— pae✩

You felt indifferent towards your father. Sure, he’d never really taken up the position but at least he acknowledged your existence by putting a hefty amount of money into your bank account.

Surely living in a nice penthouse in Hudson Yards would be the logical choice. A nice view of the city, less crime rates, more people around with wealth…

Instead you settled on a relatively decent apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.

Deep down it felt wrong to use your father’s money to buy some luxurious home for only yourself. It wasn’t necessary. Quite frankly you didn’t really want the money because sometimes it made you feel like Mr. Stark’s charity case. When in reality, you managed to get by fine on your own. Keeping a stable job, buying groceries once a week, paying bills… the adult life you’d dreamed of.

After moving away from Portsmouth, you’d been able to get into a good college. That’s when your artful talent really got the time to shine. It was a fun time in your early adult years.

But now that you were nearing your late twenties, things were starting to slow down just a little.

Despite your strained relationship with both your mother (who still lived in that old mansion in Portsmouth) and your billionaire father, you were happier without them. Mostly.

You were single, living a good life, and yet you still felt like there was something missing. Something you promised someone or yourself but for years and years you never could figure out what that empty space was. It ate at you when things got too quiet—when the city quieted, when the vigilantes returned to their holes after a while, when people took a break from calling your phone.

So you smoked.

The unhealthy addiction started when you were a teenager, still living under the roof of a woman who made you wear skirts and heels in freezing climates. Teenage rebellion had always been a common thing but yours wasn’t so much about wanting to defy your parents but rather you trying to escape their perfect little world.

You took up smoking joints when you found an old bag of weed stashed in your step-father’s closet back when he fought in Vietnam. And if not that, then it was cigarettes.

Just always enough to take the edge off.

Currently, that’s what you wished you were doing.

Golden glows of dim lights illuminated the hotel you were invited to. A big name publisher wanted to speak with you about putting your drawings into a book and you were more than interested in the offer.

Yet, standing in the lobby of a hotel that was staging as a prison for Wilson Fisk was the last place you wanted to be. With the extra anxieties of being recognized for your work, you suddenly wished you would’ve at least taken an edible or downed a glass of cheap wine before showing up.

You stood in front of one of the big paintings, hands tucked into the pockets of your black coat with fur trim on the collar and sleeves. Classy yet simple.

Admiring art was one of your pastimes. All you ever did was wind up in museums if you weren’t high as a kite or drunk off your rocker. But sometimes even that wasn’t enough to keep you away from staring at lines and swoops and shapes and colors.

“Ms. Stark?”

At first, you didn’t turn around. It didn’t even register in your head that you in fact were a Stark.

Only when they repeated themselves did you turn your attention to the man and his assistant. You gave the best smile you could, red lined lips flashing white teeth with what you hoped to be kind.

“That’s me,” you said, trying to sound like you genuinely wanted to be there even as your palms sweated and your heart raced. “Although, I don’t go by that name.”

The man gave a nod. “Right. My apologies. But if you don’t mind me asking… are you related to Tony Stark in any way?”

Your smile nearly slipped, stomach dropping like a stone just settled in it. “No.” The lie came smoothly—as it usually did. “Just a fun coincidence.”

For the rest of the meeting, they didn’t question it again.

Dex knew it was a lie.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but was it really eavesdropping if they were speaking out loud? Besides, she didn’t even need to say anything for him to know she was lying about who her father really was. A persons tell was easy to spot when you knew when to look for it—a shift in tone, the twitch of an eye, the subtle curl of their fingers. And that slight little drop at the corner of her lips told him everything.

Not that he cared. It was his job.

When he was recruited into the FBI, he didn’t expect to be assigned to Fisk’s protection detail. Better yet, he didn’t expect to spend all of his time in a fancy hotel serving Fisk meals on a silver platter.

Now, he stood by the grand staircase in the lobby, hands clasped in front of him as he surveyed the open floor plan. Guests bustled about with their luggage on bellman carts, people on business trips strutted through in dark glasses, locals choosing to sit at the hotel bar/restaurant.

It was a boring day for Dex. There was no action to be taken care of and no threats to detain. Even on lookout he took the time to listen on people’s conversations.

Maybe then he might get a smidge of entertainment.

Time had a way of holding memories hostage. Sometimes a moment could be held onto for years, decades even given the circumstances. Other times time made people forget.

That’s what happened to Dex.

In a buzzing hotel lobby, his past had no jurisdiction over him anymore. Dex didn’t wallow in self pity or think back on his rocky childhood. There was no need. He had found a therapist, served in the military, worked for a suicide hotline, and now was part of the FBI. He’d moved on with his life.

For the most part.

2003, Portsmouth, New Hampshire

Somehow, someway, his life had been put on steadier ground. The boys home was the same as ever but he wasn’t as alone as he was before he met his therapist.

Dr. Mercer was everything Dex never knew he needed. After the baseball incident, she’d been working with him ever since. And he was terrified to know what his life would look like without her.

But at the end of the day, he was still a teenage boy. His mind may not have worked the same as the other boys but he no longer felt like he was constantly standing on shifting sands. Mostly, he had control. Being medicated and having the help of Dr. Mercer really made a difference for a boy who once had nothing but a drawer of drawings and a baseball.

If only for a little while, he had the chance to be normal.

The sun was high in the sky as Dex made his way down to the corner store. His beat up sneakers kicked rocks down the sidewalk, watching them skitter over concrete in precise lines. An old song played in his headphones as he rolled a coin between his fingers.

The bell above the door chimed open as he entered, keeping his music playing. Life was better when he had other people’s thoughts looping through his mind, he found.

As he pulled open the fridge door to grab a cool drink, he noticed a group of teens his age.

There was two guys and three girls. The boys were wearing faded t-shirts with a long sleeve underneath and washed out baggy jeans. Two of the girls wore low rise jeans, tight shirts, and had necklaces dangling from their necks.

But the other girl caught his eye.

She was wearing a skirt instead and a cream colored halter top with bracelets that clinked together on her wrists. Her feet were adorned in matching heels and her lips glistened with pink lipgloss.

Dex was used to seeing kids his age, especially now that he was almost eighteen. But this particular group of teenagers put him off a little bit. They seemed to be laughing, which he didn’t know what could be so funny in a little convenient store. Turning away towards the register, he decided they weren’t worth his time.

After paying for his beverage, he exited without looking back. Today felt like a good day. Something Benjamin Poindexter didn’t get to have most times.

There was a tap on his shoulder.

Dex wanted to just keep walking. He could already feel his patience slipping and he hadn’t even looked at who had grabbed his attention.

Despite his burning desire to ignore them, he slowly turned around, slipping one headphone off his ear. In front of him was the girl from inside with the bracelets. For a long moment he studied her. She felt… familiar, almost. To him, it was off putting. He didn’t know many people, not familiar with faces.

But there was something about her he couldn’t place.

The girl was holding a cigarette. She held it up without a care in the world. “Do you have a lighter?”

Her words pulled him out of whatever trance he’d gone into. Blinking, he shook his head and stepped back. “No. I don’t.”

She sighed, looking down at her painted toes. “That’s okay.”

Dex barely gave a curt nod and went to walk away when she stopped him again. “Have I seen you before?”

Now a little further away, he faced her. Gosh, she was annoying he thought. But he had to admit she’d voiced the same thing that crossed his mind.

“I don’t think so,” he replied bluntly, his fingers flexing around the now condensing bottle in his hand.

“Hmm,” she hummed and the sound made his mind buzz with familiarity. “Well, maybe I’m thinking of somebody else then.”

He nodded. “Probably.”

She bit her lip for a second before holding up the cigarette again. “These things suck. I’ve been trying to quit.”

Why would he care? Smoking never seemed appealing to him. This random girl wouldn’t change that for him.

He watched her hair flutter in the light breeze. She didn’t falter under his heavy gaze, instead she glanced back towards the doors. “They’re a lot sometimes. Honestly? I don’t think they really care about me either.”

And neither do I Dex wanted to say because right now he just wanted to put his music back on and leave the public behind.

Yet for some reason when she met his eyes again, he didn’t feel quite as annoyed anymore. She flashed him a smile. It was almost eager, like she had been waiting for this moment.

Her friends walked out and before she could say anything more, he disappeared down the sidewalk.

Later that day he took a walk, wanting to stay away from the orphanage since there wasn’t really anything to do there.

