honey in your teeth

His old high school hoodie hung loose on his frame, sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms despite the cold. Dirt stained the cuffs. More dirt sat beneath his fingernails. He barely noticed anymore.

A strand of wire snapped into place. He moved to the next section. Then the next. Then the next.

By the time sunlight finally started creeping over the horizon, he'd already repaired nearly fifty yards of fencing. Not because he was in a hurry. Just because there wasn't much else to do.

The horses greeted him when he crossed the pasture. A few nudged at his pockets searching for treats. One bumped his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. Rhett reached up automatically, scratching the gelding's neck. The horse huffed happily.

Rhett didn't smile.

He dumped feed into the troughs instead. The animals crowded forward immediately. Their excitement felt foreign. Simple. Easy. A life where needs could be met with grain and water and routine.

Lucky bastards.

He lingered for a moment after they settled. Watching them eat. Listening to the soft sounds of chewing and shifting hooves. The quiet didn't bother him anymore. It was almost preferable. People expected things. The horses never did.

By the time he walked back toward the house, the sun was fully up. The Abbott ranch was awake. Royal's truck sat outside. The kitchen lights glowed through the windows.

Rhett wiped his hands on his jeans before stepping inside. The smell of coffee hit him immediately. Bacon. Eggs. Breakfast. Cecelia stood at the stove. Royal sat at the table reading something that looked suspiciously like he wasn't actually reading it. Both looked up when Rhett entered.

"Morning," Cecelia said softly.

"Mornin'."

His voice sounded rough from disuse.

He grabbed a mug. Poured coffee. Sat down. That was it. No conversation. No stories. No complaints. No plans for the day yet. Just silence. The kind that had become normal.

Royal folded the paper. "Fence fixed?"

"Mostly," Rhett replied without looking up.

"You finish the east section?" Royal asked, moving his head to try to look at rhett’s face

"Yeah," Rhett replied flatly.

Royal nodded. Conversation over.

Cecelia set a plate in front of Rhett. He thanked her automatically then started eating. Across the table, Royal exchanged a look with Cecelia. A quick one. The kind people thought went unnoticed. Rhett noticed. He just pretended not to. They'd been doing that for two years. Sharing those looks. Worrying. Trying not to worry. Watching him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. At first he'd hated it. Now he mostly felt tired.

Outside, a truck passed on the road. The sound reached the kitchen windows. Before he could stop himself, Rhett glanced toward it. Just for a second. A habit. Nothing more. The truck kept going. Not that he expected otherwise.

He looked back down at his breakfast. Across the table, neither of his parents said anything. That almost made it worse. Because they knew. Not everything. Not the whole of it. But enough. Enough to know he never went anywhere unless he had to. Enough to know he stopped going out after work. Enough to know he hadn't dated a single person since. Enough to know he rarely laughed anymore. Enough to know that every unfamiliar vehicle still made him look up. Not because he thought she'd be in it. Not really. Not consciously. Just because some part of him still checked. Some stupid hopeful part that refused to die no matter how many years passed.

Rhett took another drink of coffee.

Outside, the ranch carried on exactly as it always had. The horses needed feeding. The fences needed repairing. The work never ended. And tomorrow morning he'd wake up before sunrise and do it all again.

For a while, the only sounds in the kitchen were silverware against plates and the occasional turn of a newspaper page. Cecelia hated it. Not the silence itself. The emptiness inside it.

Before, Rhett had always been quiet compared to Perry, but there'd been life underneath it. Smiles. Sarcasm. Complaints about chores. Stories about bull riding. Talk about friends.

Now every conversation felt like trying to coax words from stone. She poured herself another cup of coffee.

"Sleep alright?" she asked softly.

Rhett swallowed a bite of eggs before replying. "Little."

That was all. Not good. Not bad. Just… little.

Cecelia nodded as though that answer wasn't heartbreaking.

"Better than yesterday?" she asked, trying to pry just a little bit of her past son’s personality out of him.

A shrug. Maybe. Maybe not. Rhett didn't elaborate. He kept eating.

Royal kept pretending to read.

Cecelia tried again. "You wanna come into town with us tomorrow?"

"If I must,” Rhett replied, emotionless.

No irritation. No argument. Just complete indifference. Somehow that felt worse.

Years ago, Rhett would've complained about wasting time in town. He would've asked where they were going. Whether he could stop somewhere afterward. Now he sounded like a man discussing weather.

Royal turned another page. Still not reading.

Cecelia stared into her coffee.

"You talked to anybody lately?" she asked, one last desperate attempt at a conversation with her son.

That finally earned a glance. Brief. Exhausted.

"No one to talk to,” he replied, then he looked back at his plate.

The answer settled heavily across the table. Not bitter. Not self-pitying. Just matter-of-fact. Like saying the sky was blue. Like saying winter was cold.

No one to talk to.

Royal folded the newspaper. Slowly. Deliberately. The sound seemed unusually loud in the quiet kitchen.

"We need feed," Royal said, firmly.

Rhett nodded.

Royal continued. "And fencing supplies."

Another nod.

"The feed store's got both."

Rhett took a drink of coffee. "Okay."

Royal studied him for a second. "You ain't staying here."

That got a blink. Barely.

"We're going after breakfast in the mornin’."

No response. Royal adjusts to look Rhett in the face. "You hear me?"

"Yep," Rhett responds flatly.

Royal leaned back in his chair. "Good."

Silence returned.

Cecelia watched her son carefully.

Twenty years old. Strong. Capable. Working harder than most men twice his age. And somehow looking older than he should. Not physically. Just… Tired. Like he'd been carrying something for too long.

Rhett finished his coffee and stood.

"I'll get the truck loaded."

He carried his plate to the sink before either of them could stop him. Then he disappeared out the back door. The screen slammed shut behind him.

The kitchen felt quieter immediately. For several seconds neither Royal nor Cecelia spoke. Then Cecelia sighed, a deep one. The kind that came from somewhere near her heart. Royal stared toward the door Rhett had just walked through.

"He'll come," Royal said matter-of-factly

"I know," Cecelia said quietly.

"He needs to leave this property once in a while," he continues firmly.

"I know," she said, giving a soft sad smile to her husband. Royal nodded.

Neither mentioned that Rhett only left when absolutely necessary. Neither mentioned that every invitation from friends had stopped coming months ago. Neither mentioned that no girl had been around since. Neither mentioned that half the town seemed to have accepted things would simply be this way now. Because saying it out loud wouldn't help.

Outside the window, Rhett crossed the yard toward the barn. Head down. Hands shoved into the pocket of that old hoodie. Moving with the same steady purpose he always had. Working. Existing. Surviving. Nothing more.

Cecelia watched him disappear inside. Then she quietly reached across the table and squeezed Royal's hand. Royal squeezed back. Neither said what they were both thinking.

Two years should have been enough.

It hadn't been.

—

Life existed here. That was the first thing people noticed about Oklahoma State.

The movement. The noise. The constant feeling that something was happening somewhere.

Students hurried across campus carrying backpacks and coffee cups. Laughter drifted from groups gathered on benches. A tour group shuffled past a fountain while some exhausted senior tried explaining campus traditions to a collection of terrified freshmen.

The place never seemed to stop moving.

At first, it had been overwhelming. Now it was simply life.

You adjusted the strap of your bag and stepped out of the student union, blinking against the morning sunlight. A crowd flowed around you immediately.

You let them. You'd gotten good at that. Moving with people instead of against them. Blending into the current. A sharp shout somewhere behind you made your shoulders tense automatically. Not dramatically. Most people wouldn't notice. But you felt it. That brief tightening in your chest. That instinctive spike of adrenaline. You glanced over your shoulder. Just a group of students joking around. Nothing dangerous. Nothing directed at you.

You kept walking. The tension faded after a few steps. Mostly. The campus stretched out ahead of you. Brick buildings. Green lawns. Students everywhere.

You still sat near exits whenever possible. Still preferred knowing exactly where the nearest door was. Still hated being startled. Still found yourself apologizing for things that weren't your fault. But you weren't living in fear anymore. That was the difference. The biggest difference.

You reached your classroom a few minutes early and slipped inside. The room was only half full. Perfect.

You claimed your usual seat. Third row. Near the side door. Not close enough to look strange. Not far enough away to miss anything. Just comfortable. Predictable. Safe.

You pulled out your notebook. Opened to a clean page. Clicked your pen.

Around you, conversations filled the room. Most people in this class knew who you were by now. Not because you were loud. Quite the opposite. People liked you. Professors liked you. Classmates liked you. You showed up. You paid attention. You listened when people talked. Turns out that went a long way. A few students waved as they entered. You waved back. One stopped by your desk briefly.

"Hey, did you finish the reading?" they asked.

"Yeah," you replied, giving a gentle smile.

"Was it awful?"

You considered it. "A little."

The student laughed. "I knew it."

You smiled. Small. Genuine. The conversation lasted maybe thirty seconds before they moved on.

Two years ago, you probably would've spent the rest of the day replaying it in your head. Wondering if you'd said something wrong. Wondering if you'd sounded stupid. Wondering if you'd somehow upset them.

Now? You just opened your notebook. And waited for class to start. Progress wasn't always dramatic. Sometimes it looked like that. A thirty-second conversation you didn't spend six hours worrying about afterward.

The professor arrived. The lecture began. You took notes. Answered a question when called on. Participated in discussion. Normal things. Things that would've seemed impossible once.

Outside the windows, students crossed campus beneath bright Oklahoma sunshine. Inside, pens scratched across paper. The professor rambled about concepts that would definitely be on the exam. Someone yawned loudly. Someone else nearly fell asleep.

Life. Messy. Ordinary. Moving forward whether you were ready or not.

By the time class ended, your notebook was filled with pages of notes. You packed your bag and stood with everyone else. The crowd bottlenecked near the doorway. Too many people. Too close together. You waited instead. Let them leave first. You always did.

Eventually the room emptied enough to breathe. Only then did you step into the hallway. The noise hit immediately. Hundreds of students moving between classes. From room to room, from building to building. Conversations overlapping. Shoes squeaking against polished floors.

You managed it. You always managed it. But by the time you escaped outside again, the exhaustion had already started settling behind your eyes. Crowds still did that, they took something out of you. Not enough to stop you. Not enough to send you running. Just enough to remind you that healing wasn't the same thing as being healed.

The breeze caught your hair as you stepped into the sunlight. You tilted your face toward the warmth for a second. Then continued toward your next class. One foot in front of the other.

Building a life. Slowly. Carefully. But building it all the same.

You met Wesley because he wouldn't leave you alone. Not in a creepy way. Not even in an annoying way, somehow. Just...Wesley-shaped. The first time you'd spoken to him had been during a group project at the beginning of the semester. The second time had been because he'd spotted you in the library. The third time had been because he'd apparently decided you were his friend. You hadn't really gotten a say in it. Somehow, that was okay.

"You're doing it again."

You looked up from your textbook. Across the table, Wesley was staring at you. Suspiciously.

"You have to be more specific."

"You're reading."

You blinked. "...That's what people do in libraries."

"No, you're reading like you're preparing to testify before Congress."

You stared at him. He stared back. Neither moved.

Finally, Wesley pointed at your textbook. "You've been on the same page for six minutes."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

You glanced down. The page number was exactly the same one you'd been looking at when he'd left to get food.

Damn it.

Wesley looked unbearably pleased with himself.

"See?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Unfortunately, he was correct.

A few minutes later, the two of you had migrated outside. The weather was too nice to stay indoors. You sat beneath a tree near one of the walkways, balancing a basket of fries on your knee while Wesley talked about something that had happened in one of his classes. Honestly? You'd lost track of the story three tangents ago.

"...and then he said it wasn't technically arson."

You paused.

"What?"

"Exactly."

"Wesley."

"I'm just saying if someone starts a fire accidentally, can we really call it arson?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

He gasped dramatically. "Betrayal."

You rolled your eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

Wesley continued talking. You listened. Half listening. Half watching students pass by. The afternoon sun felt warm against your skin. The campus buzzed with life around you. And for once, it didn't feel overwhelming. Just… Present.

You reached for another fry. Stopped. Considered. Maybe.

A hand shot into the basket. Your eyes widened. Wesley immediately shoved the stolen fry into his mouth. You stared at him. Offended. Genuinely offended.

"Wesley."

He chewed thoughtfully. "You took too long deciding if you wanted it."

You continued staring. 

He swallowed. "That's legally my fry now."

The seriousness in his voice broke something loose. A laugh escaped before you could stop it.

Real. Unexpected. Not polite. Not forced. A laugh.

Wesley's face lit up immediately.

"Oh my God."

You narrowed your eyes.

"What?"

"You laughed."

"I do that."

"No, you don't."

"I absolutely do."

"I've known you for months."

You pointed a fry at him threateningly. "Careful."

"I've seen you smile." He held up one finger. "Once."

A second finger. "And smirk."

A third finger. "And commit minor acts of sarcasm."

"Wesley."

"But laugh?" He shook his head dramatically. "Historic occasion."

You groaned.

He looked delighted. The idiot.

For a moment, you simply sat there. Watching students move through campus. Listening to Wesley ramble about absolutely nothing. Feeling the warmth of the afternoon. And for the first time all day, maybe all week, breathing felt easy. Not because Wesley fixed anything.

He didn't.

The nightmares still happened. Crowds still exhausted you. Sudden movements still made your heart jump. There were still days where grief appeared out of nowhere and sat heavy in your chest.

But Wesley had a strange talent. He made room. Room to laugh. Room to exist. Room to be twenty years old instead of a survivor. And sometimes, that was enough.

"Can I have another fry?" Wesley asked.

"No."

"I think friendship requires sacrifice."

"You can sacrifice your own money and buy your own fries."

"Wow." He put a hand over his heart. "That was unnecessarily hostile."

You smiled despite yourself. And Wesley, predictably, stole another fry anyway.

