “There she is.”

“I can’t,” she whines.

“Yeah, you can.”

His fingers circle faster while his hips maintain the same punishing rhythm. She tries to close her legs, but Garrett’s knees are between hers, keeping her open. The pressure builds with nowhere to go, every thrust feeding it higher while his number burns invisibly at the base of her spine under his fixed attention.

“My girl,” Garrett says. “Look so fucking good with my number on you.”

She nods helplessly.

“Whose good girl, huh?”

Her mouth opens. Nothing useful comes out. Garrett’s fingers slow. The loss is immediate. She whines and pushes back against him.

He catches her hip. “Asked you something.”

“I am,” she gasps.

“Yeah?”

“I’m your good girl.”

The words hit him like contact. Garrett groans and drives into her, his fingers returning to the exact pressure she needs. “That’s right.”

Her third orgasm catches at the edge for one impossible second, body stretched between too much and not enough. Then Garrett’s thumb presses harder.

She comes with a sharp little cry that turns into a squeal halfway through, legs shaking so violently the mattress trembles beneath her. Her arms give out completely. Garrett catches her by the waist before she collapses awkwardly, holding her up while he keeps moving through the contractions with short, desperate strokes.

“Fuck.” His forehead drops between her shoulder blades. “Fuck, baby.”

She’s barely inside her own body now. Everything feels warm, loose and distant, Garrett’s hands the only clear edges left. He slows. His breathing is rough against her skin. His cock is still hard inside her, every small movement enough to make her twitch.

She swallows, trying to rebuild language. “Lemme…”

Garrett stills. “What?”

She turns her head toward him, cheek against the sheet. “Want you to finish… in my mouth.”

The words come soft and dazed. She tries to roll. Her body responds in pieces, thighs trembling beneath her and arms gone soft enough that Garrett takes over almost immediately, pulling out with a low, wrecked groan before catching her hip and turning her carefully onto her back. 

He snatches the pillow away before it can drag across the tender skin at her lower spine, tosses it somewhere toward the wall and hooks both hands beneath her arms to draw her upright.

For a second, she only sits there between his knees, naked and thoroughly ruined, hair tangled around her flushed face and lips parted around breaths that still haven’t found a sensible rhythm. 

Her thighs keep giving tiny, involuntary tremors against his, the room blurred pleasantly at the edges while Garrett kneels in front of her with his chest heaving and his cock hard, wet and flushed between them.

He looks at her like she’s done something genuinely dangerous. The tattoo. His number sitting permanently above her ass, still hidden from this angle and branded into the centre of his brain now that he knows it exists.

His hand comes to her face, thumb dragging slowly over her swollen bottom lip. “Look at you.”

She turns her mouth into his palm and kisses it, then reaches for him. Garrett’s breath catches when her fingers wrap around his cock. He’s slick from her and from himself, hot and heavy against her palm, and the first slow stroke makes the muscle jump visibly beneath his stomach.

“Baby,” he groans.

She looks up at him through lashes still damp from everything he has already done to her. Her body feels boneless, loose and warm enough that even lifting her chin requires concentration, but wanting him is simple. Wanting to give something back after he has spent the last hour pulling pleasure out of her until she could barely remember her own name feels simpler still.

She loves him. Stupidly. Completely. Enough to put his number into her skin and kneel there afterward with her legs shaking, wanting to watch his face when she makes him lose whatever control he has left.

Garrett cups the back of her head. His fingers sink into the tangled hair there, holding without directing her, his thumb moving once near the base of her skull. “You don’t have to, baby.”

“I want to.” The answer comes quiet and a little hoarse.

Something in his face shifts. His jaw tightens, eyes dropping briefly to her mouth before finding hers again. “Yeah?”

She nods and leans forward. The first drag of her tongue along the underside of him tears a rough sound from Garrett’s chest. She feels it more than hears it, low and helpless above her while she kisses the tip, lips closing softly around him before taking him into her mouth.

Garrett’s head falls back. “Fuck.”

His hand tightens in her hair as she works him deeper, tongue flattened beneath the hot weight of him while her fingers curl around the base. She’s sloppy from exhaustion and want, mouth already wet, movements slower than they usually are because her whole body is still recovering from him. 

Garrett seems to like that more. The soft mess of it. The way she has to pause for breath with her lips still brushing him. The way she looks up at him like there’s nowhere else in the world she has any interest in being.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re so good to me.”

The praise moves warmly through her, settling somewhere lower than the soreness and higher than her ribs. She takes him again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing as her hand follows the rhythm her mouth sets. Garrett looks down, and his expression breaks open.

She can see the tattoo still living behind his eyes, the disbelief of it layered into every filthy, affected look he gives her. His girlfriend kneeling between his thighs with his cock in her mouth and his number newly inked above her ass. The thought appears to have stripped away the final useful part of his brain.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice catching when she swirls her tongue around the head. “You put my number on your fucking body and now you’re looking at me like that.”

She hums around him. Garrett’s stomach jerks. His hips push forward on instinct, not enough to take over, only enough to slide him deeper across her tongue. Her eyes water faintly. She keeps looking up at him through the blur, one hand braced against his thigh and the other stroking what she cannot fit.

His thumb brushes gently beneath one of her eyes, catching the dampness there. “So fucking pretty.”

Her thighs tighten beneath her. She takes him again, eager despite how tired she is, mouth moving wetly over him while Garrett praises every little thing she does as though he cannot stop the words now that they have started.

“Good girl. Just like that.” She sucks harder. “Fuck, baby, your mouth.” Her nails catch lightly against his thigh. “Love when you look at me.”

She does. She watches every part of it: the tension sharpening his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his curls cling slightly at his temples, the hard flex of his stomach each time she takes him deep enough to make his breathing fail.

Garrett’s fingers spread more securely over the back of her head. “You know how fucking crazy you make me?”

She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her hand continuing its slow movement over him. A thin line of saliva connects her bottom lip to the flushed head before breaking, and Garrett watches it disappear with an expression bordering on pain.

She kisses him there once. “How crazy?”

He gives a breathless laugh that contains no real humour. “You tattooed forty-four above your ass.”

“Mhm.”

“Then let me fuck you until your legs stopped working.”

She smiles, dazed and soft. “They still work.”

“Barely.”

His thumb passes over her cheek. She turns and kisses it, then takes him into her mouth again before he can say anything else. Garrett groans her name.

The sound makes her try harder, because she loves hearing him come apart for her. Loves that Garrett, who carries entire games on his shoulders and makes confidence look effortless, cannot hide a single thing when her mouth is on him. Every rough breath belongs to her. Every flex of his hand in her hair. Every broken piece of praise dragged out of him while she strokes and sucks and watches him lose control.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck, baby. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. Her hand slides lower, fingers tightening around the base as she takes him deeply enough that her throat works around him. Garrett’s hips jerk once. His free hand braces hard against the wall beside her bed, forearm flexing while he tries to hold himself still.

“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked.

She looks up at him and keeps moving. Garrett says her name again, rougher this time, but she only tightens her lips around him and strokes faster, wanting it. Wanting all of him. Wanting the moment his face finally loses every trace of control because of her.

His eyes drop to hers. That does it.

Garrett comes with a deep, broken groan, hips pushing forward once as his hand tightens helplessly in her hair. She takes him, swallowing around the first hot pulse while his whole body shudders above her.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Fuck– such a good fucking girl.”

The praise turns even rougher as she keeps her mouth around him through every pulse, swallowing everything he gives her while his fingers stroke shakily through her hair. She doesn’t pull away until he has gone sensitive, easing him gently from between her lips before pressing one last kiss to the tip.

For several seconds, neither of them speaks. Garrett stands over her panting, one hand still cradling the back of her head while she kneels between his thighs with flushed cheeks, wet lips and the loose, pleased smile of someone who has been fucked far too thoroughly to experience shame.

His eyes move over her face. Then past her shoulder, toward the lower half of her body as though he can somehow see through her.

“Fuck,” he says again, apparently the only word left available to him. “Roll over. I need to see it again.”

She starts laughing. “Garrett.”

“Please.”

“You’ve seen it.”

“Not enough.”

Her legs are not especially reliable, so Garrett handles most of the repositioning. He lowers her carefully onto her stomach, makes sure the sheet beneath her is smooth and then shifts down the bed until his face is level with her lower back.

He doesn’t touch the tattoo itself. He only rests one hand across the top of her ass and stares at the little forty-four with the solemn concentration of somebody studying an artefact behind museum glass.

She folds her arms beneath her head. “You’re being weird,” she mumbles.

“I’m having a moment.”

“You’ve been having a moment for, like, an hour.”

“Yeah, because my girlfriend got my number tattooed above her ass.”

“Lower back.”

Garrett looks up. “Baby.”

She presses her smile into her forearm.

His thumb strokes the skin beside the tattoo. “You really did this.”

“I really did.”

“For me,” he murmurs.

He kisses one cheek, then the other, his mouth soft now, all the feral heat of ten minutes ago settling into something heavier. His chin rests briefly near her hip.

“You won’t regret it?” he asks.

The question is quiet enough that she turns her face toward him. Garrett’s still looking at the tattoo, but the thought behind his expression has moved farther than the bed. Farther than tonight. Permanent isn’t an easy word for him, no matter how hot the evidence looks above her underwear. Permanent has always carried too many promises made by people who didn’t know how to keep them.

“I might regret letting Paige choose the bar,” she says. “I might regret wearing jeans to get it done. I’m almost definitely going to regret whatever you tell Dean tomorrow.”

Garrett’s mouth twitches.

“But not the tattoo.” Her fingertips move gently along her own forearms. “Even if something changed one day– and I’m not saying it will– I’d remember how I felt when I got it. I was happy. I love you. You’re my favourite thing in my life right now.”

“Right now?” he asks, because he’s still Garrett.

She groans. “Don’t ruin it.”

His laugh presses warm against the side of her hip. Then he kisses the skin just below the tattoo again, careful, lingering there without touching the ink. “My girl,” he murmurs.

She closes her eyes. Garrett stays behind her for another minute, one hand moving lazily over her ass while he continues looking at the number like he expects it to disappear if he blinks incorrectly.

Then he says, “Can I take a picture?”

Her eyes open. “Absolutely not.”

“For me.”

“No.”

“Baby,” he argues.

“You’ll show the boys.”

Garrett starts laughing, forehead dropping against her lower back. She can feel the effort he makes to avoid the tattoo.

“Fine,” he says. “No picture.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m memorising it.”

“You’ve been staring for ten minutes,” she giggles.

“Need another ten.”

She sighs into the pillow, but her body goes softer beneath his hand. Garrett kisses her hip once more, then crawls back up the bed and folds himself around her without asking her to move again. His chest settles against her back, one arm sliding beneath the pillow and the other wrapping around her waist.

His mouth finds the back of her neck. “You’re the sexiest person alive,” he says.

“Mm.”

“Objectively.”

“Garrett.”

“And fucking insane.”

She smiles into the pillow. “Yeah, well, you match my freak.”

His arm tightens around her. “Yeah,” he murmurs, laughter warm against her skin. “Definitely.”

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.