His legs carried him down by the water, smelling salt and something fishy. And something like a strong plant.

Dex hadn’t meant to follow the sound of someone humming but eventually he found himself looking down at the girl from the store.

She was sitting on the docks, tucked away behind some old cargo crates with smoke billowing from her mouth. Not cigarette smoke. Weed.

“Oh,” she said softly in surprise. “Hello again.”

Knowing he should probably walk away and leave her to get high by herself, Dex couldn’t get his feet to move. His eyes were locked on the joint between her fingers as it burned.

Then, for no logical reason whatsoever, he found himself sitting beside her, trading the joint back and forth. He’d never been high before as the effects began to settle in, he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

It wasn’t long before they were lying on their backs. The girl had a motor on her mouth, talking and talking and talking about every single thing her mind could conjure. Something about rich fathers and rare bird species.

Dex stayed silent while she yapped his ear off. With his smoke addled mind, he was only halfway paying attention.

Even then, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

He’d never really had a true crush before. There were so many other things in his life that he was focused on that something as silly as a crush never existed.

But there was something about you that he couldn’t seem to comprehend why he was so drawn to.

And when you were up and gone, Dex never wondered if you’d come back. For once in his life he let the moment be fleeting.

Present day

He could’ve spotted her from a mile away.

You.

He’d seen you walk into the Presidential Hotel. At first he was just making sure there weren’t any threats but then he noticed your hair. The same strands that he remembered spilling over your shoulders. Then he spotted the smudged graphite on your fingertips. An artists hand.

Now Dex wasn’t completely sure that he was seeing the girl he knew all that time ago. It might’ve been a stretch considering how many years had passed and how he was in a complete different state now. Portsmouth was barely a distant memory for him.

And yet he’d recognize that face anywhere.

That day on the dock, no matter how much weed he’d smoked, he remembered the way your lips had wrapped around the joint. How the smoke poured out like gray silk. Your eyes had been glassy, wide with passion for whatever it was that you were talking about. The one whose pages he still kept hidden in a box buried in his closet along with that watch. Hidden relics he hadn’t seen in forever and yet still held onto them for unknown reasons.

Here you were.

Different.

Much different.

Dex shifted from where he stood like a silent sentinel, trying to seem like he was just doing his job. His eyes tracked you, watching the way you kept your hand in your pockets. Seemed like life had put a dent in your youthful confidence.

He couldn’t believe you were here. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his shoulders were tense.

The past had a way of vanishing and then slipping through cracks that had been messily covered up. Dex thought he’d rid himself of any ties connecting him to who he used to be.

Turns out he was wrong.

He watched as you interacted with two people dressed in finery. They looked professional, legit. Part of him wanted to know more. Who were you after all this time? Where had life taken you?

Even from afar he heard the click of boots on tile as you headed towards the bar area, red lips moving fast just like in his memory. Although for how much you talked, he never knew your name. Suddenly, that’s all he wanted to know.

At one point in time you’d been kind to him. Albeit that you left, he’d found you again at that convenient store and now again at his place of work. Life was different for both of you now. Maybe you would remember him to.

Dex almost immediately shut that idea down. Why would you remember him? There was no answer he could give.

All those times you’d gifted him something shouldn’t have been affecting him this far down the line. But what if it could be that way again?

Two nameless people giving and receiving from each other.

What could be the harm?

The meeting with the publisher was about the equivalent of a small earthquake. Unfortunately, you weren’t very surprised. Everything seemed to have been going well. Smiles over wine, discussing how your art could be incorporated into something that could put you on the map. That was until you realized they were only trying to take credit for it all.

You’d paid for the wine. Then threw the white liquor into the publishers pressed suit.

For over the past year you’d felt like you were stuck in a never ending Monday. Every day felt like you had to pull yourself out of bed, most times with a hangover, and trudge through your day and do it all over again.

Today was no different except for the fact you were tired of living in everybody else’s shadow.

The quiet of your apartment was interrupted by the sound of you barging in, tossing your purse on the counter and making a beeline for the bottle of hard liquor. Without so much as a glance, you snatched it and ripped the cork out.

It burned going down your throat but it felt better than the disappointment your heart still ached with.

“Everyone sucks,” you grumbled under your breath, the bottle hanging lose from your hand as you walked over to the sofa and sank down into the cushions.

Becoming a functioning alcoholic had never been on your radar until your loneliness caught up to you. No mother who cared. A father who never wanted to take care of his daughter. Friends who would’ve jumped at the chance to hang out with you if they knew you were a Stark.

Some days it felt like you’d been screwed over since the beginning. The second Tony had given your mother the opportunity to get out of the city, she took it. New York could’ve been your home instead of that town you hated.

You just wanted to be something to someone. Simple as that.

Hours had passed and you stirred from the sleep you hadn’t meant to fall into. New York’s lights were twinkling outside your window, the sun having set a while ago.

A groan dragged from your throat as you rubbed at your head where an ache was forming. Down on the floor was the empty bottle of liquor. Your coat was twisted and your hair was a mess.

To put it bluntly, you felt disgusting.

After a hot bath in which you did just about everything, you slipped into a large shirt and made yourself a microwave dinner with a glass of wine.

When this became your life, you weren’t sure. Maybe it happened between the time you actually enjoyed your life during college and when you realized no one cared enough to reach out and ask how you were doing from time to time.

For a long time it’d just been you. Walking around in the dark shadows of people who only wanted something from you and then left once they got it.

“What am I doing?” a whisper from you to yourself in the emptiness of your apartment.

Soft tapping came from your window.

You nearly broke your neck with how fast your head turned towards the sound. By the fire escape, you didn’t see anything. There was no one playing a prank. Not even a web slinging vigilante.

Curiosity got the best of you as you set your food down and approached the window cautiously. You glanced all around before carefully sliding it open.

Nothing.

“Hmm.” You were about to shut it when something on the windowsill caught your eye.

A single shining coin.

You weren’t sure how it got there. It wasn’t like people just decided they were going to climb the fire escape, especially since it was a safety hazard. And why would someone just leave money lying around?

Despite the fact your food was getting cold, you stuck half of your body out of the window and looked up. How would a coin have landed so perfectly?

With a sigh, you picked up the shiny copper. Bringing it to the light, your breath caught.

This wasn’t just any coin. It was a 1943 Copper Lincoln Penny. You only remembered the design from back when your step father showed you his collection of rare coins. He’d given you one—the one you were holding now.

Then the memory hit you.

That boy from the orphanage. Lyndhurst, wasn’t it?

That felt like a lifetime ago now. But the past had a funny thing about becoming the future.

Back then you’d only ever wanted a friend. Seems like things hadn’t completely changed. For the longest time after your mother had banned you from giving your drawings to that boy, you told yourself you’d go back for him.

And you had.

At seventeen you’d run into him at that corner store, the one closest to your home and where all the young people went to bribe the cashier for smokes or cheap liquor.

You recalled how annoying your friends had been that day. Come to find out they were only your friends because of the wealth your family possessed. Then you’d seen him walk in.

He didn’t remember you. But you had remembered him and didn’t have the guts to tell him.

And when you had smoked that weed with him on the docks? You wished every day after that you had asked for his name. Because he had listened. Even though you could never remember what words were spoken, he had been the only one who paid attention.

The penny you held now was like a token of the past.

It was one of the items you had gifted to him. Yet another thing of your stepfathers that you’d given away for a good reason.

Maybe this was just a coincidence and you were reading into it too much but the more you stared at it, the more you could see his face piece together behind your eyelids.

Was he in the city? Did he recognize you after all those years? How did he find you? Was it even him?

“Jeez,” you breathed out, running a hand down your face. Maybe you really were losing it.

But for the inkling of a chance you weren’t, you rummaged around some and found one of your recent drawings of a red-tailed hawk.

Once it was settled on the windowsill, you knew you had been pulled right back into the game.

Lyndhurst was the best orphanage in the state. There was a routine. The boys stuck by it. They participated in activities, getting to go outside the four walls nearly every day unless they were bedridden with a fever or something else just as bad.

For the boy in the bullseye cap, it was different.

He was isolated from his peers, choosing to stay away from them. The only reason he didn’t have a place to call home was because his parents had passed on.

They left him all alone. Now, he was too afraid someone else might choose to abandon him. Death wasn’t random. It wasn’t a choice. But to him, it was easier to blame them for taking the easy way out.