The drive home wasn't long. Long enough to leave campus behind. Long enough for the noise to fade. Long enough to exchange crowded sidewalks and brick buildings for familiar roads and open sky. Not long enough for your grandmother to stop waiting by the front window.

She was standing there when you pulled into the driveway. Just like always. The front door opened before you'd even shut off the car. You smiled despite yourself.

"Hi, Grandma."

"There she is." You barely had time to set your bag down before she wrapped you in a hug. A real one. The kind that squeezed. The kind that lingered. The kind that had helped keep you alive two years ago. "How was the drive?"

"Fine."

"Classes?"

"Good."

"You eating?"

You laughed. "Yes."

She narrowed her eyes. "You better be."

"I am."

"You promise?"

"Grandma."

"That's not a promise."

You groaned.

She looked entirely too pleased with herself. Some things never changed. Thank God. The house smelled like home. Dinner simmering on the stove. Fresh coffee. The faint scent of laundry detergent. Safe. That was still the first word that came to mind whenever you walked through the front door. Safe. Two years later, it still felt strange sometimes. Not because you doubted it. Because you'd spent so long without it.

Your grandmother watched you unpack your overnight bag while pretending she wasn't watching. You noticed. You always noticed. But you let her. Because you understood. She worried. She always would. It wasn't entirely her fault. Two years ago, you'd arrived carrying everything you owned in a handful of bags. Exhausted. Underweight. Constantly crying. Barely sleeping. Barely eating. Barely speaking.

You remembered sitting on this same couch for hours without moving. Remembered staring at the television without actually seeing it. Remembered waking up screaming from nightmares and pretending you hadn't. Remembered apologizing every time you took up space. Every time you made noise. Every time you needed something. You remembered the way your grandmother had simply sat beside you. Never pushing. Never demanding. Just waiting. Patiently. Loving you anyway.

But now? Now you smiled. Not all the time. But enough. You had friends. You went to class. You laughed. You ate actual meals without being reminded. You slept through most nights. Not all. Most. It was progress. Real progress. The kind people fought for. The kind people earned.

Your grandmother saw it too. That was why she smiled every time you walked through the door. Because she remembered. She remembered every step it had taken to get here. That didn't mean she stopped worrying. Not even close.

Later that evening, the two of you sat together in the living room. A movie played quietly in the background. Neither of you were really watching it. Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Unknown number. The reaction was immediate. Tiny. Almost invisible. Your shoulders tensed. Your stomach dropped. Your eyes locked on the screen. Unknown Caller.

Your grandmother noticed. She always noticed.

The phone rang twice more. Then stopped. Voicemail. You exhaled slowly. Only then realizing you'd stopped breathing.

Your grandmother reached over and squeezed your hand. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

It wasn't entirely true. But it wasn't entirely false either. You were okay. You just weren't untouched. The distinction mattered. The movie continued.

Outside, the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The house settled into evening quiet.

Your grandmother studied your profile for a moment. The relaxed posture. The healthier complexion. The way you smiled more easily now. Then she thought about the nightmares that still slipped through sometimes. The panic that appeared whenever an unknown number called. The way you instinctively apologized when someone bumped into you. The tension that still entered your shoulders around certain men. Certain women. The scars nobody could see.

Her chest tightened. Because healing wasn't the same thing as being healed. And because there was one fear she never quite managed to shake. That somehow, some way, your parents would come after you. She hated herself for thinking it. But she thought it anyway. Every time the phone rang unexpectedly. Every time a strange vehicle drove too slowly down the street. Every time someone knocked on the door after dark. It wasn't rational anymore. Not really. But fear rarely cared about rationality.

Across the room, you laughed softly at something ridiculous happening on the television. Your grandmother looked over. And smiled. Because fear wasn't the whole story anymore. Not anymore. You were building a life. A real one. And every day that passed made her a little more certain that leaving had saved you. Even if it had broken your heart. Even if it still hurt.

You were alive. You were healing. And for now, that was enough.

—

The ranch got quieter at night. Not silent. Never silent. There were always sounds. Wind brushing against the side of the house. The occasional creak of old wood settling. Coyotes somewhere in the distance. Horses shifting in the pasture.

But compared to the day? It was quiet enough that a person could think.

Rhett hated that part.

He sat on the edge of his bed in the darkness. The lamp beside him was the only light in the room. Everything else sat in shadow. His boots rested by the door. His hoodie hung over the back of a chair. The room looked almost exactly the same as it had two years ago. That wasn't intentional. He just never found a reason to change it. 

The phone in his hand lit his face blue. A familiar contact sat open on the screen. A conversation that hadn't moved in years. The last message he'd sent was old enough that it should've stopped hurting by now. It hadn't. He stared at it for a long moment. Then looked away. The thing was… he knew. He knew there wouldn't be a response. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't sitting around expecting a miracle. He understood reality. That didn't stop his thumb from hovering over the keyboard sometimes. Tonight wasn't any different. Hey. The word appeared. He stared at it. Then deleted it. The cursor blinked. Waiting. He locked the phone and tossed it onto the bed beside him. The room fell deafeningly quiet again.

For a while, he just sat there. Elbows on his knees. Looking at nothing. Then eventually he stood. Crossed the room. Opened the top drawer of his dresser. Everything inside was ordinary. Socks. Old receipts. Random junk. Beneath it all sat a faded t-shirt. Small. Soft from years of washing. Not his. It had never been his. You'd left it behind accidentally. Two years ago. Back when leaving a shirt somewhere had felt normal. Back when either of you would've assumed there would be another day. Another week. Another month. Another year.

Rhett picked it up carefully. Not because it was fragile but because he was. His thumb brushed over the fabric. The shirt didn't smell like you anymore. That part had disappeared a long time ago. Now it just smelled like cotton. Laundry detergent. Time. Still… he couldn't make himself throw it away. Not because he thought you were coming back for it. Not because he was preserving some shrine. Because every now and then he needed proof that you'd actually existed. That you weren't becoming something his brain had invented. A dream. A memory. A story. The shirt was real. Which meant you had been too.

He folded it again after a moment. Placed it carefully back where it belonged. Beneath everything else. Out of sight. Not gone. Just hidden.

The drawer slid shut.

On the wall above his desk hung a few old photographs. Most people wouldn't have noticed them. Most people wouldn't have looked twice. One was from high school. A group photo. Friends crowded together after some football game. Your old best friend Casey was in it. Rhett’s friends were in it. A few others too. And there you were. Half hidden behind someone. Laughing at something outside the frame. Rhett couldn't even remember what had been funny. Just that you'd been laughing.

His chest tightened. The same way it always did. Not sharply anymore. Not like the beginning. Back then the grief had been loud. Violent. Impossible to escape. Now it was quieter. A permanent ache. Something woven into everything else. Like an old injury that never healed quite right. You have to learn how to live with it. That doesn’t mean it stops hurting.

The phone lit up again. No messages. Just the screen waking when it shifted on the blanket. Rhett looked at it. Then away. Then back again. Eventually he picked it up. Opened the conversation. Typed. Hope you're okay. He stared at the words. Long enough for the screen to dim. Then he deleted them too. Locked the phone. Set it face down on the nightstand.

Outside, the wind rattled softly against the window. Inside, the room felt too big. Too quiet. Too empty. Rhett switched off the lamp. Darkness settled around him immediately. He stretched out on top of the blankets. Closed his eyes.

And somewhere hundreds of miles away, in a place he couldn't picture anymore without trying, you were living a life he knew nothing about. Maybe that was what hurt the most. Not that you'd left. Not anymore. It was that the world had kept turning afterward. And he wasn't part of yours. Just like you weren't part of his. At least not in any way that mattered. The thought sat heavily in his chest.

Then morning came anyway. Just like it always did.

–

The feed store smelled like grain, dust, and fertilizer. It always had. Some things in Wabang never changed.

Rhett followed behind Royal, one hand wrapped around the handle of a flat cart while his father compared prices on fencing supplies. The store was busy for a weekday. Farmers. Ranchers. A couple of families. The usual crowd.

Rhett barely paid attention. He rarely did when he came into town. Get the supplies. Load the truck. Go home. That was usually the extent of his interest.

Royal wandered toward another aisle. Rhett stayed behind with the cart. A voice called from behind him. "Well, shit."

He turned. Casey stood near the register holding a pricing gun. The name tag clipped to her shirt confirmed what everyone in town already knew. She worked here now. Her dark hair was pulled back. A pen was tucked behind one ear. She looked exactly how Rhett imagined someone who worked at a feed store should look. But nothing like high school. Comfortable. Capable. At home here.

"Hey," Rhett said.

"Look at that." She tilted her head. "It can still talk."

Rhett rolled his eyes. The reaction came automatically. Which was probably why Casey smiled.

"There he is."

"There who is?"

"The guy who used to have a personality."

Rhett snorted softly. Not quite a laugh. But close enough.

Casey noticed. Of course she noticed. She always noticed things. Especially when it came to him. Or rather… when it came to things connected to you. The realization sat quietly between them. Unspoken. As it always did. Casey had been your friend long before you'd left. One of your closest friends. She'd watched you disappear. Watched the aftermath. Watched what it had done to Rhett. Nobody had ever really talked about it directly. There wasn't much to say. You were gone. That was the fact everything else revolved around.

Casey leaned against a pallet of feed bags. "You look terrible."

"Good morning to you too."

"I'm serious." She frowned slightly. "You sleeping?"

"Some."

"You eating?"

Rhett shot her a look.

She raised both hands. "Sorry. I forgot your mother already asks those questions."

"Daily."

"Thought so."

For a moment, Casey simply studied him. Not judgmental. Not pitying. Just honest. The way old friends sometimes were. She noticed the things everyone noticed. The thinner frame. The permanent exhaustion. The way his attention seemed to drift somewhere far away even when he was standing right in front of you. Most people eventually stopped asking about it. Stopped expecting improvement. Stopped hoping he'd wake up one day magically healed.

Casey hadn't. Not because she thought she could fix it. Just because she remembered. She remembered who he'd been before. The same way she remembered who you'd been.

"You're staring," Rhett said.

"You still look terrible."

"There it is."

"There what is?"

"The kindness."

Casey laughed. A real laugh. The sound startled something loose in him. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remember. For a second, he could almost picture the three of you standing together after school somewhere. You laughing. Casey rolling her eyes. Him pretending not to smile. The image disappeared as quickly as it came. Like it always did.

Casey's expression softened slightly. Only slightly.

"You know," she said, "one of these days somebody's gonna drag you somewhere fun."

"Doubt it."

"I could."

"No."

"You don't even know where I'd take you."

"Doesn't matter."

Casey sighed dramatically. "See? This is why nobody invites you anywhere anymore."

"Good."

"That's a deeply concerning answer."

Rhett shrugged.

Casey shook her head. But there was affection there. Familiarity. Something old and worn-in. Not romantic. Not yet. Just two people carrying around the same absence.

Royal's voice echoed from farther down the aisle. "Rhett."

"Yeah."

Casey stepped aside as he started pushing the cart again.

"See you around, Abbott."

"Probably."

"You better."

Rhett glanced back once.

Casey was already helping another customer. Moving through her day. Living her life.

He turned the corner. The moment passed.

But for the first time all morning, something felt different. Not better. Not fixed. Just… less heavy. A tiny shift. Gone almost as soon as it arrived. Still. It was there.

—

The counseling center sat on the quieter side of campus. You liked that. Less foot traffic. Less noise. Less chance of running into someone you knew while walking in or out. Not that there was anything wrong with therapy. You knew that now.

Two years ago, you probably would've apologized for being there. Now you just showed up. Sat down. Did the work.

The waiting room was familiar enough that you no longer felt nervous when you stepped inside. The receptionist smiled. You smiled back.

A few minutes later, your therapist appeared in the doorway. "Ready?"

You nodded.

The session itself wasn't remarkable. Most of them weren't anymore. Not because they weren't important. Because healing rarely looked dramatic. Most weeks it looked like conversations. Observations. Patterns. Small victories. Small setbacks. Life.

Today was no different. The two of you talked. About classes. About stress. About sleep. About Wesley. Your therapist seemed particularly amused by Wesley. Most people were. By the end of the session, your therapist closed her notebook and leaned back slightly.

"You know," she said, "I still think one of the things that surprised me most was how aware you were."

You knew what she meant. She wasn't talking about school. Or friendships. Or anxiety. She was talking about before. Your chest tightened slightly. Not painfully. Just enough. You looked down at your hands. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you shrugged. "I always knew." The words came quietly. Matter-of-fact. Not emotional. Not defensive. Just true.

Your therapist nodded slowly. Because she'd heard this before. Not from everyone. But from you. Again and again. You always knew. You hadn't spent years believing everything was normal. You hadn't spent years completely unaware. That was what had surprised her. Many survivors spent a long time untangling what happened. Finding language for it. Understanding it. You hadn't needed help understanding. You'd needed help surviving afterward. There was a difference.

You stared at a spot on the floor. Thinking. Remembering. Not details. Never details. Just the feeling. The certainty. The constant awareness. You'd known things weren't right. You'd known things weren't okay. You'd known things weren't supposed to happen. The problem had never been understanding. The problem had been consequence. Because understanding something and being able to do something about it weren't the same thing. You had understood. And you had also understood exactly what would happen if you spoke. Exactly what would happen if you fought. Exactly what would happen if you ran before you were ready. Survival had required silence. At least for a while. That realization no longer filled you with guilt the way it once had.

Your therapist had helped with that. A lot. Not by giving you permission. By helping you understand you didn't need permission. You'd been a child. Then a teenager. Then a young woman trapped in an impossible situation. You had survived the only way you knew how. There was no shame in that.

Your therapist seemed to read part of the thought on your face. "You did what you had to do."

You nodded slowly.

The words still felt strange sometimes. Not wrong. Just unfamiliar.