Fairy tales had been thrust into your life as a young girl since before you could walk, you knew all the lyrics to every Disney princess song by the time you were six. 

By your tenth birthday, you had a book made that had every single wish and want that you had for your future boyfriend. 

Your parents swore that if your second love for running hadn’t come into your life. You would have lived each day to dream. 

By the time that you were 18, you had experienced twelve new kisses, three boyfriends, one of whom was a sexual partner too. 

You had nothing against any of them, but when each one ended, you never seemed that phased, as if you knew it was going to end.

It was because you knew that you hadn’t met your person. 

Or at least that was the case until Garrett Graham came into your life.

You'd met at a hockey party, argued over a game of beer pong, and kissed in the kitchen an hour later. Garrett Graham had smiled against your lips and you laughed at everyone else who swore that he was going to be the boy to break your heart.

With every anniversary or milestone that you two have reached. You swore that they were all wrong and that you and Garrett were truly meant to be. 

Your friends joked that he was your very own Noah Calhoun, as the man was practically a shadow of himself if you weren’t around. 

He showed up to every track meet with flowers as he sat right next to your parents, cheering you on while you ran down the finishing straight. And if your parents couldn’t make it, then Garrett gave them the world’s longest play-by-play afterwards. 

The two of you were perfect together. By the end of sophomore year, the boys joked that your wedding would happen before you both graduated. Tucker had these long thoughts about how he’d design your wedding cake. While Dean and Logan argued over who would be the officiant of the wedding.

You never told either boy, but you knew that it would actually be Beau who filled that slot. 

Most days when you had downtime, you spent them sitting on the boys’ couch. Most of the time, you were attempting to do work or edit your training schedule. Before, it was Garrett who would try to distract you. 

Smothering you in kisses or pulling you into his arms as he shut your laptop. But now, it was Dean looking over your shoulder to see what you were working on or Tucker offering you a snack. Occasionally, you even got an appearance from Logan, who taught you the basics of mechanical work. 

And that day seemed no different “sorry babe, I can’t do our date tonight.” Garrett leaned over the couch as he pressed a kiss on your cheek. 

You held back a sigh as you turned your head to face him “why is that?” You asked as you frowned, a little upset, actually, “Hannah rescheduled our tutoring session.” 

Dean awkwardly sat next to you as you forced yourself to smile, “tell her I say hi!” The blonde swore in that moment that you were squeezing your laptop so hard you might almost break it. 

Garrett nodded before he left for the door without a second thought “okay so am I just like a fucking idiot or does everyone else see that?” 

Logan nodded from the kitchen, “third time this week now?” And that was what almost made it official.

You got up as you shook your head “I am going to go throw myself off of a cliff before I hit him.” You announced to the boys who all frowned “just talk to him seriously.” 

You knew Tucker came from a good place, which is why you didn’t tell him how wrong he was “we have just found a way to stop fighting with each other-” you sighed as you looked to the front door where Garrett left from. 

The truth was that for the past three weeks, the two of you couldn’t go a few minutes without fighting. 

The topics varied. 

Sometimes, Garrett felt like you didn’t care that he was stressed with being captain. Other times, you felt like the little time left in your schedules should be used on each other. 

And when it got particularly bad, you actually stopped keeping track of what seemed to set the two of you off. 

This date night that Garrett kept bailing on was meant to be the real proof that the two of you had turned a page. 

That the rough that you had been dealing with was just weeds in a garden, not rot within the house. 

Dean clicked his tongue “bit hard to fight him when he keeps on seeing her instead.” She was Hannah Wells. 

You met her a few times in passing, the girl complimented your pace and you always loved the way that she was so friendly at Malone’s.

She had started tutoring Garrett in philosophy a few weeks ago and was Garrett’s newest excuse for why he was too busy for you. 

Training, film review, school, tutoring, if there was an excuse to get out of seeing you, you had heard it. 

At the beginning, you really didn’t mind, you knew he was busy because he had all of these responsibilities. 

But a responsibility is telling your girlfriend that you need to reschedule your anniversary date, hours in advance. Not when you were sat at the restaurant, a glass of wine in and the waiter actually ended up giving it to you on the house as he felt bad. 

For every excuse that he gave you, you found another help make his case. 

And by now you were starting to get a little more than just irritated “I am going to bid you boys farewell and hope that you are having more sex than your captain before I say anything else!” You shoved your laptop in your bag as Logan frowned when Dean laughed.

He stopped what he was working on in the kitchen as he came out to face you before you left “you know, girlfriend or not, we are your friend too.” Dean and Tucker nodded at his words. 

It made you softly smile “love you, boys.” You kissed your fingers before you waved them goodbye. 

As you left the house, your nose scrunched, because that place stopped feeling like Garrett’s. In fact, it was starting to feel a whole load like there was a river between the two of you that neither one was ready or willing to cross.

Garrett called out your name when he saw you.

You didn’t turn right away.

That was new for you. Normally, you’d turn instantly, instinctively, like muscle memory. Like gravity.

But this time, your body lagged behind your pride and even your brain as you contemplated ditching the heels you were in to break into a sprint.

He caught up quickly anyway.

Athletic stride, slightly out of breath, like he’d been running through excuses before he even got to you.

When he stepped into your line of sight, you finally looked at him.

And something in your chest tightened at how normal he looked. Like he hadn’t just not shown up to one of the most important nights you’d had planned in weeks “I got held up,” he said immediately.

Not an apology.

Not yet.

Just the explanation he must’ve rehearsed on the way here.

You blinked once, “you didn’t come.” He looked at how gorgeous you looked that night. 

You’d never tell him that you bought the dress specifically for that night.

His mouth opened, then closed again. Like he’d expected you to argue with him instead of just stating it plainly, “I tried,” he said, softer “coach pulled me in after practice and I lost track of time. Then film ran longer than it should’ve and-”

You nodded slowly, cutting through it without raising your voice “I sat there for an hour without anything from you.”That stopped him.

Properly stopped him.

Because now it wasn’t a scheduling issue or a misunderstanding or something messy he could rearrange into something forgivable.

It was just time“I know,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself more than anything else now.

Garret sighed as he rubbed his face with his hand “I should have called or texted or.” Then list stopped when he noticed how you frowned 

You weren’t interested in an excuse, especially not from him tonight “you should’ve come,” you interrupted quietly as you knew Coach Jensen would never force the guys to stay for review.

Silence settled between you.

Not the loud kind. Not the angry kind.

The kind that felt like it had been building for weeks and finally found somewhere to land.

You looked past him for a second, at the path behind him, at the restaurant district lights in the distance “I kept telling myself it was fine,” you said, almost to yourself. 

You pushed your hair up behind your head “that I just needed to be understanding this week.” A big game was coming up against another highly ranked team

Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone “but I’m starting to feel like I’m always the one making space for you.”His jaw flexed. He looked like he wanted to interrupt, but didn’t.

That was the worst part.

Not denial.

Not defensiveness.

Just him listening like he knew he didn’t have a clean answer, “I really didn’t mean for tonight to go like this.” And that was the problem. 

Because Garrett never meant for anything to ever go like this.

Yet somehow it always did “I know,” you replied.

And you did.

That was what made it worse.

Because even as you stood there, remembering how embarrassed you felt when you left the restaurant alone. Your throat tightened, but your voice stayed steady “I just wish you were there tonight.” You felt stupid for keeping things to yourself; you wanted Garrett to act like things actually mattered. 

That landed differently.

He stepped closer, slower this time, like he was afraid of pushing you further away “I’m here now,” he said, wishing that it was enough.

A young couple exited one of the buildings behind Garrett with their hands locked into each others and grins on their faces. 

The boy leaned over to say something that made the girl laugh and you knew exactly how that felt. 

Because Garrett used to be like that with you.

You could feel it in the way you weren’t reaching for him. In the way he wasn’t touching you yet either.

Like both of you were suddenly aware that something fragile had been stretched too far “I don’t want this to become normal,” you said, making the boy clench his teeth.

His eyes snapped to yours at that.

“What?”

“This,” you clarified, gesturing slightly between you “you not being there. Me convincing myself it’s okay.”

His expression tightened “I promise that it won’t,” he said immediately. Too fast. Too certain.

You shook your head once “please don’t promise me that if you don’t mean it.” That hit him harder than anything else you’d said.

Because you were right.

He couldn’t say he’d give you the world if he only planned on showing you one town. 

He stepped closer again, but slower now, more careful “I messed this up,” he said honestly “I did. And I hate that I did it tonight of all nights.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Really looked.

Not at the hockey player everyone talked about.

Not at the captain people relied on.

Just at the boy who was standing there like he didn’t know how to fix something he couldn’t outwork.

The same boy who told you during your freshman year that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you “I don’t need you to hate it,” you said softly. “I just need you to show up.”

That time, he didn’t argue.

He just nodded once, like he was taking the weight of it fully.

Then he stepped forward, and you didn’t resist it.

But you didn’t fully lean in either.

His arms wrapped around you anyway, steadying you like he could physically hold together something he was scared he was losing.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, and you felt his hand rest at the back of your head.

And then he pressed a kiss there.

Just quiet.

Like a promise, he didn’t know how else to say out loud.

When he pulled back slightly, his voice was low “I’ll make it up to you,” he announced as he hooked his fingers under your chin. 

Garrett wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, but somehow the words never left his lips “I’ll make it up to you properly.” And as you nodded, Garrett let his jacket hang on your shoulders before the two of you walked back to your dorm.

By the time that drunken Shakespeare had come and gone, it was official that everyone knew something was going on between the two of you. 

The IT couple of Briar U had cracked, because they weren’t as perfect as everyone had started to believe. 

You tried to ignore the rumours about Hannah and Garrett, but you knew you were just an idiot. 

It had been days since the two of you had spoken, almost a month since Garrett sent you a good morning or goodnight text. 

The boys kept their promise as they continued to check up on you. In the first two weeks, it was because they really did miss you. But by now they were worried. 

It was the fact that there was no real end in sight because Garrett still spoke about being your boyfriend, when he seemed to remember your existence. 

And you still let your eyes settle on the door, as you waited for your Garrett to walk back in.

For him to tell you that he was so sorry for the way he had you feeling like it was your fault.

It had been weeks of you swearing that you were fine. 

And that should have been something that the boys listened to, but they knew you better than that. 

You had been going on late-night runs every day, and each time you wanted to stop you couldn’t.

The two of you had texted occasionally, throughout the time apart. But you hadn’t see the boy in person. 

It wasn’t even vocalised between the two of you that there was something wrong. 

And that was what left your runs to be the longest ones you ever did. 

Because somehow, your anger drove your feet.

Further and harder than you ever thought was possible.

The quiet and clear sky somehow managed to soothe your mind. 

And on this particular night, it seemed that Garrett had the same idea when he stood outside of the library. 

He was in the middle of a tutoring session, and he craved the break he got from the solitude. 

So when he saw you running, part of him thought that he would have ducked to go back inside. 

But instead, his feet drove him directly into your path “hey,” he nodded as you pulled your AirPod out of your ear.

You cocked your head “hi.” You pursed your lips together, a little surprised that he was talking to you. 