Autumn had arrived. Portsmouth was filled with red, yellow, and orange, dried leaves blowing down every corner of the town. There was a chill in the air now, the breeze from the coast sweeping through like a guest who showed up annually.

Perfect baseball weather.

Dex sat in front of a brick wall, a metal plaque reading Lyndhurst Home for Boys next to the hole he was drilling into the red brick. A rhythmic thunk resounded in the open air. The baseball was doing more damage to the wall than the boy thought was possible. Although, he had been doing this since he arrived there. Time had finally weathered it down. The boy knew the headmaster didn’t like it. He did it anyway.

Coach Bradley had said it was good practice. The validation was only part of why he kept going. People around knew the boy was skilled. Perfectionist even at ten years old. His joints were like oiled hinges—no friction, just ease. One day he was going to pitch a perfect game, he was sure of it.

The boy knew nothing but the orphanage and baseball. That was his life.

Then there was you.

The boy was sat in his usual spot, staring straight ahead at the overgrown vines that the headmaster had only cut around the Lyndhurst sign. The hole was only getting deeper as the baseball kept pounding into it.

A melodic hum then drifted with the breeze and into his ears. No one usually ever came close to the orphanage unless there was a new boy arriving or some of the older boys went out for the day.

But the sound of the hum wasn’t male. It was light and feminine, like that of a doves song.

The boy held the baseball in the glove as he drew his attention to where it was coming from.

A few feet away, he made out the outline of a girl.

Her hair was down, cascading over her shoulders and back like a veil. Even from a distance he could see how her feet didn’t reach the ground. She was young, just like him.

But where were her parents? Why was she sitting on a bench in front of a home for boys by herself?

Her head was bent, eyes trained on something in her lap. From his view he couldn’t make out what it was. Maybe she was just waiting for something. Maybe she was praying. Maybe she was just enjoying the cool autumn breeze.

Whatever it was wasn’t his business and the boy never really had been interested in girls before.

When he went to continue his practice, she lifted her hand. In it was a graphite pencil. So she was drawing. Usually he wouldn’t care. Why would he care about some random girl who could draw?

That’s when he saw it.

She shifted, turning slightly so he could see her profile—the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the ridge of her brows. Balanced on her knee was a sketchbook and on the cream-tinted paper was a bird. Thin gray lines made up the wings, dark shading giving it depth. A single black raven. For someone her age it was mighty impressive to the boy who also took interest in drawing.

His eyes drifted up towards her face again before following the direction in which her gaze went.

Across the street perched a lonesome raven. Its sleek black feathers rustled softly with the breeze. The bird was just sitting on the fence, head cocking only occasionally.

What’s so special about a raven? the boy thought.

Clearly, she was intrigued.

Then her eyes met his.

It was a simple glance. Just a survey of your surroundings. To take note of the strangers on the street just like your father had taught you.

This boy didn’t have parents, you realized. You’d seen the sign out front. Lyndhurst. A boys home for those who’d been orphaned. You couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like to be without your parents. Even though your father was a billionaire who didn’t have time to raise a kid, you still got to live with your mother here in Portsmouth.

On a walk, you’d seen the raven. It was by itself, minding its own business without a care in the world. The sidewalk was empty, giving it space to exist without interference.

Knowing your mother was just down the street in some boutique, you’d quietly slipped away and took a seat on the bench in front of the orphanage.

Ever since you’d been gifted the leather bound sketchbook for your birthday, you’d taken it everywhere. You drew just about anything and everything that caught your interest, including a lot of random things most people wouldn’t pay attention to.

It was an escape from the reality of where you came from. You came from a family of wealth (mostly because your father had sent your mother off with money) so growing up in an old mansion in the South End, you were alone a lot of the time. Your mother and all her pageant schemes took away from the love she should’ve been giving to her children. She only seemed to care about looking young and upholding her reputation. As for your father, he was too busy running Stark Industries and other things you never understood.

Here you were now, staring into the eyes of a boy who had no family.

You noticed the cap on his head. The white bullseye symbol caught your attention first. Maybe it’s his team name you thought.

He looked away quickly, almost like he was embarrassed about being caught. As he went back to throwing the baseball into the good sized hole in the brick wall, you noticed how upset he looked.

There were many things you could think of as to why he was that way. But none of them even scraped the surface.

You turned your attention back to the journal on your knee, suddenly feeling the need to brighten his day with a kind gesture. For the longest time that’s all you ever did.

As your feet hit the concrete, you started to head over to a nearby patch of flowers. They were in one of the planters lining the sidewalk, a group of small white buds clustered together. Carefully, you plucked a few stems and arranged them neatly.

The boy was too occupied to notice you slip your arm between the fence bars, lying the bundle of flowers on the concrete without a word.

That’s when your name was called.

Your head whipped to the side to see your mother storming down the street. Her curls were pinned behind her head and she reminded you of a model.

When she reached you, she gripped your arm tight, yanking you away from the fence. “What do you think you’re doing, missy, hanging around this poor orphan boy?”

“Momma—”

“Look at him,” she snapped, scrutinizing the boy who was now throwing the baseball harder. “Vandalizing the only place that’d take him in. What a selfish little prick.”

You were almost knocked off your feet when she began to drag you away. “But my journal…”

She didn’t listen. All you could do was follow and hope the boy found your gift.

Gifts were a very rare thing for the boy. He barely received any due to the lack of people in his life. But once he’d seen her place down those flowers, he wanted to think they were for him. So he took them.

In the following days they went from bright white to a dull yellow as they dried up and withered away on the single nightstand by his bed. Even when they were completely dead, he didn’t remove them. He didn’t understand why he kept them there but every night as he fell asleep he’d stare at them until he drifted off. A strange little girl had left them for him and for some reason the gesture made him feel like maybe there was someone else in the world who cared.

But it didn’t end there.

On a Wednesday afternoon, he found a watch. It was old but it was the nicest thing he’d seen in a while. So, again, he took it. He wore it every day, sometimes even forgetting to take it off before bed. It was how he finally learned to tell the time.

The next day when they let him outside, he watched for the girl instead of tossing the baseball.

With each stranger that passed by, he hoped to see the one with ink stained fingertips and curious eyes. The one who chose to be kind to him when no one else wanted to.

Unfortunately he never did see her.

Before he was called in for dinner, he decided to return the favor. Instead of receiving, he placed his worn baseball on the concrete slab before heading inside.

The second he was allowed to check, the boy rushed out to find that the baseball had been taken. And for once in a very long time he had smiled. And that wasn’t it.

In its place was a folded piece of paper. Trying and failing not to be too eager, he quickly unfolded it and found a simple drawing—a bullseye.

His hand automatically went to the stitched circles on his hat. She had noticed.

Every day after that the boy would wait. He threw the ball against the wall, watched the sidewalk, threw the ball, and repeat. But he never did see the girl. All he could imagine was her fingertips, colored in dark ink and her hair falling over her shoulders. To him, that was enough.

From then on, he clung to her drawings. With every baseball he left, she returned it with a drawing.

He looked forward to it every afternoon, having to wait too long in his opinion to see what she had made for him that day.

Then he had found her journal.

On a trip to the headmaster’s office, he’d seen it in the lost and found, the burgundy leather weathered and cracked. Despite knowing he could get in trouble, he stole it. But was it really stealing if he was going to return it?

That night he had sat in his small twin-sized bed, listening to the other boy chatter and play cards around him. The drawer next to him was filled with her drawings but now he had something even more valuable.

Many of the pages were filled with colorless pictures of random things—fountains, mailboxes, half of people’s faces, birds, teeth, lampposts, shells. It seemed she’d seen things he never even thought to look twice at.

Disappointment settled in when he came to the last picture—the raven. His fingers traced over the lines and immediately retracted them when he saw how easily it smudged.

The selfish part of him wanted to keep it. To know that none of the other boys could ever see something so unique and special as her drawings he felt were only for his eyes. He would’ve let that part win over if he hadn’t remembered the look on her face when her mother had dragged her away.

So, instead of a baseball, he had left the journal.

The next day he found the usual piece of paper. Except this one was lined and no pictures were present—just a few words he’d cling to forever.

Thank you for giving my journal back. You’re a very kind person ~ your friend

Then Dex began losing control.