The session ended a few minutes later. You scheduled your next appointment. Collected your bag. Stepped back outside.

The Oklahoma sun greeted you immediately. Warm. Bright. Alive.

Students crossed campus in every direction. Someone laughed nearby. A bike rolled past. Life continued.

You stood there for a moment. Breathing.

Two years ago, you had arrived in Oklahoma carrying fear like a second skin. Now? The fear was still there sometimes. The nightmares too. The panic. The memories. But they weren't driving anymore. You were.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and started walking. One class left for the day. Then dinner. Then probably listening to Wesley say something ridiculous. A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Not because everything was okay. Because enough things were. And for now, that was enough.

—

Night arrived differently in Wyoming.

And differently in Oklahoma.

But loneliness, it turned out, looked remarkably similar no matter where you were.

~

Rhett drove because he couldn't sleep. The truck rolled down an empty county road with the windows cracked just enough to let cool air inside. The radio stayed off. It usually did. The headlights cut through darkness while pastureland stretched endlessly on either side. No destination. No reason. Just movement. Sometimes that was enough. The town disappeared behind him. The ranch disappeared behind him. Everything disappeared except the road.

Rhett rested one arm against the window frame and watched fence posts flash by. The same fences. The same roads. The same fields.

His entire life had happened out here. Some nights that felt comforting. Other nights it felt like being trapped inside a photograph.

~

You sat cross-legged on your bed with a textbook open in your lap. The dorm was quiet. Not silent. Never silent. Someone laughed somewhere down the hall. A door opened and shut. Music played faintly from another room.

Life continued around you.

You highlighted a sentence. Read it twice. Then realized you hadn't absorbed a single word.

Your eyes drifted toward the window. Darkness stared back. The campus looked completely different at night. Softer somehow. Less crowded. Less demanding.

You liked it best this way.

~

Rhett pulled into a gravel turnout overlooking nothing particularly special. Just open Wyoming land. He shut off the truck. Silence settled immediately. The engine ticked softly as it cooled. He leaned his head back against the seat. Closed his eyes. Tried not to think. Failed.

You eventually gave up pretending to study. The textbook slid onto your nightstand. You stretched out on top of the blankets and stared at the ceiling. The glow from a nearby lamp painted soft shadows across the room. 

Your roommate was gone for the weekend. The quiet felt larger because of it. Not unpleasant. Just noticeable.

~

Rhett eventually made it home. The ranch slept around him. Lights off. Windows dark. Everyone else resting. He climbed the stairs quietly. Entered his room. Changed clothes. Turned off the lamp. Then laid awake.

Just like he had the night before. And the night before that. And most nights before that.

~

You checked your alarm. Checked the time. Checked it again ten minutes later. Sleep refused to come. Not because you were afraid. Not because of nightmares. Not tonight.

Sometimes your brain simply wouldn't settle. Too many thoughts. Too much life. Too much history.

~

The moonlight spilled across Rhett's ceiling. He watched it without really seeing it. Somewhere along the way, memories had become strange things. Less sharp. Less immediate. Not gone.

Just… distant. Like photographs left in the sun too long. Still recognizable. Still important. Just harder to hold onto.

~

Streetlights painted pale shapes across your bedroom wall. You rolled onto your side. Then onto your back again. The ceiling remained stubbornly unchanged.

A laugh escaped you suddenly. Small. Private. You remembered something Wesley had said earlier. Something completely ridiculous.

You could already hear your grandmother laughing when you told her about it next weekend. The thought made you smile.

~

Rhett turned onto his side. Then back again. Sleep still nowhere in sight. Tomorrow would come early. The horses would need feeding. The fences would need work. The ranch would keep moving. It always did. The world never seemed to care whether people were ready for another day.

~

You eventually sat up. Grabbed your notebook. Started reviewing lecture notes instead. The familiar routine helped. Words. Facts. Information. Something concrete. Something that stayed where you put it.

~

Hundreds of miles apart. Different states. Different lives. Different futures unfolding one day at a time. Yet somehow the emptiness felt familiar. Not identical. Not even close. But familiar. Like two people standing beneath different skies and looking at the same moon. Neither aware of the other. Neither knowing where the other was. What they were doing. Whether they were happy. Whether they were hurting. Whether they ever thought about the past anymore.

~

Eventually, sometime after midnight, you fell asleep with your notebook still open beside you. The lamp remained on. A pen balanced loosely between your fingers.

~

Eventually, sometime after midnight, exhaustion finally dragged Rhett under too. The moonlight still stretched across the room. The ranch remained quiet. The truck sat cooling outside.

~

Morning would find both of you again. Building separate lives. Carrying separate griefs. Moving forward in ways neither could fully see. Still shaped by the same absence. Still orbiting something neither one knew how to let go of.

Not yet.

—

The second trip to the feed store happened three days later. Because of course it did.

No matter how carefully Royal planned, there was always something forgotten. A box of staples. A replacement latch. A specific type of feed that somehow hadn't made it into the truck the first time. Something. There was always something.

Rhett didn't complain when Royal told him they needed to go back. He rarely complained about much anymore. He just grabbed his keys and followed his parents into town. 

The parking lot was nearly full when they arrived. A good sign for the store. An annoying sign for everyone trying to find parking. Royal squeezed the truck into a spot near the far side of the lot. The three of them climbed out.

The afternoon sun sat high overhead. Warm. Bright. Normal.

Inside, the store buzzed with activity. The sound hit immediately. Shopping carts rattling across concrete floors. People talking across aisles. Someone laughing near the registers. The occasional bark from a dog that had convinced its owner to bring it shopping. Normal. Entirely normal. The smell of feed, fertilizer, leather, and dust hung in the air. Familiar enough that Rhett barely noticed it anymore.

Royal immediately headed toward the hardware section. Cecelia disappeared in the opposite direction after announcing she needed "one thing" and refusing to elaborate further. Which probably meant six things. Maybe ten.

Rhett grabbed a flat cart and followed his father. 

The store felt more crowded than usual. People moved around them constantly. Farmers discussing equipment. Ranchers comparing prices. Teenagers working weekend shifts. Families picking up supplies. Life. Ordinary life. The kind that continued whether you participated in it or not.

Royal stopped beside a display of fencing materials. "Need those."

Rhett loaded them onto the cart.

A few minutes later:

"Need those too."

More supplies. The cart slowly filled. The work required no thought. Which was good. Thought usually wasn't particularly useful. Especially in places like this.

He rounded the corner of another aisle and nearly collided with a customer pushing a cart. "Sorry." The apology came automatically.

The man waved him off. "No problem."

Rhett continued walking. The store swallowed him back into its noise.

At the front registers, Casey worked through a growing line of customers. Scanning feed bags. Answering questions. Helping someone find a specific brand of horse supplement. She looked up briefly while handing a receipt to a customer. Her eyes found Rhett automatically. Not because she'd been looking for him. Because she always seemed to notice him when he was around. The same way he'd noticed her. The same way everyone noticed familiar faces in a small town. Their eyes met for a second. Casey lifted two fingers in a casual greeting. Rhett nodded back. Nothing more.

Then another customer demanded her attention and she disappeared back into work. Normal. Everything felt normal. A little annoying. A little busy. A little boring. Exactly the sort of day people forgot about by dinner.

Royal compared two different boxes of hardware. Rejected one. Selected the other. Rhett loaded it onto the cart.

A kid ran laughing through an aisle before his mother caught him and dragged him back. Someone dropped a bag of feed. A worker cursed softly. Life carried on. Unremarkable. Routine. Safe.

By the time they finally headed toward the front of the store, the cart was piled high enough that Royal looked vaguely satisfied. Which was about as enthusiastic as Royal Abbott ever got while shopping.

Rhett pushed the cart toward the registers. Casey was helping another customer. Cecelia was somewhere nearby.

The afternoon crowd continued moving around them. Conversations overlapped. Carts rolled across concrete. Someone laughed. Someone complained about prices. Someone argued over fencing wire. Nothing unusual. Nothing alarming. Nothing that suggested the next few minutes would become something people in Wabang talked about for years afterward. At that moment, it was still just another afternoon. Just another trip to the feed store. Just another day.

The cart was nearly full. Royal stood beside it, mentally checking through the list one last time.

Then frowned. "Damn it."

Rhett looked up. "What?"

"I forgot the gate hinges."

Rhett wasn't surprised. Royal never forgot the important things. The problem was there were approximately eight hundred things Royal considered important.

"They're back there somewhere," Royal muttered, already turning away.

"I'll stay with the cart."

Royal nodded once. "Don't let your mother start adding things."

"No promises."

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Royal's mouth before he disappeared down another aisle. Rhett rested both hands on the cart handle. Waited. People moved around him. Customers wandered past. A couple argued over feed prices. Someone asked an employee where to find mineral blocks. Normal.

Just another afternoon.

Then he saw him.

The recognition was immediate. Violent. Not physically. Something else. Like ice water down his spine.

Your father stood near the end of an aisle twenty feet away. Older than Rhett remembered. Not by much. Just enough. He was looking at a display of fencing supplies. Completely unaware.

For a second, Rhett considered simply leaving. Turning around. Walking the other direction. There was nothing worth saying. Nothing worth hearing.

The man had made your life hell. Then you'd left. That should've been the end of it.

Unfortunately, life rarely cared about should've.

As if sensing it, your father glanced up. Their eyes met. Rhett saw recognition happen instantly. Saw the moment the older man placed him. Saw the smile that followed.

Rhett’s stomach turned. Not fear. Disgust. Pure disgust.

Your father started walking toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he owned the place.

Rhett looked away first. Not because he was intimidated. Because he wasn't interested. The cart suddenly seemed fascinating. Maybe if he ignored him, the interaction would end before it started.

No such luck. Your father stopped beside him. Close enough that Rhett could smell stale cigarette smoke.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then: "Aren't you the kid that stole my baby girl from me?"

The words landed with exactly the amount of smug satisfaction the man intended.

Rhett stared straight ahead. Said nothing.

Your father chuckled. "Nothing to say, boy?"

Slowly, Rhett turned his head. Met his eyes. The disgust sitting in his chest sharpened. Not grief. Not sadness. Certainly not fear. Just revulsion. The kind usually reserved for something rotten. Something dead.

He sighed. Once. Tired already. "You ran her off."

The smile on your father's face faltered slightly.

Rhett continued. "So she left me too."

The words came out calm. Flat. Matter-of-fact. No emotion behind them.

That seemed to irritate the older man more than yelling would've.

"Right." He laughed, disbelieving. "That was my fault."

Rhett looked away again. The conversation wasn't worth having. Not with him. Not here. Not ever.

"What do you even want, man?" Rhett said, noticeably annoyed.

For a second, silence stretched between them. Then your father smiled again. And somehow it looked uglier this time.

"I just think it's funny."

Rhett didn't respond.

"You took my baby girl away."

The smile widened.

"But I'll always have something of hers you never will get."

Something about the way he said it made Rhett's skin crawl.

Not the words. The tone. The ownership. The satisfaction.

Every instinct told him to walk away. So he did.

He pushed the cart forward. Ready to end the conversation. Ready to find Royal. Ready to be done.

"Whatever, man."

Rhett barely looked at him. 

But behind him, footsteps followed. And your father wasn't finished talking. So his footsteps followed. Persistent. Deliberate.

Your father clearly wasn't interested in letting the conversation end.

"Go away, man," Rhett muttered.

The older man laughed. Not a pleasant sound. Not even an angry one. Just smug. Satisfied. Like he was enjoying himself.

Rhett hated it.

"Still thinking about her?"

Rhett kept walking. No answer.

"Funny thing is," your father continued, "you never really knew her."

That finally made Rhett stop. Not because the words hurt. Because they irritated him.

He turned around slowly. The cart sat forgotten between them.

Around them, the feed store carried on. People shopping. Carts rattling. Conversations blending together. Normal life continuing completely unaware.

Your father smiled. "You thought you did."

Rhett folded his arms. "What are you trying to accomplish here?"

The question didn't seem to matter. The older man just kept talking.

"You always looked so proud."

Rhett's jaw tightened. "Man, I really don't care."

"You should." Your father’s smile widened.

Something about it felt wrong. Rhett couldn't have explained why. Only that every instinct told him to leave. Now. Immediately. Instead, he stayed. A mistake.

"Every time we thought someone touched her..."

The words caught Rhett off guard. Not because they made sense. But because they didn't.

He frowned.

Your father chuckled. As if he found the confusion amusing.

"We made sure she remembered who her body actually belonged to."

For a second, Rhett genuinely didn't understand. The sentence entered his ears. The words registered. But his brain refused to arrange them into anything meaningful.

Belonged to? What the hell did that even—

Then understanding began creeping in.

Slow. Horrible. Piece by piece. Like a door opening somewhere deep inside his head.

No.

No.

That wasn't what he meant. It couldn't be.

Rhett stared at him. The noise of the store suddenly seemed farther away. Muted. Distant.

Your father was still smiling. Still watching him. Waiting. Enjoying the reaction.

And suddenly Rhett felt sick. His stomach dropped. Cold adrenaline flooded his system so quickly it almost hurt. His hearing narrowed. The edges of his vision seemed strangely blurry.

His hands had curled into fists without permission. Without thought. Without him even noticing. For one terrible second he couldn't draw a full breath. The air caught somewhere in his chest. Refused to move.

Your father laughed. The sound scraped against his nerves.

Rhett slowly turned toward him.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

His own voice sounded strange. Too calm. Far too calm.

The older man only grinned. Like he'd been waiting for exactly that question.

"If I could tell she'd been out with you—"

Rhett took a step forward. The movement was automatic. Unconscious.

"What… the fuck… did you just say to me?"

Slower this time. More deliberate.

The smile never left your father's face. If anything, it grew. Because now he knew. Now he knew Rhett understood. And he liked it.

"She knew who she belonged to,” your father said clearly.

Rhett's pulse thundered in his ears.