It had probably been over a month since Garrett initiated a conversation with you in person. 

You crossed your arms as you waited for him to talk “how are you?” The small talk between the two of you felt weird.

And you had to admit that you weren’t a fan of it “I’m glad to hear you still remember how to talk to me.” Your words were honest, and it was what hurt. 

Garrett scoffed, “of course I know how to talk to you.” The look you gave him said otherwise. 

“Yeah but can you look at me for more than five minutes?”

The boy pinched the bridge of his nose “what are you playing at?” He looked up at the sky, making you almost laugh.

You felt tired, actually, you felt exhausted “when you got onto that stage with her, you didn’t even look at me.” You weren’t accusing him about anything. 

You knew that Garrett would never cross a line with Hannah. But it was getting hard to make your heart hear it in the same way your brain did.

Garrent let out a harsh sigh, unsure of wht he was having this fight with you again “you know I love you,” if you weren’t paying attention, you would have sworn that he was actually asking you a question. 

Your chest ached as you fiddled with the ring on your finger. It had been one that Garrett gave you for your 20th birthday “but are you in love with me?” Silence followed, and that was the true nail in the coffin.

Of course he did, his brain almost short-circuited at the absurdity of the question, “what’s that supposed to mean?” His hands landed on his hips as he grew defensive.

You sighed as you paused your run time on your watch “look I don’t want to fight tonight.” You announced as you watched the boy scoff. 

The hockey player frowned, “don’t push me away like this.” He pleaded as he shook his head. 

Tears welled in your eyes “I am holding on for dear life Gar,” you had felt like you were barely able to keep your head above water for weeks now and you hated it. 

You hated that you cared so much for someone who felt like they were pushing you away. 

But you hated more that Garrett could check out of the relationship that made you feel like you were in a fairytale. 

That he could stand in front of you like every time he made up an excuse to not see you, wasn’t killing your confidence every time “I need you like you are the best reason that I have each day to smile.” The words pressed into his chest as he couldn’t remember the last time that he made you smile, “but I need you to need me back!” 

Silence loomed over the two of you. 

And that somehow hurt the most. 

Not that you didn’t think that Garrett no longer cared, but that he couldn’t even try to offer an argument to you.

You pressed your hands against the sides of your head “why won’t you just let me all the way in!” The question came as Garrett backed away. 

Throughout the years he always found the perfect excuse to not have you meet his dad. It seemed that everyone in his circle knew his father but you “of course I let you in I love you!” Garrett argued back as you shook your head. 

It was a topic that you knew came with baggage “I know your comfort meals.” You found out after your first fight when Garrett begged Tucker to help him make it for you “I know that your favourite movie to watch is a chick flick.” 

The edges of his mouth curved upward as he smiled “but I don’t know what scares you in this world.” Your voice broke “or why you love hockey.” 

“Or why you’ve met my whole family and your dad doesn’t even know that I exist.”

It cut deep as Garrett always envied how sweet and loving your parents were, they looked at you like you were the best thing since sliced bread. 

Garrett reached for your hand but you pulled away “I am so tired of feeling sad.” You shook your head as tears openly streamed down your face now. 

You sniffled harshly, “god I’d rather feel nothing at all than have to go through one more fucking moment of whatever this is.” Your heart felt lighter as you spoke, getting the thoughts you so desperately needed to let go of out of your mind. 

The boy shoved his hands into his pockets “what am I meant to do about that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling like this was another fight. 

But instead, you merely sighed, “I don’t know anymore, Gar.” You chewed at the inside of your cheek to try to convince your mind that this wasn’t the thing that was hurting.

You used the back of your hand to wipe the snot coming from your nose “y’know, I really thought that in this break we’ve had for the last week that you would come back first.” You actually laughed at that, cursing yourself for how clearly foolish you had been. 

He stayed quiet “that you would come back and tell me that you realised there was no one else you could be with but me,” Garrett watched as you looked away, Hannah had started walking towards the two of you. 

You couldn’t even fault the girl as she sent you a comforting smile, stopping in her tracks when she saw that you had been crying “I wanted you to tell me that you would rather be alone than live one second in this place without me.” Venom laced your words even if you didn’t mean for it to happen. 

Garrett sighed as he raked his fingers through his curls “I never meant to hurt you,” his words should have provided you with some comfort. 

They should have made you realise that this wasn’t your fault “but you did Garrett.” You shrugged as you somehow were left feeling worse. 

You stepped back as he stepped forward, as the cold autumn breeze brushed around campus, it was clear much like how the seasons were changing from fall to winter, that there was an end between the two of you too. 

Still you hoped that Garrett would find a way to fight. 

And still you ended up disappointed “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed,”  Garrett knew that when things were going well he was a part of the reason why you were on cloud nine. 

But when he was gone, he was the reason why you were sad. Even if it was an event for you, his lack of presence would be the thing your brain lingered on. 

Part of you wanted to tell him that he was your dream in human form. 

But that part had been hurt one too many times by him to speak, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t a girl worth loving.” In that moment, your words captured everything that you had been feeling for weeks. 

Garrett watched as you turned around, not bothering to put your AirPod back into your ear as you carried on the rest of your run. 

He clenched his hands as he knew he couldn’t go after you. Yes Garrett loved you, but he wasn’t sure how he was meant to treat you with the value that you deserved.

You were the one who reminded Garrett how to laugh in rooms where he was meant to be quiet. How the worst days could be made better by simply talking to you, because somehow you always knew what to say to put his mind at ease. 

The boy never spoke to Phil about you because you were a light in his world that his dad worked so hard to keep dark. 

So when he watched you leave, Garrett didn’t know what to do, because part of him wanted to run after you. 

But there was a quieter part that knew you deserved the right to leave him and the shitshow that was his world. Because that was what he always assumed would happen anyway, so that was why he never let you in fully. 

Because at least once you left you wouldn’t pity him if you didn’t know his full story “you should go back inside, it’s cold out here.” Hannah’s voice was kind, but Garrett didn’t let his eyes fall from where you ran to. 

“I’m good.”

You were already by the crib, a mug of coffee warm between your hands. You looked up as he slipped into the room, your eyes softening at the dark circles under his.

"Hey, handsome," you whispered, setting your mug down on the side table. "Survived the night?"

"Barely," Jack murmured back. He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "Missed you, beautiful."

"Missed you too, Doctor." You tilted your head, kissing his cheek. "Say hi. She’s just waking up."

Jack smiled, pulling away to step over to the crib. Inside, your daughter was starting to stir. She blinked sleepily, her eyes rubbing against her fists until they landed right on Jack. Instantly, a tiny smile broke behind her pacifier.

"Daddy!" she screamed with a sleepy voice.

She immediately poked her hands up into the air, making her uppie arms.

Jack’s heart completely melted. He leaned over the railing, scooping her warm body up against his chest.

"Hi my beautiful girl," Jack whispered as he pressed a long kiss into her hair.

She let out a giggle, her hands immediately coming up to cup his face. Her fingers patted his cheeks, testing the rough morning stubble on his jaw. "S'atchy," she mumbled, but she didn't pull away. She leaned her forehead against his nose, rubbing it side to side in a sleepy greeting.

"Yeah, Daddy needs a shave, doesn't he?" Jack cooed, rocking her gently from side to side as she buried her face into his neck.

As he hoisted her a little higher, Jack noticed something else in the crib. A familiar fluffy brown teddy bear dressed in a miniature set of blue hospital scrubs with a very cute little stethoscope.

"Since when does she sleep with plushies?" Jack asked softly, turning to you with an arched eyebrow. "She usually kicks everything out the second she lays down."

You let out a soft laugh and wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his shoulder. Hearing your voice, your daughter reached one hand to pat your face, ensuring both of her favorite people were within arm's reach.

"She only sleeps with that one," you explained. "And only on specific nights. When you're on a night shift and you can't put her to bed, she gets incredibly restless. She sits by the door waiting for you."

Jack’s chest tightened. The guilt of the long hours at the hospital was a constant weight.

"So, I started giving her the bear on those nights," you continued, reaching out to smooth a stray curl away from your daughter's forehead. "I told her that whenever Daddy is at the hospital helping people, this guy is on duty to keep her safe until you get home. Now, she won't go to sleep without him when you're gone. I think it's her way of keeping you close until you come back."

Jack looked down at the scrubwearing bear on the mattress. He reached down with his free hand and picked up the plushie, holding it up so his daughter could see it.

"Who's this, sweet girl?" Jack asked her gently, shaking the bear's little paw. "Is this your helper?"

The toddler blinked sleepily at the bear, then looked right at Jack, her little thumb poking the bear as she nodded. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and pointed a tiny finger at the plushie.

"He's night dada," she mumbled softly, her voice muffled around her paci.

Jack froze. New emotions emerged at the realization that she considered the little bear her version of him when the sun went down.

"Night Dada, huh?" Jack pressed the plush bear gently into her arms, and she instantly hugged it tight against her chest, right alongside his own neck. "He takes good care of you when Daddy's at work?"

The toddler nodded and whispered. "Dad doctor."

He wrapped his free arm securely around you, needing the comfort of his family.

"Thank you," he whispered to you, leaning down to kiss your lips. "For being here for her when I can't."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Frank was stretched out on the couch, taking up nearly the entire length of it. His head was resting comfortably in your lap, his eyes closed as he tried, and failed, to take a nap.

Tobias, your two year old son, was taking his job as a decorator very seriously. With his tiny tongue poking out of his mouth, he peeled another sticker from its sheet and pressed it onto his father’s cheek.

Frank didn't even flinch.

"You're looking very handsome, love," you said softly, your fingers gently weaving through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"Mmm. Let him," Frank murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. "As long as he’s quiet and not drawing on the walls, he can turn me into a sketchbook."

You chuckled, continuing the soothing of your fingers through his hair. Tobias grunted in agreement, leaning his little hands against your knee as he reached up to place a dinosaur sticker right on the bridge of Frank's nose. Frank opened one eye, tracking his son's movements with paternal adoration before closing it again, sinking deeper into your touch.

Tobias stood back, admiring his handiwork. Then, his eyes drifted down from Frank's face, landing on your stomach.

He patted your belly with both of his hands, tilting his head.

"Why is a baby in your belly, mama?" Tobias asked, his voice perfectly clear and innocent.

Your fingers froze in Frank's hair.

The entire room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Frank’s eyes snapped open, all traces of sleep instantly evaporating.

He didn't move, but you could feel the sudden tension radiating through his body.

"What did you say, buddy?" you asked, laughing a little nervously, expecting him to say he was talking about a toy or a snack.

"Baby," Tobias repeated firmly, patting your stomach again with absolute conviction. "In dere. Sleeping."

He then immediately lost interest, spotted a truck under the coffee table, and toddled off to go play with it.

You stared at your son, then slowly looked down at Frank. Frank was already looking up at you, the stickers on his face contrasting wildly with the serious expression in his eyes.

"He has a wild imagination," you said quickly, trying to shake off the sudden panic in your chest. "I'm... I mean, I'm definitely not pregnant, Frank. We've been careful. Mostly."