On a particularly hard day, he was waiting for your gift to show up. He had started to rely on those personal little gestures to make everything in his brain quiet.

Until today.

There was no gift. The cement slab was bare. There was no paper, no colorful drawing, no trinket or gadget. Nothing.

Dex was back to angrily drilling a hole into the brick wall, so close to imagining it was her instead. He was so upset, frustrated beyond words that she had taken away the one thing that made him feel like he was seen. For months he felt like he actually had a friend. One who wanted to help him even though he’d only seen her once. Why did no one stay? She didn’t even know him really and she still left.

Coach Bradley came over. He was talking about how there was an upcoming game and the traffic was bad but Dex was hardly paying attention until he brought up the hole in the wall.

That’s when he brought up that he had a gift.

Instantly, Dex lit up when Coach Bradley handed him a brand new baseball glove. So he did get a gift after all.

On the field dressed in his striped jersey with Dex 3 written on the back, he was dead set on pitching a perfect game. If it’s perfect, they’ll come back.

Then Coach Bradley intervened, crushing Dex’s false hopes of his parents coming back.

So he crushed his coaches skull instead.

You were sound asleep when you woke up to a commotion downstairs. It was late. You went to bed early as usual but now your parents seemed to have disregarded their daughters need for a good nights rest.

With a small yawn, you put on your slippers and padded downstairs to find your mother nose deep in the newspaper with your step-father hovering over her shoulder. You yawned again, finally coming to.

It may have been late but you were still upset.

Your mother had found out about you giving those drawings to the orphan boy. She just about lost her mind when she found out you’d been leaving them every time you went to get the mail. When she did, she took away all your pencils, pens, markers, crayons—just about any and every drawing utensil she could find. All you could do was watch and cry.

When she looked up from the newspaper, her eyes got dark and she snapped her fingers.

Reluctantly, you headed over to her.

She shoved the paper in your face. “Do you see that? That little orphan boy murdered his coach!”

That’s when the world seemed to tip on his axis. You stared at the paper but you could barely make out the tiny words. You looked at your mother before up at your step-dad. He looked tired and confused.

Murder? You knew that was a bad thing. Of course you did. But a little boy? The one that had so kindly returned your journal to you? There was no way.

“Sweetheart,” he said, placing his hand on her silk covered shoulder. “Maybe you shouldn’t show—”

“She was giving him stuff!” The woman shouted. “She gave him your old watch!”

Even if you were to argue, there was no use. You had gifted the boy your step-father’s watch. Vaguely, you knew that orphans didn’t receive many gifts from anyone. So you stepped up.

You wanted to be the boys friend. He looked so alone sitting by himself, ricocheting that baseball like it was the only thing he knew. So you did what you could in hopes he got the message.

But now that there was no way she was going to let you go back there, there was no way for you to ever know if he wanted the same thing.

As your parents began arguing back and forth, you slipped back upstairs with silent tears streaming down your face.

Quietly, you slipped out a hidden piece of paper from where your mattress met the wall.

Unfolding it, you stared at the drawing you never got to give to him. You’d seen him in his baseball uniform once. Just enough of a glimpse for you to make a portrait of the boy who deserved a second chance.

Gently curved lines formed his shoulders and his head, his back turned to show the number 3 in bold. But the place where his name was supposed to be was blank. You hadn’t managed to catch that part.

Yet, you promised yourself you’d go back to him, just to let him know he wasn’t alone.

A loud clang rattled through the apartment as you frantically moved about, knocking pots and pans onto the linoleum floor. You moved around with urgency, chest heaving and hands shaking with fear and adrenaline.

All of the curtains were shut, doors locked but you couldn’t remember if you’d left a spare key under the mat outside the front door.

You ran to it, yanking it open and shrieking as a man stood there. He quickly took hold of your arms, strong hands biting into your skin.

“Hey,” he said in that grounding tone you knew so well. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

You blinked rapidly and through your panic you made out his face. Dex. Your heart slowed back to a steady rhythm but your breathing was still choppy.

Dex stepped closer, his broad shoulders filling up the entire doorway. You barely stepped back, letting his hands slide to your shoulders. “What happened to make my girl so scared, huh?”

You tilted your head back, staring up at him. You gripped his bicep and with the other hand gestured behind you. “He… he was there.”

Dex brushed some hair behind your ear. “Who—”

“I saw him.” You gasped, your pulse thrumming in your ears again. “He was there. He was there. He was coming after me… I… I saw him. And… and he’s coming, Dex.”

He forced the grin off his face, leaning down slightly to your level. “Who was it, baby? Who’s coming for you?”

Your eyes flicked over his face, dragging along the gorge of a scar on his cheek. You swallowed hard.

“Bullseye.”

That one little word sank like claws into his chest, an unfurling pride that made his eyes nearly turn feral. You didn’t notice. He stepped further inside your half-ransacked apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Sit down,” he instructed.

You shook your head. “He’s coming! He’s going to get me and—”

Dex gripped your jaw firmly, not bruising but just enough to shut your mouth. “No one’s touching you with me here, understood?”

Without another word, you went to sit on your couch, every little creak in the settling building or a groan of a pipe outside made you flinch. Every tiny disturbance of quiet made your skin prickle with unease. You pulled your legs your to your chest, worrying your lip between your teeth.

Dex crouched down in front of you, looking up through his lashes, his massive body trying to accommodate to the smaller space. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. Just stared. Memorized. Storing away every detail of your distressed features, making you even more beautiful than he thought was possible.

Then, he slipped something out from his pocket.

Your eyes tracked the movement before he reached for your hand. He uncurled your fingers from their tight fists and placed dark blue fabric there instead.

Dex gently pushed it towards you.

Hesitantly, you slowly but surely unfolded it and held it up in front of you. It was a balaclava. But not just a random one. Bullseyes.

“How’d you get this?” Your voice was nothing more than a timid whisper.

He stood back up, his shadow looming over you. “Put it on.”

Your eyes went wide, staring up at him like he was insane. Put it on? Your hands were trembling as you looked back at it. “But Dex, he’s coming for me…”

“Then show him you aren’t afraid.”

But you were terrified. More than you’d ever been in your life. Yet, after a long moment just staring at it, you slowly began pulling it over your head. It was loose on you and it smelled familiar. Like someone you knew. Maybe it was just the fact that Dex was standing right in front of you.

Once it was on, Dex had to hide his reaction. You looked like him now—a symbol of fear, lethal precision, and insanity. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, staring at him like he had just defeated the man you were trying to outrun.

The man who was now inside your apartment, taking up the safety of your home without you having a clue of who and what he really was.

And that’s what made it so fun. He fed off the way you clung to him when you were frightened, how you were so afraid of Bullseye that you were willing to put on his mask to prove that you were trying not to.

Something twisted inside him. Something hungry and crooked and so very wrong. But he couldn’t help it.

Dex lifted you off the couch, you compliant as he led you to the bathroom. Once you saw yourself, your fingers tightened on his hand.

“Not so scary now, hmm?” He hummed into your ear, the sound only slightly muffled.

Your reflection wasn’t you. It was Bullseye in another form of soft curves and small stature. The large shirt and sleep shorts adorning your body looked completely out of place with the dark balaclava on your head. It was clearly too big, but at the moment it didn’t seem like a big deal.

“I…” you took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t appreciate me pretending to be him.”

Little did you know, he was loving it. If it were anyone else, they’d be dead before they even saw him coming. But you? His beautiful girl? It was a sight he’d keep ingrained in his head forever.

“You’re not pretending.” Dex curved his skilled fingers around your wrist, coaxing you to face him. “Not yet, anyway.”

When your eyes met his, they were hot, blazing with an intensity that sent sparks shooting down your spine. Without any jerky movements, he brought your hand to his throat. Your breath hitched as your fingers wrapped around it.

Dex felt a jolt of need surge through his veins. “There you go,” he breathed out. “Now you are.”

Your pulse was thumping hard, your mouth dry. But your body was still locked in flight or fight mode, your brain alert for danger. “He’s coming, Dex. He’s not going to like this. You stole from him.”

He let out a blunt chuckle that made your skin prickle with unease. Then, he began to pull the balaclava off your head. “I’m not a thief.”

When he slid it on, your entire body locked up. Your mouth hung open. Terror and recognition and betrayal shot through your body like a bullet nestling deep within your bone tissue.