The store seemed impossibly quiet despite all the people around them.

Every muscle in his body locked tight. His fists hurt. He hadn't realized how hard he was clenching them.

Your father kept talking. Kept smiling. Kept enjoying himself.

And that was the part Rhett couldn't process. Not the cruelty. Not the implication. The pride. The satisfaction. As though this was something worth bragging about. Something worth claiming.

Rhett moved another step closer. His breathing felt wrong. Too fast. Too shallow. Like his body had forgotten how to function properly.

"What."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"The."

Another step.

"Fuck."

Your father didn't move. Didn't back away. Didn't stop smiling.

"Did."

The nausea rolled through him again. Violent. Hot. Cold. Everything at once.

"You."

The older man opened his mouth. Still talking. Still explaining. Still proud.

"Just."

And suddenly Rhett understood something else. The reason you'd been afraid. The reason you'd left. The reason you'd never talked about it. The reason you'd run. All of it crashed together at once.

"What did you say to me?"

The words landed almost gently. Disturbingly calm. Far calmer than he felt.

Your father smiled directly into his eyes. And kept talking.

That was the mistake.

Not the words. Not the smugness. Not even the horrible pride behind it.

The mistake was continuing. Continuing as if this was a story worth telling. As if it was funny. As if it was something he'd earned. Something he'd won. Something he was proud of.

Rhett didn't remember deciding to move. One second he was standing there. The next his fist connected. The impact snapped your father's head sideways. The smile vanished instantly.

A collective gasp rippled through the nearby aisle. Not screaming. Not panic. Just shock. The kind that came when something everyone knew was possible finally happened.

Your father stumbled.

Rhett hit him again.

Then again.

Years of grief. Years of guilt. Years of wondering why. Years of believing you'd left because there was no other choice.

And now… Now there was this. This horrible truth. This thing Rhett couldn't unknow. Couldn't put back.

Your father tried to shove him away. Tried to regain his footing. Tried to say something.

Rhett didn't hear it. The blood rushing through his ears drowned everything out.

The older man lost his balance and crashed into a display. Feed bags toppled. Something clattered loudly onto the concrete.

People jumped back. Nobody stepped forward. Nobody grabbed Rhett. Nobody got between them.

Not yet. Not after what they'd heard. Not after years of rumors. Years of suspicions. Years of looking at a terrified girl and wondering.

Across the store, Casey froze. For half a second she simply stared. Then realization crossed her face. Horror. Not at Rhett. At why.

"Rhett!" Her voice cut through the noise. He didn't react.

Your father hit the floor hard. Rhett followed him down. The older man threw his arms up defensively. Tried to push him back. Tried to fight him off. But Rhett was younger. Stronger. And completely beyond listening. Another hit. Then another. Everything felt disconnected. Far away. Like he was watching someone else. Like none of this was real. Because if it was real… If what he'd heard was real… Then what the hell had you lived through? What the hell had you survived?

"Rhett!" Casey's voice again. Closer now. More desperate. "Rhett, stop!"

The store had gone strangely quiet. Not silent. Just subdued. People backing away. Watching. Nobody cheering. Nobody intervening. Just witnessing.

A few aisles away, Royal appeared. Drawn by the commotion. His eyes took in the scene: Rhett. Your father. The overturned display. The horrified expressions. The tension. Then something else: the look on Rhett's face.

Royal knew his son. And whatever Royal saw there made him stop. He folded his arms. And stayed exactly where he was.

Nearby, someone quietly muttered: "Get the deputy."

Not shouted. Not panicked. Just practical. The way people handled things in small towns.

Casey reached the edge of the crowd. "Rhett!"

This time he heard her. Barely. Not enough to stop. Just enough to recognize the voice.

Your father tried to scramble backward. Tried to create space. Tried to get away. Rhett followed. Still furious. Still sick. Still hearing those words. Still seeing that smile. Still understanding more and more with every second. And somehow that made it worse. Because the anger wasn't fading. The horror was catching up to it. And together they were becoming something far uglier.

Something nobody around him had ever seen from Rhett Abbott before.

Then, somewhere behind the crowd, a familiar voice barked: "Move."

The deputy had arrived. Not quickly. Not because he didn't care. Because he'd heard enough before he got there. Enough to know exactly what kind of situation he was walking into. Instead of charging straight through the nearest aisle, he'd taken the long way around. A clear path. A clean angle. No civilians in the way. No chance of catching an elbow from a furious twenty-year-old ranch hand built like a freight train.

By the time he reached them, your father was scrambling backward across the floor. Bleeding. Terrified. And Rhett was still laying into to him. Not to win. Not to prove anything. Not out of pride. Out of something much uglier. Something that had settled deep in his chest the moment understanding hit.

The deputy caught both of Rhett's arms from behind. Hard. Using his full weight.

"Rhett!"

The world lurched. The sudden resistance nearly threw them both sideways. For a split second Rhett fought it automatically. Pure instinct. Pure momentum. Then he realized who had him. The deputy. Not your father. The deputy. And immediately the fight changed. Rhett stopped trying to throw the deputy off. Stopped trying to swing. Stopped trying to break free from the man restraining him. But he did not stop trying to get back to your father.

"Rhett." The deputy tightened his grip. "Knock it off."

Your father had managed to crawl several feet away. Still backing up. Still staring. Still alive. That fact alone felt unbearable. Rhett surged forward again.

The deputy dragged him backward.

"Rhett.”

“Let me go."

"No."

"Let me fuckin’ go."

"No."

Each of Rhett’s words came out through clenched teeth. Cold. Furious.

Your father opened his mouth. Maybe to yell. Maybe to threaten. Maybe to lie.

Rhett didn't care. He lunged again. The deputy held him. Barely. And suddenly Rhett snapped his head toward the crowd. Toward the people watching. Toward the witnesses. Toward the people pretending not to stare.

"Did you fucking hear him?!" Rhett’s shout echoed through the store.

Nobody answered. Nobody moved. The silence that followed felt enormous. Because they had heard him. Every word. Every disgusting, smug, horrible word.

A woman near the register covered her mouth with her hand. Someone else looked down at the floor. A rancher at the end of the aisle stared at a display of feed as though it had become the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Nobody wanted to meet anyone else's eyes. Nobody wanted to say the words out loud. But everyone had heard them. The deputy had heard them. Casey had heard them. Royal had heard them. The entire damn aisle had heard them.

"Did you fucking hear him?!" Rhett shouted again. His voice cracked this time. Not from sadness. From rage. From disbelief. From the horrifying realization that what he'd heard had actually happened.

The deputy's grip tightened. Not punishing. Steady. Keeping him anchored. Keeping him from doing something neither of them could take back.

Your father stayed where he was. Silent now. The smugness gone. The confidence gone. Only fear remained.

Rhett stared at him. Breathing hard. Still trying to get free. Still trying to get to him.

And the deputy knew. Everyone in that aisle knew.

This wasn't over.

Not for Rhett. Not even close.

The adrenaline couldn't last forever. Eventually it started to burn itself out. Not all at once. Slowly. Leaving something heavier behind.

The deputy kept one hand firmly on Rhett's arm while reaching for the cuffs with the other. For the first time since the fight started, Rhett didn't resist. Not because he'd calmed down. Because the exhaustion had finally caught him. His chest still heaved. His knuckles ached. His jaw hurt from clenching it. But the explosive fury was gone. What remained felt worse.

Your father sat against a display several feet away.

Blood covered his face. Terror in his eyes. Gone was the smug smile. Gone was the confidence. Gone was the ownership.

For the first time since Rhett had ever met him, the man looked afraid.

Good.

The thought appeared immediately. Cold. Simple.

The deputy pulled Rhett's hands behind his back. The click of the cuffs seemed unnaturally loud. Metal. Final. Real.

Around them, the store had started breathing again. People whispered. Employees slowly righted overturned displays.

Customers pretended not to stare. Nobody was doing a particularly convincing job of it.

The deputy sighed. Long. Tired.

Then raised his voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Rhett."

The young man looked at him.

"You can't just beat the hell out of somebody because of a past relationship." The words sounded rehearsed. Professional. Exactly what a deputy should be saying.

Rhett stared at him for a second. Then laughed once. A short, humorless sound.

"Did you not fucking hear him?"

The whispering stopped. Immediately. The store seemed to freeze again. Nobody answered. Because nobody could. Because everyone had heard him.

The deputy rubbed a hand across his face.

Looking suddenly much older than he had five minutes ago. Then he stepped closer. Lowered his voice. Low enough that only Rhett could hear.

"If there weren't this many witnesses..." The sentence trailed off. Unfinished. It didn't need finishing.

Rhett understood.

The deputy looked briefly toward the crowd. Toward the employees. Toward the customers. Toward Royal. Toward Casey. Then back to Rhett.

"It was a crowded store today, kid."

There was anger in his voice. Not directed at Rhett. Something else. Something quieter. Something harder.

For a second neither spoke. Then the deputy gently guided him toward the front doors. The fight was over. The paperwork was not. Rhett followed. No struggle. No argument. Just tired. So damn tired.

The automatic doors slid open. Warm afternoon air greeted them. The parking lot looked exactly the same as it had an hour ago. Which felt wrong somehow. The world should've looked different. It didn't.

The deputy opened the back door of the cruiser. Paused. Waiting.

Rhett looked toward Royal's truck. Toward the supplies. Toward the work still waiting back at the ranch. Fence repairs. Feed. The endless list of things that needed doing. The same things that would've needed doing if today had never happened. The same things that would still need doing tomorrow.

Finally he looked at the deputy.

"How long do I gotta stay there?"

The deputy blinked. Clearly expecting almost any other question. Lawyer. Charges. Bail. Something. Instead: How long?

Rhett glanced toward the truck. "Dad needs help on a fence line."

The deputy stared at him for a second. Then shook his head. Almost laughing despite himself. Not because it was funny. Because it was so painfully Rhett. Twenty years old. Handcuffed. Fresh off his first arrest. And worried about getting back to work.

"Just processing." The deputy sighed. "I'll call your dad when we get there."

Rhett nodded. Accepting that answer immediately. No complaints. No bargaining. No self-pity.

The deputy moved Rhett’s cuffing from behind him to the front of him then watched him climb into the back seat. Then closed the door.

Inside the cruiser, Rhett leaned his head back against the partition. The emotional crash hit all at once. The horror. The realization. The exhaustion. And underneath it all— the awful certainty that what he'd heard was true.

The parking lot blurred slightly. For a second he closed his eyes. And wished he could unknow something. Anything. But some truths only worked one way. Once you knew them— you carried them forever.

The deputy stepped away for a moment. Something about paperwork. Something about calling ahead. Rhett hadn't really listened. The cruiser sat baking beneath the afternoon sun.

The parking lot moved around it. Customers coming and going. Truck doors opening. Shopping carts rattling. Life continuing.

Rhett sat in the back seat and stared through the window. Not really seeing any of it.

Across the lot, Royal loaded the supplies into the truck. One bag at a time. One box at a time. One section of fencing material at a time. Methodical. Steady. The same way he did everything. Nobody helped him. Nobody offered. Royal didn't ask. He simply worked. The way he always had. The way he always would.

Rhett watched him without thinking. Watched the familiar movements. The routine. The normalcy. Eventually the last of the supplies disappeared into the truck bed. Royal closed the tailgate. The metallic clang echoed across the parking lot. Then he stood there for a second. Looking at nothing. Thinking. 

Finally, he turned. And walked toward the cruiser. Rhett straightened slightly. Not because he was nervous. Because he suddenly wasn't sure what was coming. A lecture. Maybe. Anger. Disappointment. Questions. All reasonable. All deserved.

Royal stopped beside the rear passenger window. For a few seconds neither of them spoke. The silence felt strangely comfortable. Like old boots. Like fence posts. Like home. Royal looked through the glass. Taking in the split knuckles. The bruising already starting around Rhett's face from where your dad must have gotten one hit in. The exhaustion. The handcuffs. Everything. Then he sighed. Not heavily. Just enough.

"You done?" The question landed softly. No judgment. No accusation. Just a question.

Rhett looked away. Toward the dashboard. Toward the parking lot. Anywhere but directly at his father. His throat felt tight suddenly. Not from crying. Just… everything.

Finally he answered. Quietly. "No..."

The honesty surprised even him. Because it was true. If the deputy hadn't stopped him… If somebody hadn't stopped him… He didn't know what would've happened. And that realization sat heavily in his chest.

Royal nodded once. Slowly. Like he'd expected that answer. Like there had never been any other answer.

"I know."

That was it. No lecture. No disappointment. No demand for explanations. Nothing.

Just: I know.

Two words. Simple. Small. And somehow they hit harder than anything else had today. Because Royal understood. Not the violence. Not the loss of control. The reason. The thing underneath it. The horror. The grief. The realization. The awful truth Rhett couldn't stop hearing.

For a moment neither of them spoke. The parking lot noise continued around them. Distant. Unimportant. Royal rested one hand on the roof of the cruiser. Looking at his son. Really looking at him. Then he nodded once. A tiny gesture. Almost invisible.

"I'm gonna finish up."

Rhett nodded back. "Okay."

Royal started to walk away. Then stopped. Without turning around, he spoke. "You call me if they decide to keep you."

A lump formed unexpectedly in Rhett's throat. He swallowed it down. "Yeah."

Royal nodded. Then continued toward the truck. No speech. No advice. No judgment. Just certainty. Just understanding. Just a father quietly telling his son: I know why. I know.

And for the first time all afternoon, Rhett felt something dangerously close to breaking. Not from anger. Not from grief. From relief. Because at least one person understood.And somehow, right now, that mattered more than anything else.

The parking lot had mostly returned to normal. Mostly. People were still talking. Still glancing toward the cruiser. Still pretending they weren't. The deputy stood a few yards away speaking quietly into his radio. Royal's truck remained parked nearby. The afternoon sun hung low enough to cast long shadows across the pavement.