Frank slowly sat up. He didn't laugh. As a doctor, Frank wasn't exactly a believer in superstition, but he did believe in the unexplainable intuition that toddlers sometimes possessed.

"Mostly," Frank repeated. He reached out, his warm hand replacing where Tobias's hands had just been, resting flat against your stomach. His gaze softened, a burning hope flaring in his eyes. "You're late."

"I'm always a little irregular, Frank, you know that," you defended, though your heart was suddenly beating fast.

"Three weeks late, baby," Frank corrected gently. He had very good memory for things like this. A tender smile began to spread across his face. "And kids have a weird radar for these things. It's a documented phenomenon."

"Are you trying to scare me or diagnose me?"

"I'm suggesting a clinical trial," Frank murmured, leaning in close, his breath warm against your lips. He reached up, peeling the stickers off his face. "I'm going to the pharmacy."

"Frank, what, no!" you protested.

He stood up, leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to your lips, and then shifted to press a remarkably tender kiss right against your stomach.

"I'm buying the digital ones," Frank said as he grabbed his keys off the counter. "Let's see if our son has superpowers."

The front door clicked shut behind Frank, leaving the living room quiet.

You sat frozen on the couch for a long moment, your hand instinctively resting where Frank’s had just been. Your mind was racing. Three weeks? Had it really been three weeks?

"Vroom, vroom!" Tobias announced, driving the plastic truck up the side of the couch cushions until it bumped right into your hip.

You looked down at your son. He looked so small to be a big brother. You scooped him up, lifting him onto your lap. He let out a little grunt of surprise but quickly leaned back against your chest, perfectly content.

"Why are giving your father ideas, mh?," you murmured, wrapping your arms around his middle. "What did you mean earlier? When you said there was a baby?"

Tobias didn't look up from his truck. "You got a baby!" he repeated happily, pointing a finger directly at your shirt.

"No," you said quickly. You caught his hand in yours. "No baby. Just Mommy's tummy."

Tobias pouted, his lower lip protruding in stubbornness. He yanked his hand free and slapped both palms flat against your stomach again, looking up at you with determination.

"No, mama, I big b'other," he declared.

"Stop it," you gasped, half panicking as you gently pulled his hands away. "Don't say that, sweetie. You're going to give mommy a heart attack before Ddaddy even gets back."

"Big brother!" Tobias insisted, nodding his head vigorously. "Toby, big brother. Play with baby."

You stared at him. The confidence in his face was terrifyingly convincing. You leaned your forehead against his small shoulder, taking a deep breath that smelled faintly of baby shampoo.

"You and your father are going to be the death of me." you whispered into his hair,

Tobias just chuckled, entirely unbothered.

"Mama!" Tobias patted your face and left a wet kiss beside your left eye.

"Yeah, I love you too, sweet boy."

-

The bathroom door was locked, but that didn't stop Frank from leaning his forehead against the door.

Your son was asleep in his crib, entirely oblivious to the absolute emotional hurricane he had kicked off with a single sentence.

Inside the bathroom, the plastic stick was sitting flat on the counter, counting down the longest minutes of your life.

"Frank, I’m nervous," you called out, your voice full of rising panic. "I’m genuinely nervous right now. What if it’s positive? We just got Tobias into a routine! He finally sleeps through the night, mostly, and diapers! God, Frank, the diapers. We just started talking about potty training. Are we ready to do the newborn phase again? The sleepless nights? The hospital bag? What if I forgot how to hold a baby? What if Tobias hates being a big brother and resents us forever?"

"Baby," Frank's calm voice drifted through the door. "Take a breath."

"And what if it's negative?" you continued, completely ignoring him. "What if it's negative and I broke his heart? He was so excited today about being a big brother. I'm going to be sad about a baby I didn't even know I wanted hours ago. Maybe hormones are everywhere, Frank. I am a medical anomaly of stress—"

The door swung open. Frank didn't wait for an invitation.

He stepped into the bathroom, immediately closing the distance between you. He reached out, wrapping his hands around your upper arms, gently anchoring you in place.

"Hey. Look at me," he commanded softly.

You looked up, your breathing shallow, eyes wide with anxiety.

"Stop," Frank murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your skin. He brought one hand up to cup your cheek, his touch was warm. "You are spiraling, baby."

You stopped thinking that and automatically took a breath, inhaling until your lungs felt full, then letting it out in a long sigh.

"Better?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

"A little," you whispered, resting your forehead against his chest. "I'm just really scared."

"I know," he said gently, resting his chin on top of your head, his arms wrapping fully around you. "But whatever the test says, we’re fine. If it’s negative, we keep doing what we’re doing, loving the crazy toddler we already have. And if it’s positive... we handle the chaos. We can handle a newborn."

You let out a laugh against his chest. "You're a doctor. I'm just the one who has to carry it."

"And I'll be right there, catering to your every whim," he promised, kissing the crown of your head.

A beep cut through the quiet of the bathroom.

Your entire body tensed.

The three minutes were up.

You couldn't move.

Frank felt the shift in you, his own grip tightening slightly before he slowly let go. He looked from you to the counter, where the test lay face down.

"Do you want to look, or should I?" Frank asked.

"You," you breathed, stepping back. "You look."

Frank nodded.

He walked over to the counter.

He hand reached down to pick up the test.

He turned it over.

The silence stretched for a beat. Then two.

Frank’s face completely changed.

A slow smile broke across his face.

He looked up at you, his eyes shining.

"Well," Frank held up the test, turning the small digital screen toward you. "Looks like our boy was right," he said softly.

PREGNANT.

A tear finally spilled over your eyelashes. You covered your mouth with your hand, laughing as Frank closed the distance between you, pulling you flush against his chest and lifting you right off your feet.

Frank's arms remained locked tightly around your waist, his forehead resting against yours as you both looked at the digital screen confirming your lives were about to change all over any moment.

"Two kids," you whispered, the reality finally settling in. "We're really doing this again."

"We're really doing this again," Frank echoed.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. It wasn't chaotic; it was a slow and grounding kiss. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until you completely forgot about the messy living room, your toddler sleeping down the hall, and the rest of the world outside.

When he finally pulled back, he was breathless.

Frank sank to his knees right there on the bathroom floor.

You looked down, your breath catching in your throat as he gathered the hem of your shirt in his hands, gently sliding it up just enough to expose your bare stomach.

He looked at your belly with tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Frank leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your skin first. Then, he pressed a soft kiss right over the center of your stomach.

He looked up at you from the floor. He placed his palms flat against your sides, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"I love you," Frank whispered, "and I already love him."

"Or her." you squented your eyes, defying his words.

"We'll see."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

The first time Hannah Wells saw Garrett Graham anywhere other than Malone’s was in the boys’ locker room while she was cleaning. He was sitting on the bench with his phone in hand, a soft, not very Garrett-like smile on his face. A woman’s voice—your voice—drifted from the phone’s speakers, speaking animatedly about something Hannah could not fully understand.

“I miss you,” Garrett suddenly spoke, and you stopped talking. “I can’t wait to see you, baby.”

“I miss you too, honey,” you said softly. “Just a few more months away, Gare.”

“Why do you have to be on the other side of the country when you could be right here in Briar with me?” His voice was light and airy as he laughed, but his eyes held an unmistakable longing.

“I’m sorry, baby, I would stay with you if I could,” you said. “But you know how my dad is. He wants me here just until I graduate college, and then I’m off to wherever I want after graduation.”

“I know, baby.” He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “And I respect your parents’ decisions. That doesn’t mean I can’t spend every second missing my girl.”

“You miss me? I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the hundreds of messages and voicemails you send me every day.” Your tone dripped with sarcasm, but Hannah noticed there was no real heat behind your words—only affection for your (presumably) boyfriend.

He laughed softly, the sound far from the sarcastic, arrogant laugh he had on the ice. The sound then was genuine—a very brief glimpse of who Garrett Graham is behind closed doors. “I’ll see you soon, baby,” he said, his voice quiet and intimate. “I’ll be counting the days until I see you again. I love you. Please take care of yourself.”

“I love you too, GG.” Your voice turned sharper—stricter. “You take care of yourself, or I’ll have Tuck dragging your ass into the kitchen to shove real food into your mouth.”

Hannah almost laughed at that because *now she can definitely see Garrett being bossed around by a headstrong woman. It might not seem like it at first glance, but the more she heard them, the more she believed it.

“Baby,” he groaned. “The last time he did that, I gained at least three pounds. Coach Jensen was on my ass the whole week.”

“So don’t even think of skipping meals this time.” You laughed freely. “I really have to go now, babe, I have my first class in ten minutes. Bye-bye, love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible!” You said before the phone clicked as you hung up, leaving Garrett sitting there with a lovesick smile on his face.

Hannah saw the man’s face harden, the tension returning to him with full force. She watched as he stared at his dark screen, as if replaying the brief memory of your face and your melodic voice. She watched as Garrett stared at the dark screen for several moments before his eyes lifted to where she stood.

“Can I help you?” He asked, his voice devoid of the warmth he had with you, but not unkind. His facial expression was tense, a far cry from the soft, fond look he had earlier. It wasn’t that Garrett Graham had an attitude—it was just that no one had ever seen him that soft.

Hannah jumped and blinked a few times. “Oh, sorry, I…” She gestured vaguely around the locker room. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just waiting for you to finish so I can… clean up.”

Garrett’s face slackened in slight surprise, and he nodded, standing from the bench and slinging his large duffle bag over his shoulder. “Sorry, lost track of time.”

Hannah watched Garrett leave—his tense frame, his hunched shoulders, and lowered head were significantly different from the man in front of you just minutes prior.

Huh, Hannah thought. She did not even know Garrett had a girlfriend in the first place, but it totally made sense—for her, at least.

—

The next time Hannah saw Garrett was in their philosophy class as their professor returned their papers.

“Perfect. Another D,” Dexter said beside Hannah, turning to her expectantly after looking through their own paper. “So… how’d you do?”

Hannah looked at her paper, shook her head hesitantly, and said, “Not good.”

“Girl.” Dexter looked somewhat apprehensive because *Hannah Wells—not doing well? The girl was quite literally a music prodigy and a smart cookie in general, but then again, Hannah was known to be humble—too humble. “Really?”

“Yeah, I wrote it in like an hour, so…” She left the rest of her sentence unsaid.

She heard him before she saw him.

“Fucking hell, you aced it?”

Garrett Graham was a fucking loudmouth, and if Hannah did not know before, she definitely did then.

“I knew it,” Dexter said from beside her. “Show me.”

“Do you mind?” Her brows furrowed as she turned to look at him.

“What?” He smirked—that annoying, cocky smirk he always had. “Only you get to eavesdrop on conversations you shouldn’t?”

Garrett was still grinning by the time Hannah turned back around with a deep sigh and a roll of her eyes.

After that, Garrett had found Hannah in front of the building.

“Mona!” He called out from a few feet away. “Mona,” He said again once he was right behind Hannah.

“Uh, who’s… who’s Mona?” Hannah asked her friends.

“I think… you.” Dexter raised their eyebrows, taking a slight step back.

“I… I’m not Mona,” Hannah said, almost awkwardly.

“It is an M though, right?”