Dex wasn’t Dex anymore.

He was your worst nightmare.

Panic flooded through Dex. This wasn’t how he wanted you to find out but he was desperate for you to accept him. To see how messed up he was and still want him.

But when you took a step back, face ridden with insurmountable fear, he knew he would have to get you to understand. Even if that meant giving you the upper hand for a little while.

“Run.”

That single word put your legs into motion. Without a second thought, you sprinted out of the bathroom. As you made a beeline for the front door, the rug slipped beneath your feet. You collapsed to the floor with a strangled cry, a million emotions slamming into each other like broken waves against rocks.

Your boyfriend was Bullseye. The same man you’d watched feed the neighbors cat, the one who gave the homeless money, the one who you thought was good.

You let him into your home every day willingly. He kissed you good morning and good night, held you when the day went badly, slept in your bed and kept his strong arms tight around you like he couldn’t bear you to leave.

And now you understood why that was.

His heavy footsteps crept behind you, steady thumps that sent you flying back to your feet.

Once you were in the hallway, the lights dim and humming, you ignored the elevator and flew down the stairs. You didn’t stop running, now even when you accidentally fell down the last few steps at the bottom.

Would he hurt you? The answer seemed obvious. Dex wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Or maybe that was just the Dex he let you see.

Bullseye was the monster of Hell’s Kitchen. He locked on his target and didn’t stop until they were dead, using everything and anything at his disposal to eliminate those who he saw as threats and a waste of space.

Now he was truly after you. Not just the Bullseye you had seen across the street after a quick late night run to the corner store, watching you and tracking you like a predator stalking its prey.

He put a target on you. Smack dab in the middle of your face to let the entire city know Bullseye was coming for you next.

Tears obscured your vision as you clambered into a cleaning supplies closet. The smell of bleach and other chemicals infected your nose. You pressed up against the back wall, the only sliver of light coming from beneath the door.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, praying that this was a good enough hiding spot. You listened over the sound of your rapid heartbeat, trying to hear him.

Maybe he thought you left the building you told yourself, trying to cling onto the hope that you had outsmarted New York’s most deadly assassin.

Then you watched a giant shadow creep closer until you could see the tips of his boots.

You closed your eyes.

The door opened.

“No!” You screamed as those heavy, gloved hands latched onto your arms and begin to drag you out of the closet.

Dex wasn’t grinning anymore even though he wanted to find this amusing. He was frustrated, filled with toxic rage that his own girlfriend was trying to escape from him.

You thrashed around as his metal bands of arms wound around you, keeping your legs facing away from him as you kicked aimlessly.

“Let me go!” You cried.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he rasped into your ear, barely struggling even as you writhed.

“Then let go!”

“You’d just run again.”

“No shit!” You fired back, letting out a high pitched wail as your foot slammed into the wall.

“You’re just making this worse for yourself.” He grunted, hand sliding down to grip your thigh and prevent your leg from kicking out again.

As the fight drained out of you because he was far too strong to compete against, you panted hard, body going limp. “Please don’t, Dex.”

Your little, breathless plea gutted him. Did you really think he’d hurt you? If only you knew he had been following you around to keep you away from harm.

“Just stop fighting me, baby,” he said again, pulling off the balaclava. “Let me explain.”

“Explain what? That you’re a mentally deranged killer who slaughters people in broad daylight?”

He went to argue but you weren’t entirely wrong. “Just come back up with me. Please.” His hand came up, smoothing over your hair. “Please. I promise I’ll make it better.”

He made it impossible to say no. Not when you could feel every hard inch of him pressing against your back, his arms holding you like he wouldn’t let go even if you begged him to (he would).

And you hated yourself for it but you nodded anyway, victim to his whiny pleas.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. There was no way you’d ever be able to see him the same ever again. He was a murderer. A psychotic vigilante who you were starting to see as more of a villain.

Of course you knew about Dex’s mental illnesses going into your relationship with him. Now you were berating yourself for not having noticed when he stopped taking his medication. At first it wasn’t too noticeable but now it was practically being shoved in your face.

Dex was in front of you on one knee, tending to your ankle that was now more than bruised. Neither of you said anything. He saw how you kept your gaze trained on the wall ahead of you instead of looking down at him.

Finally, after he finished, he pressed his hands to your knees. He felt a pang of hurt when you tensed up.

“I was going to tell you.” A lie.

“Were you?” You asked sharply. “Or were you just going to keep letting me think my boyfriend was just some average guy who made me breakfast every morning and helped me make the bed and kept me warm at night?”

Dex gripped a little tighter. “I am. I still am.”

“You’re a vigilante!”

“Didn’t I do all of those things while being a vigilante?”

Your mouth slammed shut. He got you there and you hated it. As you stared at your lap, a single tear slipped from your eye.

“Hey,” he said softly, tipping your chin up a little bit and catching the tear with his thumb. “Don’t cry.”

You sniffled, shaking your head a little bit. “You… you’ve killed people.”

Dex watched your pretty face flush with all the emotions you were processing. He thought you were so beautiful when you got like this. “Yeah. To protect you. You understand? I did it to protect you.”

At this point, you weren’t even sure what to believe. He’d been keeping this from you since the beginning of your relationship. Was that his version of protection or just an excuse? You had no idea.

Dex felt that familiar panic surge in his chest. His fingers dug in until he left small bruises. “You believe me, right?” Please tell me you do.

You bit your bottom lip, staring off to the side and as much as he wanted to force you to stay looking at him, he let you take a moment. He couldn’t let you go. He wouldn’t. You were the only person in his life that made the world stop spinning. The only one who gave him something to come back to.

Then he thought of a new tactic to get you to stay. There was no way you’d leave if you knew everything he’d done to keep you safe, he thought.

“Do you remember that guy from the laundromat?”

The question was last thing you were expecting. But you wiped your nose with the back of your hand and nodded. “I do.”

Dex almost got giddy with the prospect of you finally finding out the lengths he went to make sure you were okay. That he cared so much that he did those things for you.

“Your friend called you,” he continued. Your heart squeezed, finding it creepy he’d been watching and was close enough to hear your conversation. And still, you hadn’t noticed him.

He took a tuft of your hair in between his fingers, feeling its softness. “You were too busy talking to her about what you were going to wear on our date that night.” Dex grinned, remembering every little detail. “You wore that dark blue dress, the one with the thigh slit and lace. Yeah… you only picked it because you knew I’d slip my under it.”

Despite everything, it made your breath catch. He wasn’t supposed to know that part.

His skilled fingers slid over the curve of your shoulder. “You didn’t notice the man follow you out. At the crosswalk you still looked both ways but never behind you.”

You’d always considered yourself an observant person but clearly you were wrong.

“I kept an eye on him from the moment he walked into the laundromat.” Dex studied your face for a reaction. “When he started following you, I stepped in. He never got close to you. I made sure of it.”

He smiled again. “Don’t you see, baby? I was looking out for you. I always am. I’m one of the good guys, okay? You know that.”

Your eyes were locked on his now and suddenly, you weren’t so scared anymore.

He always let you run.

He just kept all the violence hidden from you.

Slowly but surely you slid off the edge of the bed and into his lap. Dex sat back, large hands hovering over your lower back in case you needed any help. He felt a bout of satisfaction that you were coming onto him willing. His plan worked.

You didn’t touch him. Not yet. Just looked at him, seeing him in a whole different light now.

He had been keeping you safe without you knowing. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as everyone made him out to be.

He was a vigilante but he was doing it to keep you from harm. Maybe, just maybe, you were willing to give his alter ego a chance.

Your eyes drifted over his shoulder to the mask that was discarded on the floor. It didn’t seem so daunting anymore. Not when he was letting you hold him under you.

You grabbed the balaclava and carefully pulled it back over his head. Dex didn’t protest. Once only his eyes were visible, you let out a shaky breath. You could see the lines around his eyes and they reminded you of the man beneath the mask.

Finally, your hands came to rest on the back of his neck. Dex took this as a sign that you really weren’t leaving him. He settled his hands on your hips, his usually furrowed brows now soft around the edges.

“Thank you.” You whispered, hovering your mouth over his where it would be when not covered by cloth.

The only way you knew he smiled was because of the squint of his eyes. Anything for you.

Your lips pressed over his and he nearly reacted just from you accepting this. Accepting him and embracing it.

Running from Dex was useless.