Inside the cruiser, Rhett sat alone. The adrenaline was gone now. The anger wasn't. But it had changed shape. Settled. Become heavier. Every time he closed his eyes he heard those words again. Every time he thought he'd managed to stop thinking about it, some new implication surfaced. Some new realization. Some new horror.

The knock on the window startled him. Not badly. Just enough.

Rhett looked up.

Casey stood outside the cruiser. The deputy stood beside her. The two exchanged a few quiet words. The deputy glanced toward Rhett. Then back toward Casey. Finally he sighed. Walked over. And opened the rear passenger door.

"You get two minutes."

Casey nodded. "That's all I need."

The deputy stepped away again. Giving them privacy. Or as much privacy as a parking lot and a police cruiser allowed. For a second neither spoke. Casey leaned one arm against the open door. Looking at him. Really looking at him. The bruised knuckles. The exhaustion. The emotional wreckage. Everything.

Rhett looked away first. Not because he was ashamed. Because he was tired.

Casey swallowed. Then quietly said: "I like that you're still protecting her after all this time."

The words settled between them.

Rhett didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted toward the parking lot. Toward nothing in particular.

Then: "She never deserved anything that ever happened to her."

No hesitation. No performance. No attempt at sounding noble. Just fact. Simple. Absolute.

She never deserved it.

Casey's eyes immediately burned. Because that was the thing, wasn't it? Neither of them had ever needed convincing. Neither of them had ever wondered if you'd somehow caused it. Neither of them had ever blamed you. You were the victim. Always had been. Always would be.

And hearing Rhett say it so plainly, so immediately, hurt. In the strange way truth sometimes did.

Rhett continued staring out at the parking lot. Not looking at Casey. Not realizing she'd gone quiet. Or maybe realizing and not having the energy to care.

Casey remembered you laughing. She remembered sleepovers. Classes together. Passing notes. Inside jokes. She remembered watching you disappear little by little during high school. Watching you become smaller. Quieter. More frightened as you got older. And she remembered the day you were simply...gone.

The grief never really left. It just learned new shapes. The same way it had for Rhett. The realization hit her suddenly. Without warning. Without permission. This stupid idiot had just gotten arrested because someone hurt you. 

Years later. After two years of silence. After two years of not knowing where you were. After two years of having every reason to let go. And he still couldn't. Neither could she.

Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward. And kissed him. The contact lasted only a second. Maybe two. Soft. Lingering. Nothing aggressive. Nothing heated. Nothing romantic. Not really. Grief. Recognition. Understanding. The shared ache of loving the same person in completely different ways.

Then Casey pulled back. Immediately realizing what she'd done. "Oh."

Rhett stared at her. Completely frozen. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

Casey felt heat rush into her face. "Well." She cleared her throat. "That happened."

Rhett continued staring. Speechless. Which, honestly, was impressive. Casey had known him for years. Very little genuinely rendered Rhett Abbott incapable of forming words. Apparently this did.

Finally she laughed nervously. A little embarrassed. A little emotional. A little everything. Then she reached forward and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before he could react. Far safer. Far less weird. Probably.

"I'll pick you up later."

Rhett blinked. "What?"

"The station." Casey smiled faintly.

"So your dad doesn't have to stop whatever fence he's working on."

For the first time all afternoon, the smallest hint of something appeared in Rhett's expression. Not happiness. Not amusement. Just confusion. Pure confusion.

Casey snorted. "There he is."

The deputy called from across the lot. "Time."

Casey straightened immediately. The moment dissolved. The parking lot returned. Reality returned. Everything returned.

She took a step backward. Then another. "See you later, Abbott."

Rhett watched her go. Still stunned. Still trying to understand what had just happened. The deputy closed the cruiser door. The sound echoed through the cab.

And as Casey walked back toward the store, neither of them realized they had just stepped onto a path that would take years to fully understand. For now it was just grief. Shared grief. Two people missing the same person. Nothing more. Nothing less.

—

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon. And coffee. And whatever magical thing your grandmother had decided to bake that morning. Sunlight streamed through the windows above the sink. A country station played softly from an old radio on the counter. The house felt warm. Not physically. Though it was that too. Warm in the way only safe places ever managed.

You sat at the kitchen table in an oversized OSU sweatshirt, half-heartedly working through a bowl of cereal while your grandmother moved around the kitchen. Neither of you were in a hurry. That was one of the best things about weekends home. No classes. No deadlines. No rushing. Just quiet.

Your grandmother placed a fresh mug of coffee in front of you.

You smiled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

The conversation drifted easily after that. Classes. A professor you liked. A group project you hated. The usual. Then your grandmother paused. Just slightly. The way people did when they were deciding whether to bring something up. 

You noticed immediately. "What?"

She looked over her shoulder. "Hm?"

"You've got that face."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

Your grandmother laughed. "Brat."

"Learned from the best."

That earned another laugh. Then she sighed. And finally sat down across from you. The movement alone was enough to tell you this was something. Not necessarily important. Just something.

"I heard a little gossip from back home."

You groaned dramatically. "Grandma."

"What?"

"I escaped small-town gossip."

"No one escapes small-town gossip."

Unfortunately, she had a point. You shoveled another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

"Okay. What happened?"

Your grandmother folded her hands together. Thinking. Choosing her words.

Then: "Apparently somebody beat the hell out of your father."

The spoon stopped halfway to your mouth. Not from shock. Just processing.

"Oh."

Your grandmother watched you carefully. Waiting.

Then the next thing out of your mouth was: "Did it kill him?"

The words came out flat. Dry. Almost conversational. Like asking about the weather. Your grandmother blinked. Just once. Caught off guard. Not because of what you said. Because of how casually you said it. You noticed immediately. A little guilt flickered through your chest. Not enough to take the question back. Just enough to recognize it.

Your grandmother recovered quickly. "Nah." She waved one hand dismissively. "I think somebody pulled the guy off him."

You hummed thoughtfully. Then took another bite of cereal. "Shame."

The deadpan delivery nearly made your grandmother choke on her coffee. "Sweetheart."

"What?" The corner of your mouth twitched.

Your grandmother pointed a finger at you. "You're terrible."

"I learned from the best."

"I regret teaching you sarcasm."

"No you don't."

"You're right." She didn't.

The conversation settled again. Comfortable. Easy.

You stirred your cereal absentmindedly. "I wonder who did it."

Your grandmother carefully kept her expression neutral. Years of experience helped.

"A lot of people back there probably wanted to."

You snorted. Fair. Then another thought occurred to you.

"I wonder what was said."

Your grandmother's grip tightened slightly around her coffee mug. Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for her. Enough for God. You didn't. You were too busy staring out the window. Thinking. Curious. Nothing more.

"I mean seriously," you continued. "What do you even say to somebody that makes them snap like that?"

Your grandmother took a slow sip of coffee. Buying herself a second. Then another. Finally she shrugged. A practiced movement. Easy. Casual.

"I try not to learn too much about them anymore, sweetie."

Them. Your parents. The people you'd left behind. The people she had spent two years helping you escape.

You nodded. Immediately accepting the answer. Because honestly? Neither did you. Not anymore. The curiosity faded almost as quickly as it arrived. The conversation moved on. The morning remained warm. Safe. Ordinary.

And somewhere far away in Wyoming, a young man sat nursing bruised knuckles because he couldn't live with what he'd heard.

While here, at this kitchen table, you remained blissfully unaware. Exactly as your grandmother intended. The conversation drifted again. Easy. Playful. Comfortable.

Then: "Maybe somebody finally got tired of him."

The words came out of you casually. Thoughtlessly. Not angry. Not bitter. Just practical. Your grandmother's smile faded slightly. Because there was truth there. A lot of truth. More than you realized.

You continued.

"Or maybe he said something stupid." A pause. "Actually that's probably it." You laughed softly. "He always had a talent for saying the exact wrong thing."

Your grandmother looked down into her coffee. Suddenly finding it very interesting. Because she knew. Not every detail. But enough. Enough to understand exactly why a twenty-year-old boy who had once loved her granddaughter would lose control. Enough to understand exactly what kind of words could make that happen. Enough to know who had thrown the punches. The moment she'd heard the story, she'd known. Not because anyone told her. Because there weren't many people in the world who would've reacted like that. And only one of them would've done it for you.

Her eyes drifted toward the window. Toward nothing. Toward Wyoming. Toward a ranch hundreds of miles away. Toward a boy her granddaughter hadn’t seen in years. Then her gaze returned to you. To your sweatshirt. Your cereal. Your smile. Your life. You were healing. Not healed. Healing. There was a difference. A precious difference. You had friends. You had college. You had plans. You had a future. The nightmares came less often now. You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more. You talked about classes instead of survival. You worried about exams instead of escape. And your grandmother would be damned before she willingly dragged you backward.

No. You could not know. Not right now. Maybe someday. Years from now. When enough time had passed. When the wound had scarred over completely. But not today. Today you were smiling. Today you were safe. Today you were building something beautiful from the wreckage. She wouldn't jeopardize that. Not for anything.

"Grandma?"

She blinked. Realizing you'd asked something.

"Hm?"

You narrowed your eyes.

"You zoned out."

"No I didn't."

"You absolutely did."

Your grandmother pointed her coffee mug at you.

"You inherited that from me."

You laughed. And just like that, the moment passed. The truth stayed exactly where she intended it to stay. Buried. For now.

The conversation drifted naturally after that. Away from Wyoming. Away from old wounds. Away from people neither of you particularly wanted to think about. Which was exactly how your grandmother preferred it. She stood and carried her coffee mug to the sink. You followed a minute later, grabbing a muffin from the cooling rack when she wasn't looking. Or at least when you thought she wasn't looking.

"Don't."

You froze. Muffin halfway to your mouth. Your grandmother never even turned around.

You narrowed your eyes. "How did you know?"

"I raised you."

"You didn't."

"You know what I mean."

Unfortunately, you did. You tore off a piece anyway. Your grandmother finally turned around. Caught you immediately.

"Criminal."

"You'll never take me alive."

"You say that now."

You grinned. She shook her head. Smiling despite herself.

Then: "So."

The word stretched suspiciously. You immediately pointed at her.

"No."

"I didn't even ask anything yet."

"You've got that face."

"What face?"

"The face."

Your grandmother sighed dramatically. "Fine." Then she smiled. "Gonna tell me about your friends?"

The question caught you off guard. Not because it was unusual. Because it wasn't. Two years ago you would've struggled to answer. Now? Now the answer came immediately.

"Well..."

The smile appeared before you even realized it. And your grandmother noticed that too. Immediately.

"There it is."

You blinked. "What?"

"Nothing." The grin on her face said otherwise.

You rolled your eyes. "There's Wesley."

The reaction was instant. Your grandmother perked up.

"Wesley."

You pointed a finger. "Don't."

"I haven't said anything."

"You were about to."

"I absolutely was."

You groaned. Your grandmother laughed.

Then clasped both hands together dramatically. "Ooooooo."

You immediately buried your face in your hands. "Oh my God."

"A new suitor for my baby?"

"No." The answer came so quickly that it only encouraged her.

"That wasn't a no."

"It literally was."

Your grandmother ignored that. "Tell me about Wesley."

You couldn't stop smiling. Not because of romance. Just because Wesley was impossible to describe without smiling.

"He's weird."

"Good start."

"He's loud."

"Mhm."

"He has absolutely no filter."

"Oh no."

"No, seriously." You laughed. "He just says whatever enters his brain."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It is."

"Is he funny?"

You thought about it. Then immediately nodded. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"Because he knows he's funny."

Your grandmother winced. "Oh that's terrible."

"I know."

The two of you laughed. You leaned against the counter. Thinking. Trying to find the right words. Because Wesley wasn't easy to explain. Not really.

"He just..." You shrugged. "He's kind."

The answer came quietly. Honestly. Not a joke this time. Your grandmother's expression softened. Because she heard the difference immediately. Not attraction. Not infatuation. Gratitude. Affection. Trust. The sort of thing that had been nearly impossible for you when you'd first arrived. You continued.

"He annoys the hell out of me."

"Of course."

"He steals my food."

"Unforgivable."

"He interrupts me constantly."

"Monster."

"And one time he spent twenty minutes explaining why raccoons would be good accountants."

Your grandmother blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't even remember how we got there."

"What was his argument?"

You immediately laughed. "He said they already have little hands."

Your grandmother lost the battle completely. The laugh that escaped her echoed through the kitchen. You joined her. Both of you laughing now. The warmth of it settled into every corner of the room. Then your grandmother looked at you. Really looked. At the smile. At the easy laughter. At the way you spoke about another person without fear. Without anxiety. Without hesitation. And her heart swelled. Because two years ago this conversation would've been impossible. You wouldn't have had a Wesley. You wouldn't have had friends. You wouldn't have had stories. You wouldn't have laughed this easily. Eventually your laughter settled. You grabbed another piece of the muffin. Your grandmother pointed at you.

"You know."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes." She smiled. "I still think he sounds like a suitor."

You groaned loudly. "Grandma."

"What?"

"I thought so too."

That caught her off guard. "You did?"

"Briefly."

Your grandmother's eyes widened. Then immediately narrowed.

"What happened?"

You laughed. "He's gay."

The silence lasted exactly one second. Then your grandmother barked out another laugh.

"Oh honey."

"I know."

"That'll do it."

"That'll do it."

You shook your head fondly. "Honestly, it was probably for the best."

"Why's that?"

You thought about it. Then smiled. "Because he's one of my favorite people."

The words landed softly. Without drama. Without sadness. Just truth. Your grandmother watched you for a moment. Then reached over and kissed the top of your head. You swatted at her affectionately. She ignored you. Because for the first time in a very long time, she could see it clearly. You weren't just surviving anymore. You were living. And there was a difference.

—

The deputy released Rhett shortly after sunset. A few signatures. A few warnings. A few uncomfortable conversations. Then he was free to go.