“Not even close.”

“Sorry about that.” Garrett grimaced. “I’m not… very good with names.”

“What do you want, Garrett Graham? Petals to walk on? Maybe another fancy gym that costs thousands of dollars even though the theater department is literally falling apart.” Allie rolled her eyes from beside Hannah, who turned to her with a sympathetic smile.

Meanwhile, the hockey captain had an amused smirk on his face.

“You guys are late for scene study.” Hannah grinned. “Go, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Bye, Mona.” Dexter teased with a grin, wiggling their fingers in a wave as they practically pulled Allie with them.

“Could you please, with a sugar on top, help me study, so I don’t fail spectacularly?” Garrett immediately asked as soon as Hannah turned back to him.

“Didn’t know you had manners in you, but no,” she said as quickly as possible, starting to walk away from Garrett—and hopefully from the conversation.

“Come on, do me a solid,” Garrett, like the annoying little shit he was, followed after her. “I mean, for feminism?”

That pulled a laugh from Hannah. “Now, what are you actually on, Garrett Graham?”

“I’m serious,” Garrett said, “I have to ace the oral presentation, or I can’t play.”

“Believe it or not, I have priorities that have nothing to do with hockey,” Hannah said with a chuckle. “Find another tutor, dude.”

“Look…” He started, but realized he hadn’t even gotten her name yet. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” she deadpanned. “But it’s Hannah Wells—not even close to Mona.”

“I mean, it kinda is,” he mumbled, before shaking his head. “Look, it’s really important that I play this next game.” He was literally about to get to his knees and beg if that was what it would take for Hannah to agree. “We are playing against UCLA in two weeks, but that’s not what’s important. Hear me out, but my girlfriend lives halfway across the country, and… drumroll please…” He actually paused, to which Hannah raised an eyebrow. “She studies at UCLA. That’s why I really, really need to play.”

“I still hardly see how that is my problem?” Hannah backtracked immediately. “I’m sorry, it’s just I already am holding three jobs down right now, and I really, really can’t afford another job. You’re a good guy, Garrett, I’m sure you can find another tutor.”

“Okay, uh…” He rubbed his forehead briefly before his face literally lit up. “I can pay you.”

“I think that’s what having a job entails.”

“No, I mean, I can pay you however much you need,” he said, “Just name your price, Wellsy.”

“Wellsy?”

“That’s literally not what’s important.”

Hannah mulled his words over, and she would be lying if she said his offer was not tempting, but she didn’t know him, and she didn’t know how far he would be willing to go. “If I, hypothetically, agree, how long and how often would our sessions be?” She asked.

“Hypothetically, would 2 hours work for you?”

“It would,” she said slowly, “And if I, hypothetically, ask for fifty dollars per hour?”

“Then I would hypothetically agree.”

“Dude, seriously?” She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Do you know how much the minimum wage is?”

“Yeah,” he easily said, “But the whole point of this is that you are not to be paid the minimum wage, Wellsy.”

“Then…” She sighed deeply before reluctantly nodding. “Then I guess it’s a deal.”

—

Hannah found herself standing by the hockey house’s front door, her fist raised as she knocked—almost pounding on the wood to make sure she was heard over the game blaring from the speakers.

“Turn that down for a moment!” She heard someone yell from inside, his voice sounding closer as he walked over. Soon enough, the door swung open, revealing Logan.

“Hannah, hey! Didn’t expect to see you here.” Logan greeted Hannah with a twinkle in his eyes Hannah could not quite understand.

“Hey.” She waved, the gesture a little awkward and shy. “Uh, is Garrett here?”

“Garrett?” Logan’s brows furrowed before it dawned on him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You’re his tutor!” He opened the door wider to let the girl in. “Come in. Is it okay for you to wait in the dining room while I call him down?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Hannah waved him off politely. She wandered through the house, looking around their shared space—which was surprisingly neat for a bunch of college athletes—until she found an unoccupied space on the farthest side of the dining table.

“Hey, Wellsy.” She heard Garrett greet as he descended the stairs and walked into the dining room. He was looking down at his phone, but looked up briefly to turn to the guys. “Can we have two hours of peace and quiet? Just two hours, guys.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Birdie put the controller down and turned the television off.

“Yeah, no, I gotta get started on dinner too.” Tucker rose from the couch. “All of you, except G, are on dinner duties. Get up now—right now.” There was an immediate commotion, but Tucker heard none of it. “Dinner duties or no dinner.”

“Wow, now I know why the house is tidy,” Hannah said as Garrett took a seat across from her, placing his phone face down on the table. “He runs a strict program here.”

“He really does.” Garrett laughed, eyeing her notes with a bit of interest. “Take it away then, Wellsy.”

As Hannah began talking, Garrett slowly lost what little interest he had at the beginning. He jumped every time his phone pinged on the table, his face lighting up slightly as he immediately picked his phone up, only to be disappointed every time.

She spoke when he picked his phone back up for the third time. “You know, I’d really appreciate it if you paid more attention,” she said, but not unkindly. “I don’t think you’d pass the oral presentation—and the class—if you don’t even try to understand what this is all about. Garrett, you told me you needed this, so please take this a bit more seriously.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Garrett sighed, turning his phone to do not disturb. “Sorry. Can you backtrack?”

Two hours had passed quickly after that, and Hannah had been packing her stuff when Garrett’s phone rang. She watched as tension quickly left his body.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he said quickly and picked up without waiting for her to respond—not that she minded. They were already done.

“Hi, GG!” Your voice came from the phone speaker soon, and Hannah couldn’t help but take a subtle peek into Garrett’s phone screen. “Sorry, I just got off my last class. It was hell, but anyway, how are you, honey?”

“I’m alright, baby.” He smiled softly—the same smile he had in the locker room, and the one he had when he was talking about her just the day prior.

Enthusiastic greetings and your name echoed behind Garrett as the guys scrambled towards their friend.

“Hi, guys!” You said as your boyfriend turned the camera over to the rowdy bunch. “Oh my God, you reek of testosterone, and it reaches me all the way over here.”

“Hey! Garrett’s tutor is here with us!” Dean spoke up from behind Logan. “And she’s a woman, so that essentially cancels out the testosterone.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and excitement. “She’s there? Please, I need to see her!”

Garrett laughed, looking at Hannah. He turned the camera over towards her when she nodded, and watched as your face softened.

“Hi, oh my God! Finally, another woman!” You grinned, introducing yourself to Hannah. “I’m this doofus’ girlfriend, unfortunately.”

“Hey!”

“Hi!” Hannah laughed, her heart warming every second she talked to you. She honestly did not expect you to be this warm and welcoming, especially since you had a bit of a mean girl vibe at first glance. “Hannah Wells. I’m Garret’s tutor, unfortunately.”

“I am starting to regret this, just so you know,” Garrett grumbled behind the phone.

“Oh, that is unfortunate.” You giggled when your boyfriend turned the phone back to his face. “Baby, I am proud of you, and I’m glad you’re getting the help you need.”

“Babe, I have a tutor, not a therapist.”

You ignored his words. “But it is unfortunate for Hannah because you are as stubborn as a mule.”

“You are so lucky I love you.”

Hannah ended up staying for another hour before you finally ended the call, borderline threatening your boyfriend to drop her off up to her dorm room or else.

But Garrett had other plans, unbeknownst to her.

“So, uh, Wellsy,” he said. “My ride’s actually not in good shape right now, so I probably can’t drop you off, but Logan here can.”

Logan looked at Garrett with wide eyes behind Hannah, to which he responded with a knowing grin.

“Oh, is that okay? I actually have my bike, so I can just, you know, bike,” Hannah said, trying to look at Logan without blushing.

“No, it’s late, I’ll drop you off,” Logan said with a charming smile. “Your bike will most probably fit in the truck, so…”

“Oh, that is so nice of you. Thank you!”

Meanwhile, Garrett was cheekily sending you a message.

Garrett: So

You: So?

Garrett: I didn’t drop Hannah off

You: ?

Garrett: Pls hear me out

You: I am listening…

Garrett: Logan likes her, like like her…

You: Okay…

Garrett: So I asked him to drop her off.

Garrett: You know, so they bond. 🙂‍↕️

You: You scheming dick 😟

You: I love it. Let me know what Logan says after 🤭

—

Hannah buckled her seatbelt in, waiting for Logan to enter his truck after strapping her bicycle in the pickup.

“Sorry for the wait,” Logan said as soon as he opened the door, quickly buckling in and turning the engine on.

“Oh, no.” Hannah waved him off. “I should be thanking you for the ride.”

“It’s nothing.” Logan started driving. “It’s late and dark out. Bare minimum, really.”

Hannah only smiled in response, and there was a few minutes of silence, only the sound of the radio filling the slightly awkward air between them.

“So…” Hannah began.

“So…” Logan repeated.

“Garrett and his girlfriend…”

“Oh, them?” Logan grinned. “As far as I know, they’re childhood sweethearts. Her family moved to Boston when they were around six and left in the second semester freshman year due to her dad’s relocation at work. They’re thick as thieves, I’m telling you. When they were together, they were inseparable and they were both menaces. There was no peace with those two around. If you think Dean is bad, you should see them together.”

“That’s… actually really sweet.” Hannah smiled wistfully as she imagined you and Garrett together.

“It really is.”

They soon arrived in front of Hannah’s dorm building.

“Well, this is me,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Yeah, no worries.” Logan, too, unfastened his seatbelt and exited the car to help Hannah with her bicycle.

Once the bike was chained safely onto the pole, they both stood there awkwardly.

“Uh…” Hannah gestured to the main entrance. “I’m gonna go in. Thank you so much again for giving me a ride. Drive safely on your way back. Message me when you get home?”

“Thanks, but, uh…” Logan put his hands in his pocket, not knowing what to do with them. “I don’t have your number.”

“Oh!” She chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, I can… give it to you now.”

“Yeah, sure.” He handed her his phone, and she quickly typed her number in before handing the phone back to him.

“Here. Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

Hannah smiled and slowly walked toward the building, waving at Logan shyly as he stood there with an almost dopey grin on his face.

—

It had been about two months since Hannah had tutored Garrett. He was able to ace his oral presentation in their philosophy class, and was ultimately permitted to play against UCLA.

From what Hannah had heard from Logan, you had watched the game wearing Garrett’s jersey, despite being a UCLA student, which had caused a bit of commotion with your friends.

You and Garrett were able to spend a few days together before they had to essentially pry your boyfriend off you.

It had been two and a half months since then, and now, here they all are at Malone’s. Hannah is serving their table, Garrett is drinking his sorrows away a few days away from Thanksgiving, and the guys are there for emotional support.

From what Hannah had heard from Garrett himself as he very loudly (and drunkenly) announced to practically the whole diner, he was supposed to be flying to California to spend Thanksgiving and the rest of the break with you and your family. Unfortunately, his dad had required him to spend at least Thanksgiving with him in Boston, only for his world-class asshole of a father to cancel at the very last minute.

Garrett, having canceled his flight ticket to California during one of the busiest times of the year, had to wait another three weeks for the next available flight because all flights were booked. On top of that, you hadn’t been responding to any of his calls and texts in the last few hours, which felt like a lifetime for a heartbroken man.