Hiding from him was impossible.

And both of you knew that he loved you too much to ever let you run away from him ever again.

The days passed and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking for Joel everywhere you went. You hoped to see him at the grocery store, the Tipsy Bison, and especially when you were working on the farm. You wanted an excuse to talk to him though you figured you had plenty.

He felt like the stable ground you kept searching for. Like maybe the dead end road you thought you were on actually was leading you to this.

To Joel.

One morning, you woke up to the sound of a truck door slamming shut. You blinked awake, your mouth dry and eyes half shut. You glanced around your room before grabbing the water bottle by your bed and taking a sip.

After a while arguing with yourself about getting out of bed, you finally managed to throw the covers off and start your day.

The floorboards creaked under your feet as you went into the bathroom. You smelled of vanilla and cigarettes. You leisurely brushed your teeth, taking your time since no one was waiting on you.

You finished up in the bathroom before going back to your room. The sun was shining brightly, creating a shadow of patterned lace against the floor. Everything about the air and the sun made it a lazy Saturday morning.

Until you heard voices coming from outside your window.

You padded over, socks scuffing against the ground. Who in the world could be here so early?

Your fingers wrapped around the lacy curtains, pulling them back and peering out at the property.

Your heart gave a sharp thud.

Your hands felt sweaty.

There, talking to your father by the barn, was Joel Miller. The man you’d been waiting to see for what felt like forever when in reality it’d only been a few days. But he was here and you were going to act on the feelings that had been accumulating.

You changed into a simple white sundress, slipping on a pair of brown boots and braiding your hair into two braids on either side of your head. Right as you were about to leave your room, the makeup on your vanity caught your eye.

You didn’t go anywhere without at least a little on your face. So you quickly brushed on some mascara and swiped some lipgloss on your lips before rushing downstairs.

The television in the living room was playing morning news, your mother sat in her chair with a blanket and a cigarette. Clearly she didn’t remember the conversation you tried having with her yesterday and you were both disappointed and relieved.

She glanced over at you as you went into the kitchen, grabbing a small bite to eat. “You’re up early.”

She was right, of course. Truth was, you would have gone back to sleep if you hadn’t seen Joel outside.

You gave a one shoulder shrug. “Felt like being productive.”

She hummed, taking a drag. The smoke flowed from her mouth as she spoke, “Miller’s over.”

“Is he now?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed what you certainly already knew. “He’s helping your daddy out with some work. Won’t you be a good girl and bring them lemonade or something?”

You tried to smother the smile that crept onto your face. She just gave you the most perfect excuse to go talk to him. “Yes, ma’am.”

As you worked on pouring two glasses of cold lemonade, you looked out the window above the counter through your lashes. Joel was standing by the tractor, nodding along to whatever Rhett was rambling about. He was wearing a navy blue shirt that was hugging his biceps, the veins along his hands prominent as they rested on his hips.

You were done for. There was no reason for him to look that good especially with that salt and pepper hair of his.

With a steadying breath, you headed outside with the two glasses, careful not to spill as you brought them over to the men.

Joel noticed you first and you watched as all the interest he had in what your father was saying quickly vanished. You didn’t know what to make of that so you just gave a sweet smile.

“Hello, boys,” you said, handing your father one glass and when you went to give Joel his, your heart skipped a beat when your fingers brushed against his.

“Mornin’, sweet pea,” Rhett said, giving one braid a small tug. “Joel here’s just helpin’ fix the tractor. But the cats could use some milk.”

You gave a little nod, gaze flickering back to Joel before going off to get the pitcher of milk. A hint of disappointment settled in. Joel didn’t say anything to you. You just assumed it was because your dad was present and he didn’t have time.

However, your goal to get Joel to notice you was still in place.

After grabbing the pitcher, you went over to the barn where the cats had a blanket spread out under a small awning. The kittens mewled, tiny little noises that made you smile.

“Hi, sweeties,” you said in a soft voice, crouching down to pour the milk into a saucer. You gently scratched behind the mom cat’s ear and she purred, leaning into your hand.

Your dress had rode up a little bit on your thighs and you glanced over to see if Joel was looking.

He was not.

Instead, he was bent over the tractor engine, arms working deep within the machinery with a focused expression on his face—wrinkles drawn on his forehead, lips pursed, eyes squinted.

If you were trying to be the distracting one, it clearly had backfired.

You stood back up, bringing a hand to your brow to keep the sun from shining in your eyes as you watched Rhett walk into the storage shed.

You sauntered back over to Joel, smoothing your dress down. “My daddy got you doing the dirty work now?”

Joel looked up, sweat glistening on his temple. He stepped back from the engine, taking a sip of the lemonade you brought him. “All I do is dirty work, darlin’.”

His words sent your thoughts into dangerous territory.

You crossed your arms over your chest, hoping to push up your cleavage. His eyes never strayed lower. Dang it. “He at least paying you?”

He shrugged, turning his back to the tractor and leaning against it, wiping the oil from his sturdy hands with an old rag. “I ain’t here to steal his money.”

You raised your brows. “Then why are you here?”

Joel studied your face for a moment and you couldn’t help but shift nervously on your feet.

“Found ‘em!” Rhett’s voice called out across the way and you felt a bout of anger surge within your chest. He always seemed to be ruining the good moments in your life even though it was just a lot of poor timing.

Joel only turned his attention back to him when he handed him a tool you couldn’t name. “Thanks,” he said bluntly, wiping away the sweat and getting back to work.

Rhett settled his hands on your shoulders, dirty from the farm and you suppressed the urge to shove him off. “I’m glad you came down.”

You glanced back at him. “Why?”

He grinned, showing off yellow teeth that were decaying from years of using chewing tobacco. It made you stifle a grimace. “I’m glad you asked.”

He pulled back, reaching into the pocket of his worn jeans and retrieving a folded piece of paper. “I haven’t been able to make a supply run with your mother having all her doctors appointments.”

You weren’t sure why but your heart eased a little at that. Sure, your parents weren’t nearly as in love as they once were but they still had their moments.

Rhett handed the list to you. “I’d been meanin’ to ask you. But since you’re here, I figured it wouldn’t be a hassle.”

Your eyes went from his to the crumpled paper. You really didn’t want to waste gas or money on supplies your father needed for his farm but you didn’t really have anything to do.

Except impress a certain someone.

You slowly took the paper, reading the list of items. Your brows furrowed. “Where am I supposed to get a carburetor from?”

“Lots of hardware stores carry them but I placed an order from one down in Jacksonville.”

Your eyes widened. “Jacksonville?”

He nodded. “I know it’s far but it’s too annoying to cancel my order.”

“Since when do you even place online orders?” He was always one for doing things the manual way. You were vaguely aware he even had a phone in the first place.

“Don’t talk back, girl,” he said, his voice gruffer even with Joel next to him.

“I wasn’t talking back—”

“Is getting the part a problem or not?”

You let out a sigh. “The drive there is three and a half hours and so is the drive back. That’s six hours all together, daddy.”

Rhett ran a hand over his scruffy beard. “Fine. I’ll pay for gas and food.”

“No need.”

Your eyes snapped to Joel who clearly had been listening in on the conversation. “I’m sorry?”

He folded his thick arms across his broad chest. “There’s no need. I’ll take you.”

Your jaw could’ve fallen to the ground. You clenched your teeth together to prevent that from happening, still having trouble containing your surprise by his candid statement.

Your father seemed just about as shocked as you were. “Why, Joel, I think she can manage herself…”

Joel shook his head. “I’m sure she could but that highways no joke. Besides, wouldn’t hurt to have a navigator.”

Rhett seemed to consider this before nodding again. “Well, then, long as you keep my little girl safe then I don’t see a problem with it.”

Joel looked at you when he said, “she’s in good hands.”

You folded the paper back up and gestured towards the house, all the argument dying out of you. “I’ll go get my things.”

Feeling a nervousness take flight in your stomach, you scurried back up to the house, opening the screen door with a little too much force.

Your mother was laughing over some sitcom but the sound was more of a wheezing hack. She glanced over at you as you made a beeline for the stairs, focused on grabbing your purse and leaving.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” She asked, lighting up yet another cigarette.

“Supply run,” you answered, “daddy’s makin’ me go all the way to Jacksonville.”

“Jacksonville?” She echoed just like you had.

“That’s what I said.”