Casey was waiting exactly where she'd said she'd be. Leaning against her truck. Arms crossed. Looking entirely too pleased with herself. "There he is."

Rhett rolled his eyes. The movement pulled at a bruise. "Don't."

"That's the most words you've said all day."

"Congratulations."

Casey grinned. "See? Progress."

The drive back toward town was quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet. Casey filled most of it. Talking about customers. Talking about work. Talking about a dog that had stolen a bag of treats earlier that week. Rhett contributed occasionally. A word here. A sentence there. Just enough to prove he was listening. Mostly he watched darkness slide past the truck window. His reflection stared back at him. Bruised. Exhausted. Older than twenty. The knuckles on one hand were swollen and split open. He flexed them once. Immediately regretted it. Casey noticed. She didn't comment. For once.

Casey's truck rolled into her driveway. The engine shut off. Silence settled. For a moment neither moved. The porch light glowed softly against the darkness.

"You good?" Casey asked.

The question wasn't really about tonight. Rhett knew that.

"No."

The honesty surprised neither of them. Casey nodded.

"Yeah."

They climbed out. Walked toward the house. Slowly. Neither in much of a hurry. The day felt heavy now that it was over. Heavier than it had while it was happening. The front door opened. Closed. The house greeted them with familiar quiet.

Casey set her keys down and turned facing Rhett. Rhett stopped a few feet away. Neither spoke. There wasn't much left to say. Not tonight. Not after everything. Just two people carrying the same absence. The same grief. The same person-shaped hole in their lives.

Casey stepped closer. Rhett didn't move away. For a long moment they simply stood there. Existing in the silence. Looking at one another. Looking for something neither could quite name. The distance between them disappeared. And for the first time, neither one stepped back. The house remained quiet. The night continued outside.

And somewhere beneath the grief, beneath the loneliness, beneath all the things neither understood yet, a choice was made. Not a healthy one. Not an intentional one. Just a human one. Two hurting people reaching for comfort. Neither realizing where that road would eventually lead.

—

Back in Oklahoma, you finally closed your textbook. "Done?"

Wesley looked skeptical. "No."

"Correct." You laughed again. The sound came easier these days. 

You gathered your things. Shouldered your bag. Followed your best friend out into the warm night air. Campus lights glowed around you. Students crossed the sidewalks. Life moved forward. Steady. Unstoppable. Beautiful.

—

Neither of you knew where the other was. Neither knew what the other was doing. Neither knew how much had changed. Or how much hadn't. The years had carried you in different directions. Built different lives around old wounds. Given you different people. Different routines. Different futures. And still—some part of each of you remained shaped by the same loss. The same love. The same goodbye. For now, that would have to be enough. Not closure. Not healing. Not reunion. Just survival. Separate. Incomplete. Continuing anyway. And somewhere beneath different skies, both of you kept moving forward.

One day at a time.

miles sees how dedicated rhett is. they’ve worked hard to build their little home. an old, abandoned cottage they fixed up together. and rhett takes great pride in being able to care for his home and his partner. but he is in such agony that even getting out of bed in the morning is difficult. he always rises before miles, off to feed the animals. when he returns, miles is always in the kitchen making breakfast, ready to place a cup of coffee in rhett’s hands the second he walks in. that morning, however, he's a little more slow moving. it takes him twice as long to complete his morning chores. miles has to put rhett's plated breakfast in the warmer on the antique stove (the one miles was overjoyed to find at an estate sale) so it will keep.

miles isn't usually assertive. but the moment rhett walks through the door, wavering on his feet, already exhausted and drenched in sweat like he's worked a full day, despite the early hour, miles intervenes immediately. "that's enough of you trying to be superman," he says, waving a spatula at rhett.

"ain't tryin' to be superman. just tryin' to take care of our home," rhett counters.

"chores can wait. you're resting today." miles is already under rhett's arm, guiding him to the table before he can protest.

"miles, you don't–"

"lift your left arm above your head."

"what?"

"go ahead. do it."

rhett lets out a groan of defeat as he lowers himself into his chair at the table. "i can't," he grumbles, "hurts too much."

"exactly," comes miles' response. he's not smug, but he is satisfied to have been proven right. "honey, you're in no shape to be cleaning out stalls and chopping wood. you need to rest so you can heal."

"there's too many chores to be done, i can't let things fall by the wayside."

"at the rate you're going, you'll put yourself in the hospital and then you won't be able to do any chores for weeks. i'll take care of them for now. you're going to spend the day resting, and that's final." miles punctuates his words with a gentle kiss to rhett's forehead.

he sets rhett's breakfast plate in front of him. a generous portion of eggs with feta cheese, a slice of homemade sourdough with a smear of butter (also homemade). some strawberries and blueberries on the side. a cup of black coffee to accompany it all. rhett devours the entire plate, much to miles' delight. by the time he's finished, miles is ushering him upstairs. "you're taking a nap, first and foremost."

and rhett just lets him lead the way, too tired to even protest anymore. he knows miles is right. he does need to rest. it's been so long since he slowed down and allowed his body the chance to recuperate from the hell he's put it through. he hates doing nothing, hates letting all of the work load fall on miles. but the second rhett lands on the bed, his eyes grow heavy, body sinking into the mattress as miles tucks him in. "get some sleep, honey. i'll wake you up for lunch."

rhett's asleep before miles even closes the bedroom door.

as he steps out into the quietness of the hall, miles lets out a soft sigh. his heart is burdened, aching for his beloved cowboy. not only is rhett in agony, he’s also been in a sour mood from the string of bad rides. he tries so hard not to accidentally take it out on miles, he’d rather die than let his pain and frustration hurt his sweetheart. but rhett is certainly not putting up a happy go lucky front either. he’s pissed. he’s aching. and he’s beginning to wonder if bull riding is even worth it anymore.

miles knows that rhett doesn't need verbal reassurance. he doesn't need miles to tell him he's good enough, that a couple bad rides don't determine his worth a a rider and a man. no, all rhett needs is for someone to see him. someone to care for him. he sure as hell won't willfully admit it, of course. but miles is very well attuned to rhett's needs now. it's why he was able to usher him to bed without a big fuss.

while rhett naps, miles dutifully sets about taking care of the remaining outside chores that rhett didn't get to. and when it's lunch time, miles prepares some tomato soup and grilled cheese, cutting two especially thick pieces of sourdough for rhett's sandwich. when he eases the bedroom door open, balancing the lunch tray in his hand, he finds rhett stirring, bleary eyes blinking as he takes in the sight of miles. "didn't have t' bring me lunch in bed," he murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.

miles simply shakes his head as he sets the tray on the nightstand. "no, but i wanted to. gotta take good care of my man."

rhett's chest warms at his words. my man. as he sits back against the headboard, miles arranges everything on the bed, and soon joins rhett. the two of them dig in to the carefully crafted lunch, rhett moaning in delight around a bite of grilled cheese. "damn, forgot how good your grilled cheese is, bub. i could eat like ten of these sandwiches."

a beam lights up miles' face. he takes great pride in cooking, and loves that rhett enjoys his food so much. "glad you like it. i'd happily make you ten more, but i don't think your tummy would like that very much."

"no, probably not," rhett agrees with a smile and a shake of his head.

the two enjoy their lunch, and the closeness. rhett's hand rests on miles' knee, thumb tracing circles against the outside of it. miles' shoulder presses against rhett's. when their food is finish, miles speaks, "i'm gonna run you a hot bath so you can soak those sore joints."

rhett catches his hand when he stands. "only if you join me in the bath," he says with a knowing smile.

miles hums, leaning down to kiss him. "of course i'll join you."

that's how they find themselves in the tub, water almost too hot to bear. it's miles who settles in first, back against the wall of the tub. rhett settles in front of him, back against miles' chest. rhett is eternally glad he opted to install a rather large tub when remodeling the house. he did so for moments such as this one. plenty of room for the both of them. funny, he's usually the one holding miles in his arms when they take a bath together. now, the tables are turned. miles arms are wrapped around rhett's midsection, holding him close. the moment is incredibly intimate, naked bodies pressed against each other, in a non-sexual way. rhett finds himself relaxing, eyes drifting shut, leaning his head back to rest upon miles' shoulder.

"always work so hard to take care of our home," miles murmurs as he nuzzles rhett's temple. "time you let me take care of you for a change."

rhett has always struggled with communicating his feelings openly. it's something he's had to work on, especially because miles is someone who sometimes needs verbal reassurance that he's loved and wanted. now, rhett pushes himself to share his feelings. to be honest, in this vulnerable moment. "s'hard for me to let go," he says. "don't like admitting when i need help."

"i know," comes miles' reply. "but it's okay to need help sometimes. doesn't make you weak. it makes you human."

"see, logically, i know that. the kicker is makin' myself believe it."

a kiss is pressed to the shell of rhett's ear before miles speaks again. "that's why i'm here. maybe if i tell you enough times, you'll believe it."

rhett isn't sure, but what he is sure of, is that his confidence has increased tenfold, and he attests that to the way miles consistently builds him up. he never talks down to rhett, never makes him feel disposable, like so many other people in his life have made him feel. rhett is so incredibly grateful to have miles' unwavering support. even know, as he navigates this rough patch, it's that much more bearable, because he has his sweet miles to lean on. "what would i do without you in my life?" he muses, leaning his head back to kiss miles. it's sweet, languid, a physical display of the love they have for one another.

miles can't help but smile against rhett's mouth. here, he feels that he's found his purpose. this moment, safe and warm in an oversized claw foot tub, snuggled against the love of his life, is one he never thought he would get to experience. he was so certain his soul would be damned forever, that god had struck him down for all the terrible things he had done. and yet, he had been given a second chance. now, he lives on a quaint little farm, he bakes sourdough, he takes care of the man he loves. and now he has rhett wondering what he'd do without him. but, in reality, what would miles do without rhett? they'd saved each other in different ways.

what a privilege to express their love for each other so freely.

after their bath, rhett's aching muscles are looser, less tense. the pain is still there, beneath the surface, but it isn't as overwhelming. it's bearable. but miles isn't finished with him yet. "go lay on the bed, honey. i'll give you a little massage."

smile playing at his mouth, rhett does as he's told, settling on his belly on the bed, arms crossed beneath his chin. miles climbs onto the mattress, dressed only in a pair of soft gray underwear, lotion in hand. it's impossible not to admire the lithe stretch of rhett's back. freckles litter his skin, his very own galaxy. but there are also bruises. his shoulder is still black and blue, though the contusions are beginning to yellow around the edges. his ribs are also shadowed with bruises, and so is his hip. miles has memorized every inch of rhett's body. he knows every scar, and how he sustained them. he has kissed every scrape, every cut, every tattoo. but these bruises are newer additions. and although miles knows it comes with the nature of rhett's career, it still pains him to see his beloved cowboy's skin marred with the evidence of his injuries.

seeing rhett get hurt never gets any easier. watching him fall always sends a jolt of icy terror through miles. that still, small voice in his head always asks "what if he doesn't get back up this time?" but rhett does get back up. he's here, now, stretched out on the bed. and miles is so grateful that he's safe, that he's healing. he does what he can to make the pain more bearable for rhett. this includes massaging those aching muscles. he warms a generous amount of lotion between his palms, and sets about the task, hands smoothing over rhett's back, muscles tight beneath his touch, soon to loosen once he's finished.

miles could sit there and bemoan the situation while he works the knots out of rhett's muscles. he could fret over rhett's next ride, tell him not to do it. but he doesn't. he knows that riding is rhett's passion, and he would never dream of asking rhett to walk away from it just to spare miles' frazzled nerves. but that still doesn't change the fact that he hates seeing rhett in pain. "gosh, honey, these bruises are bad," he muses as he applies a little more pressure.

"they look worse than they actually feel," rhett assures him.

miles doubts that. he's careful as his hands skim over those bruises, only applying significant pressure on the areas that aren't bruised. he knows he's on the right track when rhett groans deeply, a release of air as he begins to relax into the mattress. the longer miles works, the more rhett melts beneath him, like ice cream in the hot sun. and it makes miles' heart sing, knowing he's able to provide rhett some sort of relief from his pain. he makes his descent, hands working into rhett's mid back, then down to his lower back, and then to his hips, glutes, and hamstrings. areas that are always especially tight after holding on to an angry bull for dear life. the high pitched whine that slips from rhett's throat makes miles grin.

"that feel good?" he asks, teasingly.

"mhm," rhett sighs in delight. "your hands are magic, bub."

the air between them shifts. maybe it's rhett's tone, gravelly and blissful, that lights a fire in miles. and maybe it's the way miles's hands have gone lower, skimming the swell of rhett's ass, dipping down between his thighs, that sends a wave of desire through rhett. but there's a sudden heat that has begun to build. miles notices the subtle movements of rhett’s hips right away. the slight, rhythmic drag. unlike miles, rhett has chosen to forgo underwear. he's entirely bare. and although miles has had his hands all over him for the past thirty minutes, it's as if he's only just realizing this.

the massage hadn't been intended as erotic. but now it's turned into as much. miles' head is spinning. he's a little woozy. and filled with desire. he straddles rhett's ass, under the guise of massaging his back, but he leans forward, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. as he does so, rhett can feel that telltale hardness pressing against the curve of his ass. "this turnin' you on as much as it is me?" he asks, voice a little wrecked.

"yeah," miles breathes.

"think we should do something about that," comes rhett's suggestion.