Hannah watches as a tear falls from Garrett’s eye after prolonged hours in the diner and a drink too many. Soon, more tears are streaming down his face as he sobs and hiccups.

“Fuck, I miss her so much, man.” He says to no one in particular. “Honestly, fuck my dad, and fuck the airlines and the planes. I will build my own fucking plane if I could.” He is hiccuping in between his words, while his friends look like they don’t know whether to laugh or sympathize with their friend.

“Call her,” Tucker mouths to Dean over Garrett’s shoulder.

“She’s fucking unreachable, dude!” Dean whisper-yells in a slight panic, not loud enough for Garrett to hear over his own heartbreak. “I’ve been trying for hours!”

“Well, try again!”

“What am I, a miracle worker?”

“Considering that a miracle is what we need right now, yes.”

“Choke.”

“Stop fucking talking!” Garrett interrupts with a sob—very out of character for the cold, untouchable captain of the hockey team. “My girl is across the world and I’m alone… I’m so lonely… I miss her… I miss my baby…”

“Dude, it’ll just be three weeks.” Logan tries to soothe his crying friend. “Time will pass quickly, I promise you.”

“Three. Weeks.” Garrett’s words slur together as he speaks. “Three whole weeks, Loge. I can’t wait that long. I will die. I will literally die.”

“No, you won’t, G, you’re being dramatic.”

“Fuck you, Dean. Try being away from your girl for your whole university life.”

“…Okay, fair.”

Another hour passes, and they finally manage to drag Garrett out of Malone’s with a (slightly empty) promise of having you on the phone by the time they get home, to which he easily agrees.

But Hannah, having clocked out of her shift just in time to come with the guys to the hockey house, takes the wheel after Garrett threatens to jump out of the moving car if he had to spend another second without you.

Hannah does not know whether to laugh at Garrett or to cry with him as he continues babbling and slurring in the backseat. The man she is seeing is significantly different than the hockey captain the rest of the world sees, but it somehow makes sense to her that he gets to this point of distress when it comes to you.

About fifteen minutes pass quickly before Hannah finally pulls over and kills the engine, while Logan and Dean try to drag a very uncooperative, very uncoordinated man into the house.

They are halfway through the front door when Tucker comes to a halt—an actual, sudden stop that causes Garrett’s head to bump into his back.

Hannah instinctively scans the room trying to find the reason why Tucker froze, and that is when she spots the unfamiliar pair of shoes in the rack, two large suitcases beside stairs, an unrecognizable coat draped on the backrest of the couch.

Dean and Logan, completely focused on Garrett, do not immediately notice the slight changes around the house, but Hannah and Tucker do.

“Fuck, man, warn a guy next time—” Dean’s words are cut off abruptly when he finally sees the reason for Tucker’s sudden pause. “Holy fuck.”

Hannah’s jaw drops as her eyes land on you lounging on the sofa, the wide smile on your face faltering when you see the state your boyfriend is in.

“Oh God, what happened?” You stand from the couch to rush over, your hands immediately finding your boyfriend’s face. “Baby, what happened to you?”

Garrett looks up, his bleary, unfocused eyes staring through you, and he drunkenly laughs. “Shit, I miss her so much I’m hallucinating.”

You fight back a smile at his words.

The guys and Hannah exchange quick pleasantries with you as you let them drag Garrett into his room with a promise to spend more time with you once your boyfriend has had his time.

You hug each of them swiftly. “I have some stuff for you in the pink luggage.”

“You are a lifesaver.”

“We literally love you.”

“You are amazing,” Hannah suddenly says, which makes you stop. “Even more amazing in real life. I hope you know that I adore you already, and I hope to get to know you more.”

“Babe, I love you, and please. I would love to know the person who saved my boyfriend’s career.” You grin, giving her a quick hug before entering Garrett’s bedroom.

Soon enough, it’s just you and your drunk boyfriend in his room. He is lying on his back, spread out like a starfish, and you snap a quick photo before moving.

You wet a washcloth with warm water and gently wipe him clean when he starts groaning and trying to push your hands off him weakly.

“Stop it, I have a girlfriend,” he mumbles, barely able to roll over. “She’s the only one I want. I love her and I miss her so much.” He almost starts crying right then and there.

“I’m sorry,” you say with a grin. “I’m sorry, I won’t touch you again, but can you please move over? Can you leave a space for when your girlfriend comes?”

“Mkay,” is all he murmurs as he rolls over to his own side on the bed, before promptly falling asleep.

You tidy up swiftly and crawl into bed with him, exhaustion taking over just as quickly.

—

Garrett regains consciousness slowly, but the pounding in his head quickly makes itself known. He winces slightly as the memories rush through his head with them ending right before his friends had dragged him home.

He raises a hand in an attempt to rub his eyes free of sleep, only to realize that his whole arm is pinned on the bed. He slowly turns to look, and his eyes immediately land on a mop of hair—your hair—and he feels the air leaving his lungs when he realizes that you are lying right there, on his bed, with him. You are not sleeping on your own bed across the country in California, but right here in Hastings.

A smile spreads across his face, his hangover completely forgotten as he leans down to wake you with gentle kisses on your skin.

He does not stop until you wake up, and he definitely does not—cannot—keep his hands off you—not when you shower together, not when you leave his bedroom and make your way downstairs, not when you walk into the kitchen, not when you talk with your friends, and definitely not when you spend the entire break with him.

New York City - Wednesday at noon

The rooftop garden had been transformed so beautifully you wouldn't have believed you were in the middle of the city if it weren't for the surrounding buildings, there were stacks of hay, barrels, wood fixtures, hats, cow print all around and little horses decorating the entire place. Dean's mom had gone all out and spared no expenses for her grandchild's first birthday, she'd insisted on throwing the party and had made sure to include you in every step of the planning.

Now, Sebastian is toddling around dresses in an adorable cowboy outfit completed with the tiniest cowboy boots gifted to him by his uncle Tuck.

"He looks like he's enjoying himself" Dean stands by your side and you both look out at Sebastian laughing as he plays on the ball pit.

"Yeah he does" You sigh "The boys here yet?"

"Logan just texted, they're on their way from the airport right now"

"Think Tuck will show up in full cowboy get up?" You joke.

He laughs "One hundred percent"

Tucker does show up in a full cowboy outfit complemented with the hat and buckle belt and all of Dean's mom's friends go crazy for the young handsome cowboy and treat him as if he were the entertainment.

When it is time to cut up the cake you all stand around the table with Sebastian in Dean's arms and sing Happy Birthday to him, you had been scared that he wouldn't like it, but once again, he proves he is his father's son and loves the attention he's getting, you let him have his own smash cake that he demolishes completely and laugh when he gives you the biggest frost covered smile ever.

You're trying to clean him when Garrett finally approaches, as usual it takes him a bit to warm up to the baby, and he's still awkward around him a year after, Seb doesn't care about his uncle's clear unsure attitude towards him though because he reaches for him every time he can and today is not the exeption.

His hands are covered in frosting still but he makes grabby motions at Garrett who freezes "He's not an explosive you know?" You chuckle at his reaction.

"I know, but I don't want to… break him" You almost choke at his words.

"I'm sorry what?"

"I don't know how to hold a baby, I don't want to mess up and drop him or something"

"Garrett, he's pretty sturdy" You tell him "Plus he's sadly not a tiny baby anymore, he'll adjust himself until he feels safe and comfortable"

"Right"

Sebastian shrieks at Garrett not picking him up and then lets out a "GA!"

"He's calling for you Ga" You chuckle and hand him over.

Garret's face scrunches up in disgust when your son puts his hands on it "He's sticky"

"It's just frosting" You shrug and hand him a wet towel "Here"

You're getting a glass of lemonade when you notice Tucker's call for help, he's stuck in between a group of older women, Mrs. Di Laurentis' friends for sure. He smiles at them with the politeness that only Tucker can conjure and then when he notices you looking at him gives you a pleading look to get him out if there.

Laughing a little you approach them "Hello ladies, I have to steal our resident cowboy for a minute to get some pictures before the birthday boy gets the sugar crash"

"Oh okay, but you're returning him to us after!" One of them says.

You nod "Yes ma'am" And grab his arm pulling him away.

"You're my life saver, I could kiss you right now" He tells you.

"Let's not do that at our kid's first birthday huh bud?" Dean appears out of nowhere and stands in between the two of you.

You turn to him immediately at that "Dean, are you jealous?"

"No, I just think we should have some decorum and you two making out at a one year old's party is the right move" The blonde shrugs nonchalantly.

"Okay but what about a little peck?" You question, Tucker has a small smirk pulling on his face that he's trying to stop.

"Mmm no, still don't think you should do that"

"Damn, I was about to suggest you two did a couple pictures with Seb and one of the poses might have included a little peck between his parents" Jules materializes out of thin air like they have the whole day as the designated photographer "But if this is a kiss free zone then oh well…"

You know they are baiting him so you just bite down a laugh and say "What a shame, that sounded kinda cute actually"

"Well no, see, that would be different"

"How exactly?" Tucker asks crossing his arms.

"We're his parents!" Dean argues "We should have all the cute family pictures!"

"But you just said no kissing during a first birthday party, something about lacking decorum" Tucker reminds him.

"Between you two" The dad points out "Because you are not together so you'd be just kissing without a relationship and that's just…"

"Okay but we're not together either so…" You say, Jules nods beside you.

"But we're his parents and-"

He gets cut off by Garrett holding Seb away from him as if he were toxic "Right, so as his parents please take the kid, he kinda stinks"

Dean grabs the baby without fight "You're weak bro, he doesn't even smell that bad"

Tucker gets a step closer and gags making you all laugh "Holy fuck, he smells worse than the locker room"

"Who smells worse than the locker room?" Logan joins the group.

"Seb"

"He can't be that bad"

"Wanna check?"

"Nope"

New York City Apartment - Wednesday night

The apartment's living room looks like a toy store. Sebastian is asleep in his room worn out from all the excitement of the day, your friends are in the guest rooms and you and Dean are going through the photos Jules sent you on his laptop in the middle of the living room.

"We did good" Dean smiles looking at one picture where Seb looks to be having the time of his life while eating his cake.

"Yeah, we're doing a pretty good job" You agree and change the picture to one of you holding him "Look at how happy he looks"

"So pretty" You look up to find Dean looking at you now.

Your face softens "Dean"

"I know" He says "But… I mean what if? We never even tried"

"Dean, I adore you, you're the best dad I could've asked for for Seb, and you're a great guy all around but we can't risk this not working out when there's a whole other person who depends on us" You tell him and see him frown.

"But how do you know it's not going to work out? We do great together, we're a great team, today was clear proof of that"

"You don't want this, not really, at least not now. Today was great, but we're going back to school next week and things will change, you are not ready for the kind of commitment that comes with a relationship, let alone one with so much on the stake" You try to explain, he looks defleated.

"You don't get to speak for me" He doesn't raise his voice and that hurts more because you've never seen him look like this "Maybe I am ready for the commitment, you don't know that"

"You love sex, you love one night stands, you never hook up with the same girl twice unless you've deemed enough time has passed and you make a face every time one of your friends mentions anything relationship related" You point out.