She let out a scoff, inhaling the nicotine before itching her cheek. “Well, forecast said there’s a storm blowing in. You might wanna pack a bag just in case you get caught up in it.”

Great. A storm. How convenient.

You huffed, the heat and the situation starting to grate your nerves before you remembered Joel was going to be with you. Which meant maybe the storm would give you more time with him even if you were going to be on the road with him for six hours.

You grabbed a pink ballet duffel bag from forever ago, tossing in perfume and deodorant along with your keys and a jacket. You considered the possibility of being stranded by the storm and bit your lip as you contemplated on whether or not to be prepared for a late night stop.

Despite you probably being absolutely delusional, you added a light pink nightgown to the mix before zipping it up and heading back down.

Before you could make it out the door, your mother called, “don’t take the Cadillac!”

You stopped abruptly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“‘S too pretty to take on the highway.”

You supposed she had a point. “Alright, momma. I’ll see you later,” you said, blowing a kiss.

You headed back outside and sure enough, you spotted a patch of gray clouds. They didn’t look too ominous yet but you knew they’d get heavier as the day went on.

Joel was already by his truck and you assumed that was the vehicle of choice by default. You walked over to him, noticing his clean hands he must’ve rinsed off.

Rhett gave your back a firm pat and looked at Joel. “Keep her safe, Miller. If those clouds get worse, let me know.”

“Will do,” Joel said bluntly before you slipped away from your father, eager to get away for a while.

Once you and Joel were seated in his truck, you tossed your bag into the backseat and sighed. “I’m sorry I roped you into this. I could’ve gone by myself.”

Joel put the truck in drive, heading down the dirt path leading to the main road. “I offered, darlin’.”

For some reason, you didn’t ask why. You didn’t want a repeat of what happened last time. You’re my friends kid. Those words still spun in your head like a broken record.

“What’s on the list anyway?” Joel questioned, leaning back in the drivers seat with a wrist draped over the wheel.

You unfolded the paper from your dress pocket and skimmed your father’s messy handwriting. “Tools, I’m guessing. And that stupid carburetor thing we’re driving three hours for.”

Joel glimpsed over at you. He felt guilty for the thoughts that had been on his mind since he saw you earlier today. You looked so soft and pretty sitting there in his passenger side, your cheeks flushed from the heat and hair a tad frizzy from the sudden humidity.

He also had to admit he found it quite adorable that you had no idea what you were talking about. The confident little Miss America who was confused over mechanic tools.

“Well let’s hope we don’t get rained on,” he said, leaning forward a little bit to look at the cloud filled sky. When he settled again, he gestured to the glovebox. “There’s some old cd’s in there if you want to look at any.”

You set the list aside and opened the glovebox. You were going to be here for three and a half hours and you did not want to spend it in awkward silence.

You wanted to make conversation but now that you were finally next to him, you had no idea what to say.

As you went through the old cd’s, you found the need to tell him what happened. “I’m not with that guy anymore.”

Joel remained silent. It made you swallow nervously.

It was almost as if he knew you just needed to get something off your chest and he was more than willing to listen.

“He was a douchebag, just like the rest of them. I should’ve known. Well… I did know. But I guess it doesn’t make a difference.” You let out a frustrated huff of air, pulling out an old Elvis album. “Point being, your brother and sister in law helped me.”

His eyes stayed locked on the road as he focused on merging onto the highway but inside, he had a million questions.

“Tommy?”

“No, Richard,” you said sarcastically, sliding the cd into the player. “Of course it was Tommy.”

“What’d he do?”

You slid off your boots and curled your feet up on the seat and it brought you back to the night. “Well Randy was just being rude and Tommy… punched him in the jaw.”

Joel rubbed a hand over his jaw. “My word, kid.”

Deep down, Joel was mad. Not at you. Never at you. But at any man who thought they had the right to shame you and especially in the humiliating manner it came in. The boy at the farmers market, your father, and now this Randy guy? He was sick of it even though he felt he had no right to be.

And underneath that brewing anger was a hint of jealousy. He loved his brother dearly but some protective part of him wanted to be the one defending you. The one who got to sock that disrespectful guy in the face.

You, on the other hand, thought he might see the issue as immature. “Maria helped me outside. You should be very grateful you have her as a part of your family now.”

You didn’t elaborate further. You felt embarrassment and shame as you sunk further into the seat, wishing you’d kept your mouth shut.

Joel sighed before saying, “I’m glad he did, sweetheart. But maybe it’s time you… stayed away from those douchebags.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t that. “You’re probably right.”

Just like that, you remembered exactly why you had developed feelings for Joel. He didn’t shame you. Didn’t yell at you for being the way you were. Just provided a grounding presence for you to lean into.

The first three hours seemed to go by quickly. Well, only because you managed to fall asleep against the door at an odd and uncomfortable position. You ran a hand over your face as you woke up, staring at the passing scenery.

Eventually, Joel pulled up to the hardware store with the address Rhett had sent him.

“Here already?” You asked, mouth dry and skin feeling clammy from your nap.

“Mhm,” Joel hummed before unbuckling and getting out of the truck. You reached for your seatbelt and the list but before you could open the door, Joel beat you to it.

You felt those butterflies stir again as you slipped out, fixing your rumpled dress and thanking him.

The two of you headed inside, the smell of sawdust and wood filling your nose. You grabbed a basket before looking at the list. “Okay, first up… socket wrench.”

You had no idea what that was. Yes, you grew up on a farm but you now understand why your father kept Joel around to decipher what was to be used in fixing machinery and utilities.

Joel saw the cluelessness in your eyes, how you tried so hard to sound like you knew what you were talking about but falling short.

He walked forward and you scampered along behind him, knowing he knew his way around a store like this. Within minutes there a shiny new socket wrench in the basket. “What’s next?”

It became a short routine. You told him what was on the list, he’d find it, and in the basket it went.

Once it was filled with the needed items, Joel waited for an employee to assist him with figuring out where the carburetor was. You rocked back and forth on your heels, feeling lighter now that you were out of town for a little while. And with Joel.

When the man finally came over, he didn’t seem to notice you at first until you started to follow him and Joel to the back of the store. He was obviously trying to be discreet about checking you out but was failing miserably.

You didn’t mind so much now that you had Joel with you who acted as a human shield if need be.

The carburetor box was placed in Joel’s hands and as the man assisting him led you to the front to check out, that’s when the inevitable questions came out.

“She yours?” The man asked while scanning a tool.

Usually that sort of question would offend you. You didn’t belong to anyone and yet a part of you didn’t mind as long as it was Joel. But at the end of the day, you were just his friend’s daughter.

Joel, however, had a different strategy.

“She ain’t mine,” he answered, sorting through his wallet. “Not in the way you’re suggesting, anyway.”

You were confused as to what he meant and then it dawned on you—the man was insinuating that you were his daughter.

Your eyes darted to Joel but his impenetrable mask of indifference was too difficult to decipher.

The man’s face paled and he rung up the items without another peep.

When you two left the store, you still couldn’t believe what he said. You didn’t think he’d ever want anything romantic to do with you, especially after the way he’d been acting.

The rain had begun but it was only light sprinkles. You should’ve been able to make it back before the downpour started.

As Joel loaded the last of the bags into the backseat, he noticed the ballet duffle. You had prepared for this little excursion. Something about that made his insides twist.

You were young, he knew that. You were his friends daughter, not to be messed with anymore than you already had.

And yet, an aching part of him wanted to give you everything you needed and more.

The cab of the truck was quiet. You didn’t want it to be. There was a three and a half hour drive ahead of you and you weren’t going to spend it in awkward silence.

“Not in the way you might think?” You spoke up, a sly smile playing on your lips. You were good at harmless, playful flirting so why would Joel be any different?

He barely glanced at you as he pulled out of the parking lot. “He needed to back off.”

You raised your brows and your heart did that thing again. “Well it certainly worked. But what if that was my future husband?”

Joel wanted to pretend you didn’t say that. He couldn’t stand the thought of yet another pathetic little boy wasting your time. He knew he probably wasn’t the better option but he knew he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you.

“Then the wedding will be postponed,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes on the road.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “How tragic that would be.”

Soft rain droplets began to splatter on the wind shield as you put in a Johnny Cash cd and turned it up. You began to sing along, only knowing the lyrics because your father used to sing them with your grandfather before he passed.