"uh-huh." miles is too focused on gripping rhett's ass now, admiring it.

rhett glances over his shoulder with a knowing smile. "gonna let me roll over, or are you just gonna ogle me?"

at that, miles' cheeks tinge pink. "sorry. got distracted." then he's sliding off rhett, allowing him a moment to turn over. but as he does so, he hisses slightly in pain, the left side of his body protesting the movement.

a furrow of concern appears on miles' brow. "do you want me to be on top?"

as rhett gingerly settles with his back against the pillows, he nods slightly. "if ya don't mind. think it'll be easier on my hip."

miles leans in to kiss rhett. "i don't mind at all. whatever's most comfortable for you." and then his gaze is traveling downward, where rhett's cock lays, hard and flushed, against his abdomen. doesn't matter how many times he's seen it. it always feels like the first time. he so vividly remembers the night he first slept with rhett, in a room at the el royale. how attentive rhett had been. how he special he had made miles feel. it was unexpected, at least for miles, because he was used to encounters that were void of emotion and real intimacy. men who were only interested in the sex act itself. when rhett took the time to bestow aftercare, gently cleaning miles up and providing him with affection, miles hardly knew what to do with himself. he'd cried in rhett's arms, much to his own embarrassment.

oh, how far he's come since then. now, he's the one caring for rhett, and he's confident in doing so. miles hovers over his love, brushing rhett's hair away from his forehead before leaning in to kiss him again. as he does so, rhett's wandering hand makes its way between miles' legs, cupping him through his underwear, drawing a whine from the back of his throat. "better get these off 'fore i end up ripping 'em off."

miles giggles breathlessly, scrambling to get the fabric down his legs, tossing it aside without a single care as to where they land. impatient, rhett pulls him close, simmering with delight at the sight of him in all his naked glory. their mouths join, bodies pressed together once again. "i could just eat you up," rhett growls against miles' mouth.

"mm, you can do that later. i wanna be inside you right now though," miles murmurs, stealing another kiss before he scrambles to retrieve the lube from the nightstand. rhett watches, eyes heavy lidded, as miles drizzles a generous amount of lube onto both hands, warming it first. then, as he leans over to kiss rhett again, he wraps his fingers around his cock, lube slicking across heated skin. his other hand dips down, fingers curiously prodding at rhett's tight entrance. rhett hisses softly, gasp pouring into miles' parted mouth. it's been a little while since he's been stretched. the intrusion of his lover's fingers steals his breath away, body involuntarily tensing up.

"gotta relax, honey," miles encourages him.

"i-i know," he sighs. "just...been a minute."

at that, miles moves with ease, hovering over him, mouth pressing to his, hand still wrapped around his cock. a deep kiss is lavished upon rhett's lips, tongue slipping past them. as he melts into the kiss, his body relaxes, and miles is able to start with one finger, easing it inside inch by inch. what follows is a slow, sloppy make out session as miles works rhett open. warmth begins to spread through rhett's extremities, head to toe, and the dull thrum of pain begins to fade, juxtaposed with that deliciously addicting heat. it's dizzying.

miles adds a second finger, as rhett's hips begin to undulate beneath him, thrusting into his lube slicked hand, grip firm. rhett's trembling already, eyes rolling back, losing himself little by little. when a third finger stretches him, he keens high in his throat, jolting against miles. "fuh– fuck! i think i'm...re-ready!"

miles can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth, teeth flashing. there is something so intoxicating about seeing rhett in such a state. miles prefers to let rhett take control, as rhett finds great fulfillment in being dominant. but there are times when rhett needs to relinquish that control, and miles is more than happy to take that mantle upon himself. especially now, when rhett has been bruised, battered, beaten down physically and emotionally. how freeing it is to let himself be looked after in this way.

as miles withdraws his fingers from rhett, he is careful, slow. he leans back, searching blindly for the bottle of lube, unwilling to take his eyes off of his love for even a moment. not when he looks so beautiful, hair framing his head like a halo as he lays back against the pillows. he deserves to be worshiped, adored, lavished upon. and miles bows at his altar, mouth exploring the planes of his chest, the softness of his belly, down further until he looks up at him through his lashes as he presses a kiss to the underside of rhett's cock. the eye contact nearly does rhett in, and he groans, low and broken. "fuck, got me ready to cum just from a simple kiss."

a breathless giggle leaves miles. "i mean, i could just keep kissin' it if that's what you want."

"nuh-uh. spent all that time gettin' me ready, you better make good on your promise to fuck me."

"okay, okay." another kiss is pressed to the aching hardness before miles finally rises, and rhett's eyes flicker down, where miles' own arousal bobs between his thighs. flushed, shimmering at the tip. he gets situated against rhett, gently pushing his legs apart to allow better access. lube is used gratuitously, the schlicking sound filling the air between them as miles smooths it over his cock. it's like he can't move fast enough, squeezing rhett's thighs lovingly before he aligns himself with his entrance.

one hand resting against rhett's belly, wordlessly encouraging him to relax, miles slowly, slowly begins to inch forward. the moment he breaches that tight ring of muscle, he can't help the broken moan that slips from his mouth. beneath him, rhett gasps, eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on breathing, keeping himself relaxed. it's not rushed, it's careful. inch by inch, miles presses his narrow hips forward. when rhett's hand seeks his out, miles intertwines their fingers.

"i've got you," he promises, when he looks up to see the flush in rhett's cheeks, the hazy look in his eyes.

he curses. the sound is gravelly, barely there. his lashes flutter, eyes rolling as miles bottoms out entirely, pelvis pressed to rhett's. miles leans forward, pushing rhett's legs even further apart. sparing him a moment to get used to the intrusion.

"y-y'can move," rhett croaks, and there's a whiny undertone to it. "please move."

never one to deny his sweet cowboy, miles begins to move. a slow, steady progression. each thrust is deeper than the last, until he angles his hips just so, and–– "christ! right there, that's the spot," comes rhett's hiss.

god, he's gorgeous. head thrown back, chest heaving. there's a smattering of dark hair there, between his pectorals. miles ducks forward, tongue trailing over that gathering of hair. of course, he can't resist moving to the side, tongue laving at rhett's nipple, which is also framed by a dusting of hair. something about it is so incredibly arousing to miles, and rhett is so responsive when miles suckles at his nipples. he simply can't resist, not when they're so pretty and pink and just begging to be licked. the sound that tears itself from rhett's throat when miles' teeth lightly scrape against that pebbled bud is sinful.

it only eggs miles on as he switches to the other nipple, his hips rolling deeper, faster, harder. rhett's trembling beneath him now, body vibrating like a live wire. teeth gritted, he focuses on the overwhelming sensation of both miles' mouth, and his cock. but there's something else, brewing beneath the surface. an ache that rhett can't ignore, stemming from his left hip. it only worsens as miles continues, and there is a sudden, sharp jolt of pain that runs up his leg when miles pushes them toward his chest.

rhett groans, but not in pleasure, in pain. his hand rushes forth to press against miles' lower belly. "hold on, hold on, i-i need a break."

miles gasps, eyes widening in concern as he immediately slows to a stop. "oh gosh, i'm hurting you," he despairs, leaning back so his weight isn't resting on rhett. "do you want to stop?"

"no, no, s'alright," rhett assures him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

"what hurts? your hip?" miles glances down, eyeing the mottled skin. his heart aches at the thought of causing his beloved pain. he was supposed to be relieving it, not making it worse.

"yeah, when my leg's spread too far."

"i'm so sorry, honey. i didn't mean to make it worse, i–"

"hey now, bub, don't fret over it none. it isn't that bad, just a little uncomfortable."

"we should stop, maybe–"

"don't you dare," rhett protests, grabbing at miles' hips to keep him seated snugly inside him. "just need t' switch things up a little, that's all."

the gears are turning in miles' head as he scans their surroundings for something to help. "okay, what if i put a pillow under your hip, so your leg doesn't have to stretch out as far?"

rhett's nodding already. "that might work."

miles reaches over to grab a pillow from the other side of the bed, and within moments, he's got the pillow propped under rhett's thigh, elevating it slightly. "how's that?"

rhett lets out a soft breath, nodding his head. "feels a bit better, i think i'll be okay now."

miles' touch is tender as he turns rhett's face toward him with a nudge of his fingers against his jaw. "you tell me right away if it hurts at all. don't wanna cause you anymore pain, you're already dealing with enough of that as it is." his words are punctuated with a kiss against rhett's nose.

"yessir," comes rhett's reply, playful in nature.

it gives miles pause, brow raising. sir. rhett's never called him that before, but strangely enough, he doesn't mind it. maybe we'll have to revisit that some other time, he thinks to himself, as he settles against rhett once again. still nestled deep inside him, connected as one.

he takes a steadying breath, and once again takes rhett’s hand in his own. miles presses his lips, soft and warm, to the cowboy’s knuckles, a sweet display of affection before he begins moving again, holding eye contact with rhett. he’s very cautious, gauging rhett’s reaction. but there’s no pain in his face. instead, his brow furrows, his mouth parts, his lashes flutter, and he trembles. miles knows he’s found that little gathering of nerve endings again, nestled deep within rhett. with each push of his hips, he brushes against it, and rhett’s cock twitches against his belly, leaking clear and shimmery.

and what a sight it is. rhett, melting into the mattress, drool gathering at the corner of his mouth, gaze entirely unfocused. his free hand instinctively lifts to grip weakly at the headboard. even though miles isn’t fucking him hard, he still feels he needs something to hold onto, for fear that he will surely float away, right up into the sky. this is an entirely different plane of existence. an all-consuming barrage of sensations. and then miles wraps his hand around rhett’s dick, and he cries out, raspy and broken. he’s already close. if he wasn’t so pleasure drunk, he might be embarrassed. but he can’t find it in himself to be, not when miles is watching him in awe, stars in his eyes.

“you’re…you’re already close,” he gasps. he can feel it in the way rhett clenches around him, so tightly it’s almost difficult to move.

“uh-huh.” rhett’s mouth is loose around the sound. feels as if his tongue is made of lead, heavy and difficult to control. miles pushes his hips deeper, and rhett shudders, letting out a pathetic, broken sound, between a wail and a moan. he feels brain dead, almost. mouth opening and closing, no words coming out. he’s trying to say something, he’s not sure what. keep going. don’t stop. just like that. but it all sounds like “ah, ah, ah, ah.” huffs of air releases with each thrust.

with miles’ hand wrapped around him, rhett is plummeting toward the edge at an alarming rate. the hand on the headboard grips the wood so tightly it’s surprising it doesn’t splinter. the other one grips miles’ hand like a vice, but miles squeezes back just as hard, keeping him grounded. “let go, honey. let yourself feel good.”

his back arches. the buzz of bliss is all encompassing, vibrating through him from head to toe. he thinks, vaguely, that his sore body should be feeling some sort of pain from the way he’s gone tense, but the warmth coursing through his veins dulls the ache considerably. nothing else matters but this. more, more, more. need more. miles’ thumb swirls deliberately around the head of rhett’s cock, and he offers another deep thrust, and that’s what sends him plummeting over the edge.

“fuck! miles, i-i’m–!” he sobs, voice failing him when it all overwhelms him. he feels like a live wire, trembling and writhing beneath miles as an electric current of bliss ebbs through him.

above him, miles watches in awe as rhett loses himself. his muscles tighten around miles, his cock throbs in his hand. and miles keeps moving, even as rhett’s release, milky white and shimmering, spills from him. there’s so much of it, it pools on his belly, some of it even lands on his chest and collarbone. head thrown back, mouth open, he’s completely given himself to the throes of passion. it’s so erotic that miles is suddenly overcome.

when rhett returns to earth, it’s to the feeling of miles’ hot, sticky release seeping into the deepest part of him. claiming him. marking him. it’s so intimate. he feels thoroughly owned, thoroughly loved. miles nearly falls forward, breathless, trembling, hips still twitching from the aftershocks of his orgasm. he feels weak, strength depleted, but in the most wonderful way imaginable. soft and languid, he kisses rhett, the two gasping into each other’s mouths, sharing oxygen. “luh you,” rhett mumbles against miles’ mouth.

miles nuzzles his nose against rhett, and he giggles. “luh you too,” he replies. he’s not mocking rhett. he finds the pronunciation endearing as can be.

miles is careful as he eases back, soothing rhett while he slips his softening cock out of him. rhett, however, is suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of emptiness. “w-wait. need…need somethin’ inside me still. s’too empty.”

it’s how miles decides to choose a plug from their ever growing toy collection to slide inside rhett. it does the trick, because as soon as it’s in place, a sleepy, satisfied smile spreads across his face. miles kisses his temple and says, “there you go. did so good.” another kiss to his cheek. “i love you so much.” and one to his lips. “you’re so perfect.”

“think you fucked the pain out of me,” rhett slurs.

miles giggles. “that makes me feel a little better about hurting you earlier.”

a warm, steady hand comes to rest upon miles’ bare thigh. “you didn’t do it on purpose. ‘sides, you fixed it right away. that pillow helped a whole lot. much less strain on my hip that way.” he’s leaning in to kiss miles again, slow and gentle. “been takin’ such good care of me today. thank you.”

in the past, rodeo injuries would have gotten an ice pack and some pain pills, if he was lucky. he was left to tend to his own injuries. because he was so self-sufficient, it was assumed he didn’t need any help. but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. he’d spent countless nights, tossing and turning in bed, tears streaming down his face because the pain was unbearable.

now here he is, miles doting upon him. wiping him clean, kissing his face, handing him some water and ibuprofen. rhett can’t help but be filled with a sense of deep solace, as his love tends to him. someone cares enough to look after him after he’s been through hell. someone cares. miles, with his tender touch and soft voice, cares.

“i take care of my own,” miles speaks, matter-of-fact.

“and i love you for it,” rhett tells him.

You think you’re the worst aunt in the world. No, you don’t think that you are. You know that you are.

It’s a week until your niece’s birthday and you didn’t have a present planned. You felt like shit. You haven’t seen her in a year and yet you completely forgot to get her a gift. 

And it wasn’t like it was because you were busy! You were actually free. Free as you could be anyway. You got laid off from your job and were staying with your friend, Bob and his superhero team until you could find a new place to live and a new way to get money. 