"What face? I don't make a face" He argues "But that's besides the point, yes, I love sex but if we were together then we could have sex, so much sex, great sex, I remember, we're great together in that too"

"Stop saying sex please" You stop him "Just answer me this, if I hadn't come to you and tell you I was pregnant, would you have even considered calling me again?" He thinks about it "Exactly, we can't risk it Dean" You stand up leaving the laptop by his side "Goodnight Dean"

Off Campus apartment - Saturday morning

You haven't seen Dean that much in the past week, he was supposed to help you move but then had to help Summer with something last minute and had recruited the guys to help you instead, you know he was lying about it. The guys barely looked at you while helping you bring everything into your new apartment, not because they were mad at you for rejecting their friend but because every time they tried to say something it came out too awkward.

So now you're left to unpack everything by yourself, at least Tucker offered to babysit Seb for a few hours so you didn't have to worry about him for a bit, you have the suspicion he's actually taking your son back to the hockey house so Dean can see him because he's been weird about visiting too, he's seen Sebastian of course, he can't go more than a day without seeing him, but usually the guys would ask to take him or he'd pick him up for the day without saying much to you even though you were practically living together, yes, he also slept in his family's apartment instead of your shared one.

"Super important favor to ask" Hannah speaks into the phone when you pick up.

"Shoot" You're unpacking the kitchen.

"My bike seems to have gotten banged up on the trip back, any chance you know how to fix the uh… is it the chains? I think its the chains" She sounds like she's moving the bike around and it doesn't seem to sound too good.

"No idea, actually, I don't even think I know how to ride a bike" You admit "But I have someone who can probably fix it for cheap for you"

"Great! can I drop it off at yours? It's closer than the dorms and-" She stops herself "Wait, did you just say you don't know how to ride a bike?"

"Yeah?"

"You can't not know how to ride a bike. How old are you? Three?"

"I just never learned" You shrug not seeing the big deal "I have bad balance"

"You have a whole child, who's gonna teach your kid how to ride a bike if you don't know how to?" Hannah sounds personally offended by your lack of knowledge in riding a bike.

"His dad probably, he's the athletic one" You answer.

"Absolutely not, you're learning how to ride a bike this semester, mark my words, we're getting my bike fixed and then I'm teaching you"

"Why is this a semester activity? Don't kids learn in like a week?"

"Well yes, but I have like three jobs plus school and you have a kid and work and school so we'll probably not have that much time and therefore we'll take it slow whenever we can" She explains.

"Hannah, if it takes longer than a week for you to teach me how to ride a bike I'm giving up"

"Nooo"

"Yes"

"No"

"Yes"

She sighs "Fine, a week" And accepts "But it can't be this week cause I need to get my schedule set"

"Okay, just let me know"

"Cool, I'm going to be the best teacher ever, we're getting matching helmets and I'm getting you knee and elbow pads and-"

"Hey Han" You interrupt her she hums "Just bring your bike over so we can get it fixed hopefully before classes start on Monday"

"Right, be there in five"

Hockey house - Tuesday afternoon

"Dude, this is getting ridiculous" Logan passed Sebastian to his dad, you'd just dropped him off before your shift at Malone's "She gave me the baby, we said three words and she left, you're telling me you can't exchange three words with her?"

"Of course I can, I just needed to pee" Dean defended, Logan raised his eyebrows.

"And you couldn't hold it for like one minute?"

"No"

"Maybe I'll get you adult diapers for your next birthday then" The roommate scoffed and walked away.

"I do not need adult diapers" Dean mumbled "You have enough diapers for the both of us right bud?" Seb blinked at him.

"Dada!" He happily clapped his dad's cheeks between his little hands.

"You are too strong for your little body, you know that?" Dean winced at the hit "Maybe we'll start you on hockey early, or football, rugby maybe? A contact sport for sure dude"

Hockey house - Thursday morning

Something the four roommates had been blessed with this semester was their schedules lining up perfectly on Thursdays, well, not to the dot, but none of them had any lectures in the morning. Last night you'd dropped Sebastian off with them since you were planning on going for a job interview before your first class of the day and thought it better to let Sebastian sleep fully at his dad's rather than wake him up earlier than needed.

Dean woke up around nine and while still half asleep reached around his bed to find Sebastian who'd been sleeping next to him, he jumped up when he couldn't feel him."Seb? Buddy?" He was panicking leaving the room in just his briefs when he realized the baby wasn't there. His head was pounding as he sprinted down the stairs, probably from the way he jumped off his bed.

"Seb?" He repeats looking around "Sebastian Di Laurentis where the hell are you?"

"Dada?" His little head peaked over the couch, blonde strands of hair a mess and sleepy eyes.

"Oh my god, Seb what are you doing here?" Dean approaches the sofa and finds an image he never thought he'd see in his life.

Garret's sprawled over the surface of the couch fast asleep and Seb's lying on top of him. The tv is on showing some cartoon show and one of Garrett's arms secures the little boy so he doesn't fall off.

"Ga!"

"Yeah, you hanging out with Uncle Garrett?" Sebastian nods and snuggles back into Garrett who mumbles something in his sleep and tightens his hold "Oh I need like 20 pictures of this or no one will believe it's true"

Unfortunately for Garrett, all his friends wake up before he does and get to see just how cuddly and soft their captain can get for his nephew. At some point in the morning Dean decides that although this is something he hates to break up, Seb probably needs a new diaper, he already ate breakfast on top of Garret because he refused to move, but now the father needs to get his son.

"Maybe I'll lie on top of him when you take Seb away and he won't notice the difference" Logan offers.

"Let me just…" Dean stands in front of them, Seb's big eyes looking up at him with a sleepy smile that he's had all morning from how comfortable he's gotten "Okay bud, you need to come with daddy now okay? Promise I'll bring you right back"

Thankfully Sebastian doesn't hate the idea of his dad's arms and goes easily, Garrett however, is a complete different story. The hockey player mumbles angrily in his sleep and tightens his hold, when Dean pulls gently he tugs back.

"Why is he not letting go?" Tucker asks in disbelief "He can barely hold him when he's awake but asleep he's like velcroed to him"

"Garrett, dude" Dean sighs and pushes him "You have to let go, you can't steal my kid"

"Mmm no" Garrett turns away taking a giggling Sebastian with him.

"I'm waking him up" Logan says before leaning down and pinching his shoulder hard, Garrett jumps up and they bump heads "Aw fuck!"

"What the fuck!" Garrett exclaims holding his head in pain finally letting go of the baby who burts out laughing at his uncles being in pain, Dean takes him rolling his eyes.

"You're on babysitting duty next time I need someone to look after him by the way!" Dean shouts as he walks up the stairs back to his room for the diaper change. In the background he can hear Tucker dying of laughter and the other two idiots complaining about their hit

Off campus apartment - Thursday night.

Dean finally decides to start acting like an adult again, meaning he's actually dropping Sebastian off at your apartment instead of just sending one of the guys over to do it. "I can do this" He says to Seb, or himself, he doesn't really know "It's just mama, no need to be nervous right?"

You open the door right after he knocks and greet him with a simple hello before taking Sebastian and saying goodbye. Dean stands frozen but reacts last second and pushes his foot to wedge the door and keep it open.

"I'm sorry" You give him a confused look "I've been an asshole these past few days, I'm kinda proving your point and I don't want it to be like this for the next 17 years"

Your face softens "Now you understand me then?"

"Well no, I still think we could've given it a try" He says "But I'm not pressuring you into anything"

"Dean, I barely saw you this week even though Sebastian was with you every other day, I can't do that for however many years we have to, it's not fair to anyone. I want to have a good civil relationship with you for as long as we are taking care of Sebastian, whether that is for the next 17 years or until he's 30, but you deciding you're no longer talking to me for a week because I told you I didn't want to risk that with a relationship doesn't exactly make me want to change my mind about it"

"I hear you, I'm sorry" He looks down at his feet "I- yeah, I'm sorry, I'll try to go back to the way it was before, let me just process the double rejection" He jokes.

"Sure man, take your time, just please don't send the guys to come pick and drop Seb off anymore, my pantry is screaming from how empty it is, they always take the good snacks"

It's safe to say Dean makes the guys go to the store and get you all the snacks they took from you and more the next day threatening to ruin all their chances of scoring in their next game if they don't.

The rippling of the chlorinated water was about as mesmerizing as watching a dead goldfish try to swim. You stared at the deformed appearance of your submerged feet anyway. No matter how interesting you pretended your limbs were though, no matter how distracted you pretended to be, there was a set of eyes that were always watching, and nothing seemed to go unnoticed; Andrew Cody typically never missed anything. 

It had been going on for months now. Ever since you became friends with— and this wording always makes the older man cringe— his nephew J, you lingered. Much like the scent of pool water at the Cody residence. The same pool you regularly dropped by unannounced to use. Even in your absence, your mark has been left on the home in recent months. With your personal hygiene products in the bathroom, your undergarments somehow winding up in the family's laundry, and even your unfinished drinks that would sit in the fridge. It was undeniable that you've become a regular guest. Not that anyone minded. To Daren, Craig, and Baz; Andrew's brothers, you were simply another body in the house. 

Unbeknownst to you, the brothers' kept their distance from you in suspicion, worried you would relay what you heard to others. However, unbeknownst to them, you knew about as much as J did. J was your close friend so naturally, he confided in you about the "jobs" they would do. Quite frankly, you were the only person J could share such sensitive information with. Andrew knew that. He observed, borderline stalked, every reoccurring face at the Cody residence. With such obsessive analyzing, he gathered that you were aware of much more than you would ever let on. And that's what bothered him. Not just bothered, it unsettled him. 

It irked the man to no end that no one could see through your act. Why could no one see it? That's why he was watching you as closely as he currently was. In your peripheral, the man stood just in front of the sliding glass doors that led to the kitchen, arms crossed, brows low and furrowed. He observed with the same look one would give their skin once realizing their attempt to wash away the smell of chlorine failed. It was critical. It was disturbed even. In every flex of you legs, ever raise of your arms, every twitch, every movement, his suspicions heightened. There was irony in all of this with how unassuming you presented yourself. To the world you were simply a young woman breezing through her youth, modest enough to charm some people along the way. In Andrew's head though, he wasn't going to let some young woman be the downfall of his family simply because she was attractive enough to fly under everyone else's radar. 

"Andrew?" you test his name on your tongue. Loud enough for him to hear, soft enough for you to question whether his name really left your mouth. He didn't want to let his guard down so he stiffens, and grunts a "hm" out. 

"Why do you do that?" you ask curiously.

"Do what?" he counters. It's un-genuine. Flat. 

"Watch me every time I come around…What? You think I'm gonna drown or something? Are you gonna save me?" you attempt humor.

In the deep ginger-haired man's typical manner, he stares blankly. Not a single muscle twitches on his face. That certainly doesn't ease your anxieties from interacting with the eldest Cody one on one for the first time. 

"Tough crowd," you mutter flatly, but not unkind. 

"You think you're apart of this?" he squints, taking a territorial step forward. "You think because you're always around you're one of us?" 