You bury your face in your palms, your laptop was discarded nearby on the couch. Everything Emma wanted either couldn’t get shipped in time or was way too expensive for you to get even if you didn’t get fired. 

Maybe you could ask someone on the team for help. You’ve grown close to them over the months you’ve stayed at the watchtower. You somehow became part of the their little family which you were always thankful for. In Yelena’s words, a friend of Bob is a friend of theirs. 

Bob’s a no, so is Ava, Yelena and Alexei… would they be of help? Bucky’s my best bet-

“What’s up with you?” You jolt up, glaring at the man who startled you. John Walker. You got along with him well enough but your dynamic leaned more towards bickering compared to the other members of the team. And you were not in a mood to start a fight. He laughs at your expression. “Geez, I forgot how grumpy you are.”

“Go to hell, Walker. I’m sulking about how much of a bad aunt I am.” You lean your head back to hit the armrest.

He sits next to you with an eyebrow raised. “Didn’t even know you were an aunt.”

“There’s lots of things I don’t tell you,” you grumble. “That’s beside the point. It’s my niece’s birthday and I have nothing to show for it. I feel as bad of an aunt as you’re a bad dad.”

“Hey!” He playfully hits your arm. “Cut me some slack, will you? I’m showing up more.” He opens his mouth to say something but he sees your distressed  and the teasing dies on his tongue. He rubs the back of his neck. “Look, Valentina’s been nagging me to clear up some storage in one of the vacant rooms. Says it might be useful one day. You can probably make use of some of the stuff there.”

You sit up, intrigued. “Depends. What’s in there?”

“Just a couple of merch that never got sold.” He waves dismissively. “The people of New York don’t really like us after all.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, Emma is a fan of Bucky and Yelena. I bet she’d love a gift about them.”

“Great!” He drags you up, leading you to the elevator. “Now Valentina will stop being up my ass about it.”

You turn to look at him. “Are you just using my situation to get out of doing work?”

That silence you received was your answer.

———

When you entered the room John was talking about, it didn’t look that much different compared to the other rooms in the watchtower. 

Well, other than the boxes of course. And holy shit, were there a lot. You saw John rummaging through all of them. You manage to spot out some shirts, posters, mugs and even action figures which he was delighted to find.

“Check this out!” He exclaims, picking up a Bucky action figure. He presses the button at the back which led to the figure yelling out: Armed and Dangerous! in a voice that sounded undeniably like Bucky’s. You grinned, trying to stifle a laugh. “How’d Valentina get him to do this?” 

“No clue. But Emma would love this.” You take the toy from him and press the button multiple times to hear the same line. You grab another action figure that looked like Yelena. You press the button on the back. Widow’s Bite! said the figure. You chuckled, pressing it a few more times.

“I should keep some of the ones of me.” John mumbled to himself. “You think my son would like this?” He looked up and saw you staring at another pile of boxes. 

You move towards it and open it. There stood a lot of merchandise in blue and yellow. He loomed above you to see what you were looking at. “Oh shit, didn’t know Bob had some stuff Valentina scrapped.” He shrugs. “Make sense. Don’t think anyone knows that Bob’s Sentry. Aside from us and now, you.”

You stare at its contents. It wasn’t much. You found shirts with Sentry’s logo, blankets with the yellow and blue color scheme with some sun patterns on it,  hoodies with the same colors and the logo on the pocket. 

But one caught your eye the most. A plush of Sentry which looked accurate to how the team described what Bob looked like, wearing the exact same suit that you saw him wear when he had to train as Sentry. You supposed it made sense, Valentina wanted him to be the perfect hero after all, but looking down at the plush just made your heart flutter. You pick up the box, John crossed his arms and looked at you skeptically. “What’d you need that for?” He squints.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do you want me to help clear stuff out or not?” You snap defensively. “I already got all I needed anyway. I’m just helping.”

John didn’t look convinced. He looked amused. You wanted to punch him in the face but decide against it as he was a super soldier. Not that you would land a hit if he wasn’t one though.

You hear him trying not to laugh. You ignore him, gritting your teeth.

This is why he’s Emma’s least favorite Avenger, you bitterly remind yourself.

———

The box stood near your door but the contents inside were scattered all around your room. You made use of the blanket due to its soft material. You wore the shirt when you went to bed. You put on the hoodie when going out to take a stroll around New York. And you slept with the miniature and softer (probably) version of Sentry. 

No one in the team knew about it. Aside from John who saw you carry the box to your room, the team had no idea you were hoarding a bunch of Sentry merchandise. For a while, it worked. You’d wear the clothes in the comfort of your room or when they weren’t around to see you wear it. You weren’t ashamed per se. It was more of the mortification you felt once they would find out. How do you explain that you’ve been surrounding yourself in merchandise that resembles your best friend? It’d sound weird no matter what.

It even sounded weird to you. Was it a way to get closer to your best friend? Was it a comfortable luxury to have around for free? Was it a way to support your best friend? Was it because the quality was that good? Was it all of the above? Who’s to say?

What matters the most is that no one can find out. You didn’t feel like explaining yourself. 

That was until the day of Emma’s birthday. 

You pressed the Sentry plush tight against your chest, dragging the blanket up to shield yourself from the cold that suddenly entered your room.  

Then you hear the door close and someone calling your name. “Uh, You awake…?” 

You must have thought it was Ava. You did tell her and someone else to wake you up earlier than usual. They were the only ones available since John and Bucky had a mission and Alexei and Yelena were on their own side quest in the city.

Then it dawns on you. Ava wouldn’t have used the door. The other person was…

“Bob?” You squint your eyes, trying to adjust your vision. He stood next to your bed, looking around at your room, surprised that it was decked out in Sentry merchandise. You flinch. “Bob!” 

“Where did you get all this stuff?” He looked flustered yet you’ve never seen him smile that wide in all the years you’ve known him. “Did you make it?” 

“No, it was just lying around…” you weakly defend yourself, tucking the Sentry plush between you and the blanket. “I helped Walker get rid of some stuff lying around so Valentina can have more space.”

His smile dropped. “Oh, okay. Well, you told me to wake you up for Emma’s birthday. You want me to come with you?” 

“It’s fine.” You shake your head. “Think she’s still scared of you because you’re too tall.” 

That gets a laugh out of him. “What did you get her?”

“I would have given her all this Sentry stuff but I forgot that she doesn’t know who that is,” you lied through your teeth. You wouldn’t have given all of it away. At least most of them. “So I got her a Yelena and Bucky action figure. She loves them to death.” 

He smiles. “Tell Emma I said hi and your “evil step sister” Marina.” He says, teasingly. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of me all you want. She’s just nice cause she knows I like you.” You smirk as you see the tips of his ears turn red as he closes the door.

You get up from your bed and open your closet. You realized you had nothing to wear for the cold weather outside. Nothing except a certain yellow and blue hoodie that was staring at you from the corner of your eye.

“Oh, Fuck me.” 

You left the room with a sour expression on your face. Ava, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, noticed what you were wearing right away and hid her smile behind her fist. “Nice outfit. Don’t you think, Bob?”

Bob was sitting on a chair, trying to hide his red face behind a book to no avail. It’d probably be more convincing had the book not been upside down.

“Shut up,” you made your way to the elevator in hopes that they couldn’t see how flustered you really were. 

It was only a matter of time before the rest of the team found out too. You gave yourself a pat on the back for even lasting this long.

———

Once you got back to the watchtower from Emma’s birthday party, you still felt like the worst aunt in the world. The party was fine, great even. You got to see some of your family again, make small talk, one of them even said that you could stay with them for a while as you get back on your feet. You declined of course. You already had a home after all.

Still despite all that, the highlight of your day was Emma making a gift for you even if it was her birthday. Marina mentioned that she was taking up crocheting and so, she gave you a tiny crocheted doll that was her school project. 

Apparently, she did remember Bob. She made him as well. He was wearing that stupid blue sweater that you remember vividly when you saw him on the news as part of the New Avengers. 

She also made it so that you and Bob couldn’t be separated. You both had a magnet connecting you. In Emma’s words, it was so that you wouldn’t lose each other again. You nearly cried on the spot.

You stare at the dolls in your hands, a smile creeping up on your face. You place them both on your bedside table, staring at them for a bit. 

You move them some more so that they face each other. Maybe I can move them together some more-

“You going to shower?” John asked, barging into your room. You wince, heat rushing to your face, both of the dolls drop to the floor. Were you actually about to do that? “What were you doing?”

“Knock next time, will you?” You glare at him but ultimately, get up and get your clothes. He notices the hoodie you’re wearing and opens his mouth to speak. “Don’t even think about it.” 

You walk past him and he walks the opposite way to get to the training room. You weren’t aware that someone went in your room and took something. Not even until you came back.

You were tired and thanks to already eating at the party, you were full and ready to go to bed. You pick up the crocheted Bob from the floor and put him next to the miniature Sentry before getting underneath the covers.

It completely slipped your mind that his other half was missing. 

Bob didn’t though. After all, he took it. He promised in his mind to return it tomorrow but for now, it was in his hand as he stared at the ceiling. 

He’ll apologize tomorrow for taking it but it still felt nice to have a piece of you with him.

The red rope you used to tie him with is soft on his skin, but still firm enough that it left temporary indentations. A remembrance of your night together that he’ll be able to look on and admire once the haze of the rut finally wore off. Marks that used to make him shudder and his anxiety to spike now leave him blushing as he remembered what pleasure caused those beautiful shades of pink and red all over his pale, delicate skin.

It took a while for Miles to be comfortable with being tied like this for both of your gratification. But he soon found enjoyment in being able to give himself to you completely and you to him. You already had all his trust as it is, accepting his taboo of being called an omega during his rut and loving him despite all the crimes and mistakes he made in the past. He was able to surrender to you, knowing all it took was one word, and he’d be free. You made sure he knew he was always in control, even if the rope said otherwise.

“Please, please alpha!” Miles cries, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as you bounce on his lap. You’re reverent in your speed, the bedframe banging against the wall with every bounce, taking and taking from the alpha who filled you so well, until he was reduced to nothing a blubbering moaning mess, begging for your knot.

“What do you need alpha to do, my sweet little omega?” Miles bites back a whimper, the vein in his neck pulsing as he strains and fights against the restraints. You chuckle, clamping down harder around his cock, “Come on baby, words. Or else you're not getting this knot anytime soon.”

A choked sob leaves him, “N-need your knot! Please, please alpha! Need you to knot me! Need it so bad!”

Your clit twitches at how pretty he sounds as he begs for you. Most alphas are dominating, borderline overbearing during their ruts, taking whatever they needed from their mates. Miles was the opposite, putty in your hands as he took whatever you allowed.

Miles’s face scrunches up in agony as you continue to clench around him. It takes all of the self-control he has to not knot you right then and there. Just when he thinks he’s not going to cum before your say so, your fingers glide up along his stomach before circling his chest. His heart skips a beat, breath shaking at your devilish grin before you bend forward, take his nipple between your teeth, and tug.

Miles’s reaction is instant. Back arching off the bed as you knock the air out of his lungs. You swirl his hardened nub with your tongue, the fire in your belly burning at all the broken, beautiful cries that left his wet, trembling lips, “Please, alpha! I can’t hold it anymore, please – I need – please -”

You let go of his swollen nub with a wet pop, smirking when you see how far gone he is. You leer over him, licking your lips like an animal about to devour its meal as you eye the mating bond on his neck. The one you'd given each other after his near kiss with death, when you finally decided there was nothing in this world that you wanted more than to be each other's mates for life. 

A desperate mewl leaves him when your nose bumps against it, your breath hot against his ear as you growl, “Cum. Cum for your alpha.” Before you bite down on his mating mark.

A broken, animalistic cry leaves him as he jerks up into you, his knot catching onto your pussy, sealing you together while he fills you to the brim with his seed. You gasp, seeing white as his cock pumps his spent into you. When you’ve overworked and overstimulated him for as long and as cruelly as you have tonight, it leaves Miles producing so much cum, it leaves you feeling bloated and heavy.

You slowly rock your hips forward and back, biting back a groan when you feel his cock twitch inside you, another spurt of cum trickling in. Miles whimpers, eyes scrunching closed as you milk him dry, “Alpha! Alpha, please, it’s too much…”

Your hips come to halt, your hand coming up to caressing his tear-stained cheeks, “Sorry baby, got carried away.”

He accepts your apology with a nod, panting as he nuzzles against your hand. Your thumb wipes away any remaining tears from his reddened cheeks. Miles looks so beautiful like this. Hair messy, eyes wet, lips swollen, his entire frame trembling as he comes down from an intense orgasm. He’s so ethereal, an alpha gifted with the beauty omegas would die for, and he’s all yours.

Miles whines for your attention when you space out, the bedframe groaning as he jerks his hand towards you “Alpha, alpha hands. My hands, the rope…”

“I got you baby, don’t worry.”

The moment you untie him, shaking arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer to Miles’s chest. The rapid beating of his heart echoes in your ears, but with every light kiss you press against his chest, the steadier it gets.

“Such a good omega, taking my knot so well,” Miles relishes in your praises, chirping and peppering the top of your head in affectionate kisses.

Most of your time attached to each other is spent lazily making out with the alpha below you, combing your fingers through his hair and giggling as you share this quiet, intimate moment of post-sex bliss. Checking in on him, kissing the red indents left on his skin from the rope, and nuzzling the mating mark that connected you two for life.

Once his knot deflates, you’ll be able to convince him to let you go. It’ll take some more reassurance that you’ll be gone for less than five minutes. Miles is always extra clingy during his rut, his instincts screaming at him to keep you close and full of him, but you need to take advantage of these semi lucid moments when you can or else you’d never get some water and food in your mate.

Miles still has another day or two of rut left in him but keeping him hydrated and nourished was a duty you took seriously. But for now, there’s nowhere for you to go when you’re connected like this, but neither of you would want to be anywhere else anyway.

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