Now that revives your amusement. A boyish smile spreads across your face. "Apart of what, Andrew?" you pry coyly. "Cause it sounds like to me you're implicating something." 

Unamused, he glares at you, standing his ground it seems. Not unlike a jaded dog that wasn't quick to trust. The pause of silence stretches, and once you realize he's not going to fill it, you continue. 

"Look, I'm not some lost little girl that's begging for validation. Let alone from a family as dysfunctional as yours, no offense. I'm not interested in what you all do, I'm interested in this and that," you point to the pool and the kitchen. 

His hazel eyes flit back and forth between your own. Analyzing. Assessing. "What's your deal? Huh? What are you really doing here?" he presses unconvinced, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You roll your eyes at his antics before picking up your drink that sat next you on the edge of the pool deck, continuing the swinging of your legs in the water. His figure shifts, no longer in your view point, and behind you the sound of boot soles meeting the concrete travels closer and closer. Your back suddenly goes cold, the warmth of the sun blocked, a shadow enveloping you and a warped reflection of the man's face ripples in the water. It's unwelcoming , of course. 

"Cut the shit…I know you're not stupid." he bites. 

You turn your body to look up at him, meeting his eyes. He has this annoyingly cautious gaze, like you're already guilty of whatever he's conjured up in his brain to accuse you of. 

His tense words are met with a sigh. "Andrew…I have an idea of what you guys do, I just don't give a shit."

He opens his mouth to argue, but it closes once yours opens. 

"Whatever sketchy shit you guys do in your free time is none of my business. I don't care. I don't want a cut. I don't wanna help." you sip your drink again before you partially turn your head to look at him and continue. "So…is there anything else you wanna grill me on, or can we get past this whole hostility phase?" you wonder, bored. 

He glares with pursed lips, the silence deafening, but you make it a point not to break it. It seemed to be a test. A stand off. One you wished to win because while you didn't care to impress others, the eldest brother's opinion was something you cared for. His mouth opens before he closes it, jaw ticking. 

A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "Refresh this while you think about it, yeah?" you joke, holding your glass out to him while swirling it a bit. He looks down at it with an unreadable expression before his gaze hardens once his eyes meet yours again. 

There's another long pause of utter silence. Surprisingly, he picks up your glass, and strides to the kitchen. Now it was your turn for your mouth to fall agape. It was a teasing gesture, you didn't expect him to actually do it. Yet your ego tells you to hold your head up high and enjoy the slight footing you were given. Even if Andrew was the one to give it to you. 

You turn your head and your brows furrow when he returns with two glasses, liquid within them a bright red. The older man holds one out to you. You squint at him cautiously before accepting it, hesitantly of course. Your eyes flick down at your drink—it was identical to the one you made earlier— and back up to him. The tension thickening as you take in his freckle peppered face through your lashes. 

"Did you slip me something, Andrew?" you inquire. This time not teasing, nor accusatory. You asked him in the same tone one would ask about the weather. And this he found adorable. He knows you're smart and wouldn't hang onto his every word, but he humors you regardless. "Course not" he mutters, and he's truthful when he says that. 

But of course, you knew better than to blindly believe the words of a man. So you dump the contents of the glass into the pool. With nonchalance, you set the cup back on the pool deck. This causes the corner of his mouth to twitch. 

"Smart girl," he drawls, giving you a curt nod of approval.

Your eyes graze up and down his body approvingly. His own eyes never leave your face though. It was more of an act of discipline on his end. Once your gaze reaches his face again, he sips his drink. The two of you staring at one another in a charged silence. His beverage looked the same as yours, something too fruity for his liking in your opinion. 

"How is it?" you grin. 

"Awful…it tastes like diabetes," he admits dryly before crouching down next to you to hand the drink off to you. A silent offer for you to finish it.

You giggle at his words which elicits a slight tilt of his head, much like an assessing dog. Decoding the reaction of a person in hopes of understanding. 

"What? You're funny" you muttered the words into the cup as you drank. 

Andrew was perturbed. Were you making fun of him? Mocking him in front of his face? No one found him "funny". Not unless they were laughing at his expense rather than at what he says. His face hardens as his ear tips redden in embarrassment, bracing himself to bite back. The man prepares to defend himself from your cruelty. That's until he meets your eyes again and sees the warmth in them. Your lashes flutter expectantly; not impatient, but curious. You're not soft, but you're genuine. He sees it. He feels it. You're kind, but far from naive. You're observant, but far from judgmental. It's the knowledge of that which relaxes the muscles in his face. 

"How did you know how I take my drink?" you question, amused.

You were patient, Andrew noticed. At least with him. You allowed him his pauses of silence to process things. He often got weird stares with how long he took to respond, but you waited with a curious head tilt. You seemed like the kind of person to prioritize meaningful conversation rather than filling silence with noise. You were a great listener, at least that’s what Andrew thought. You made him feel heard.

"I pay attention," he finally mumbles, scratching at his neck as he stands up again. It was automated. As if he was saying that because he knew it was the acceptable answer, as if the truth was something that he shouldn't share. 

That response makes you erupt in more laughter, but it's lighter this time. "You're adorable" you blurt out the words before you can overthink them. 

This time his neck and face are now equally as flushed as the tips of his ears. His hand that was once scratching his neck drops to his side, fingers beginning to twitch. His gaze travels to focus on something, searching for something to stabilize how unbalanced he felt. He lands on the water fountain he had previously assembled in the grass, searching for something to stabilize how unbalanced he felt. You notice the discomfort and decide not to acknowledge it, not wanting to add onto his discomfort. 

"Anyway…" you lazily trail off. "I know if you think I’m suspicious or untrustworthy, I can't change that…but I really don't have some crazy ulterior motive. Sure, J and I are good friends, but this…thing he's pursuing with you guys isn't exactly a passion of mine," you lamely explain. This doesn't land well with the curly haired man. 

"Everything I do is for my family," Andrew blurts. It's almost defensive if it weren't for how weak he said it. What the fuck was he saying? He didn't need to defend himself to you. Who cares what you think? Unfortunately for him, Andrew Cody does. Whether he consciously realizes it or not, his desire for forgiveness was beginning to bleed into this conversation. So much for him sussing you out.

You search his expression for a sign of what emotion his statement was loaded with. You expected anger, disdain, maybe even ego, an attitude of "you don't understand my backstory and why I do what I do." You end up finding nothing of that. Nothing even adjacent to any of those feelings is what you find. All you see is eyes full of hurt, they hope you understand, but expect you to kick him like an unwanted mutt. He braces himself for you to solidify his belief that he's a bad person. The vulnerability of it takes you aback. You don't want to ruin this moment or say the wrong thing. The last thing you want is to patronize him. 

"Is that something that you value?" you ask awkwardly, as if you're scared the question will anger him. After a moment of silence you clarify yourself out of nervousness. "Family…I mean." you add. 

"I know" he snaps out, voice raspy. He pauses to clear his throat before answering. "We all have our roles. I follow mine." he explains, aware of how vague and, frankly, lame it is. That's why his fingers twitch incessantly at his sides, sight zoned in on his water fountain. 

"Andrew…" you start, causing his head to snap back to you. Your eyes widened at how desperate his looked. His hazel eyes had this puppy like appearance to them. A helplessness that contrasted the carrier of them. His matured body the opposite of how uncertain his eyes appeared. He almost looked like a little boy begging for help. 

"Andrew, baby" the shrill of a familiar voice calls out from the kitchen. The man's entire body tenses up making you realize how relaxed he just was. Every ounce of vulnerability you managed to coax out evaporated the second the Cody matriarch spoke. His shoulders were practically to his ears. 

"What is it Smurf?" he asks gruffly, head half turning to call out behind him. 

"Why don't you go check on my car…it was making a noise earlier," she suggests, but neither you or Andrew is fooled by that tone. It was a demand. 

The freckled man clenches his jaw before begrudgingly walking off. He exchanged a look with you that you couldn't quite distinguish. It might've been a desire to stay put. It could've been a itch to argue with you. Before you can distinguish what it was, the gentle digging of nails into your shoulder grounds you back to Earth. 

"Sweetheart…it's best if you avoid talking to him alone…Pope can get quite…aggressive," Smurf warns. It almost sounds as if she genuinely cares about your well being and not her iron grip over her eldest born. 

You look at her cautiously. You search her face in hopes that her motive will appear on it. Of course that doesn't happen, but the woman continues. 

"Pope doesn't mean to hurt people, but he can't be trusted alone," she says. 

"I understand…" you lie through your teeth, hand tightening around your glass. 

"And it's best that you don't accept any of his…offerings," she whispers before patting your shoulder and slipping the drink from your hand. 

Your lips press into a thin line as she walks off. 

By the time you turn around to look at Andrew again, he's already staring at you. The entirety of his demeanor different from what it was just minutes ago. The warm auburn-haired man's eyes were heavy, darker in color almost. He knew you got the whole spiel of how he was "dangerous". While Andrew would never admit it, it hurt just the same each time he heard it. As you stared back at him, that look in his eyes came back. The subtle helplessness bubbling right beneath the rough surface. You realized in that moment you had an overwhelming urge to help the man. Not save him, not change him, not take care of him; you wanted to help him. This desire came out in the longing stare you unknowingly gave him. 

"You should probably go," he rasps, head tipping to lazily gesture towards the kitchen entrance. 

You hesitate, frozen in place as you internally fight between getting closer to him or leaving him to head inside. All you can muster is to stand up and give a curt nod. Your lips flatten into a thin line, making your internal dilemma as readable as an open book. Andrew liked that your expressions were so readable. It made you all the more disarming. God dammit, not even 30 minutes alone with you and he was already succumbing to your freakishly comforting nature. He was internally beating himself up over this. 

"Okay…" you squeak uncertainly. "uhm…the drink was good…thank you." 

His eyes softened slightly, but his face was still tense from Smurf's looming gaze through the kitchen. A hand comes up to scratch the bridge of his nose, and he pretends that he's rummaging through the tool box outside, it was next to the stack of bricks; product of his most recent house project. It's a lot of random motions of hands repeatedly taking out and putting back various tools. 

"Never take drinks from strangers…" he mumbles. His words sound dull, but there's that small change in his voice that tells you he's making a joke. You laugh. He can't remember the last time someone laughed at his jokes.

The older woman walks down the hallway, but not without giving her son a warning look. Yet, he brushes it off as he really took you in. Everything was noticed from the part of your hair, the nervous fluttering of your lashes, the way you nervously wring your hands, and even that endearing yet awkward face you made; eyes squinted in amusement and cheeks puffed out. In an attempt to express the most emotion he was capable of showing, Andrew's mouth twitches upward, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle just slightly. A smile almost. He found you adorable, he realized. 

You look down at the small puddle that formed below your feet, failing to bite your smile. "Bye Andrew…I'll see you at dinner," you attempt to say nonchalantly, but the older man can practically hear your smile. Finally, you wrap yourself in a towel, beginning to walk off while nervously chewing at your lower lip. His head turns just so with his brow raised. You were staying for dinner? After giving you a once over he mutters out a casual

"See ya"