Joel found it helplessly endearing. He didn’t care if you were off key, he could’ve listened to your voice all day if only he was the one it was for. Not so long ago he had been at the funeral of your grandfather. Back then he wouldn’t have noticed you although he did recall you taking secret sips from a flask to drown your grief.

The highway was getting congested now, cars bumper to bumper as the storm grew heavier.

“Damn it,” Joel grunted under his breath, lightly smacking the steering wheel before leaning back and putting his fingers to his hairline.

You looked over at him, seeing the patience wear thin on his aged face. “Is it because of the storm?”

Joel gestured at the long stretch of cars. “Someone must’ve spun out. Roads are gettin’ slick and my bet is they were drivin’ too damn fast and lost control.”

His frustrated old man rant made you stifle a laugh. You turned your head, looking out the window at all the stopped cars.

Dark clouds completely covered the sky now and the wind was picking up. This wasn’t just rain, it seemed to be a whole thunderstorm rolling in.

You let out a sharp gasp as you watched a tree branch get blown onto the hood of someone’s car. “Joel—”

He let out a ragged expletive before his eyes began searching for the nearest exit. “Call your father. Tell him we gotta wait out the storm.”

You nodded, pulling out your phone and ringing your father. He didn’t answer so you just sent a quick text explaining the situation you and Joel found yourselves in.

Slowly but surely you two made it to the exit, driving until you reached a small gas station. The lights illuminating the lot buzzed and you could see bugs flying around in it.

Joel parked by the gas pump before unbuckling. “Stay here.”

He didn’t elaborate and you didn’t have time to ask as he hopped out, making a beeline for the gas station entrance.

You sighed, locking the doors and watching as the wind nearly bent the trees in half. Leaves blew onto the windshield and the wipers swatted them away rhythmically.

Secretly, you had been hoping the storm would get to this point. You wanted every excuse you could get to have more time with Joel.

As soon as he left, Joel was back, getting into the truck. His shirt now had rain darkening in small spots in the fabric but he didn’t seem to mind. He dropped a plastic bag on the seat between you.

Unable to hide your curiosity, you reached for it. Inside you found two bottles of water and some snacks.

You cast a look up at him. “What’s this for?”

He had already put the truck in drive again. “We gotta find some place to stay. Figured that’d be dinner.”

You blinked at him as it registered to you what he was suggesting. “You mean… we’re not going back to Austin?”

“Not tonight.”

Joel was probably being dramatic. Well, not dramatic. He was just taking advantage of the opportunity that had been presented to him by the weather. He had you right there in his passenger seat, blinking at him with curiosity.

He’d get right back on the highway if you told him you wanted to go back home.

But deep down, neither of you wanted that.

You sat back in your seat, trying to hide the giddiness bubbling into your chest. This was practically a dream come true.

He drove around until he came across a motel. It was one story, two buildings settled on either side of the main one. The flickering sign read vacancy and even if it wasn’t ideal, it was still somewhere to seek shelter from the storm.

The truck came to a stop in a parking spot before the two of you got out. You became very aware that you were wearing a white dress and bolted for the door.

Joel wasn’t too far behind you, the little bell above the door signaling your arrival.

Chills shot up your arms as you stepped into the lobby from the air conditioning, making everything feel humid. The floors were surprisingly made of wooden planks, a large plum colored rug spanning the width of the room. A sofa sat on one wall with a table in front of it, magazines spread out on the surface.

You ignored the staleness of the air and the slight smell of mildew as you stepped up to the front counter where a woman sat behind it.

Joel cleared his throat. “Two rooms, please.”

Her eyebrows slowly raised in boredom as she glanced from you to Joel. “Two?”

You fiddled with the hem of your dress, looking anywhere but at her. Again with people making it awkward for you two. Yeah, your crush on Joel was getting bad but you were good at not letting it show.

At least you thought you were.

“Yes, two,” Joel confirmed, pulling out his credit card.

The woman shrugged, checking the ledger.

Joel glanced down at you, watching as you again rocked back and forth on your heels. Gosh, you were so adorable he couldn’t take it.

“Well,” she said slowly. “Unfortunately you two aren’t the only ones escaping the storm and I only have one available room left.”

His attention was pulled back and he schooled his features quickly. “Only one? You don’t have any others that room service can clean up real quick?”

The woman gave him a unamused look. “It don’t work like that. Now, do you want the room or not?”

Joel knew he should’ve said no. Sleeping in the truck didn’t seem all that bad but the sharp pain in his lower back didn’t seem to agree. Sharing a room with you alone was dangerous for him.

He caught the way you kept looking at him. Maybe you looked at all men that way and he was too old to feel special about it. But some other part of him recognized that look—you felt safe with him.

And that’s what he promised your father.

“We’ll take the room.”

Your heart could’ve grown wings and flew out the window to be taken with the wind.

One night alone with Joel Miller in a beat up motel room. Your legs suddenly felt shaky just at the thought of it. This was everything you wanted. Everything you needed to finally remove the dead end of your life and figure out if this was the man that would take you further.

Joel was the man you wanted. The one you needed. The only one who’d ever treated you like a woman instead of an object to be toyed with.

You two stepped outside and Joel insisted you stay dry under the awning while he grabbed the bags from the truck.

You stood in front of the room’s door, the wind pulling strands of hair from your braids. Joel moved like the storm was nothing but a minor inconvenience, shutting the door once your duffel bag and the one from the store was in his hands.

“Here,” he said, handing you the keys to the room.

You unlocked it, stepping inside and leaving the storm behind you. Joel followed, placing the bags down on the small table in front of the window.

You took in the small space, examining the floral wallpaper and the matching comforter and sheet set. One queen sized bed sat in the middle of the room and your heart skipped a beat.

Joel ran a hand through his damp hair. “Go dry up then if you’re hungry you can have a bite to eat.”

You snapped out of whatever daydream you were in before nodding. With shaky fingers you unzipped your bag and pulled out the nightgown you had brought.

You wondered if Joel thought you were dumb for preparing for this without even knowing if it’d storm.

But clearly you hadn’t been as delusional as you thought you’d been.

You went into the dingy bathroom, the light flickering unsteadily. You took off your boots, leaving on your socks as you traded your dress for the pink nightgown.

You looked into the mirror, smoothing your manicured hands over the soft fabric. The lacy hem brushed against your thighs, the top curved around your breasts secured with a tiny bow in the middle.

You wore things like this to bed every night so what was the problem now?

Attempting to brush off your nerves, you stepped out, your folded dress in one hand and your boots in the other.

Joel felt like he wasn’t supposed to see this.

You looked so beautiful in that nightgown, your hair loose out of the braids, the frilly socks on your feet. He’d never seen you as a girl who looked fragile but right now he thought he’d break you with a single touch.

You set your boots down and put the dress in the duffel before he finally managed to look away.

“Here,” he said gruffly, handing you a sandwich. “Not much but it’s something.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you replied quietly, taking the sandwich from him before tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed.

The springs creaked beneath you as you unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Joel didn’t touch his, instead going into the bathroom and locking the door.

He had to get a grip on himself.

She’s your friend’s daughter he kept repeating to himself as if that would get his heart to stop responding to the way you made it thump.

It was no use. His mind kept pushing the image of you to the forefront of his eyes, curves looking so soft under that thin fabric.

Tonight was going to be long.

You had finished the sandwich by the time he re-emerged. You threw the trash away before sitting back in your spot. “I have a question.”

Joel leaned back against the television stand across from you, crossing his arms like he wasn’t struggling to keep his composure. “And what’s that, darling?”

“Why did you start helping my father out?”

Out of all questions, he was not expecting that.

He gave a shrug. “I know he ain’t the best man ever but I’ve known him for a long time. He’s gettin’ older, we all are, and he asked for my help. There was no reason to deny him.”

You had to admit you didn’t think of it that way before. You nodded, crossing your ankles.

When the silence came back, you knew this was the only time you’d get to voice what had been eating at you for weeks now.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

You took a steadying breath, forcing your eyes to meet his. But this time, you didn’t give him those eyes other boys were so used to.

“That night of the farmers market in your truck… that meant a lot to me.”

That meant more to Joel than he let on. He shifted slightly in place. “I’m glad I could help, sweetheart.”

You looked down at your lap, unsure of what to say next. This was your one chance to tell him what you’d been feeling. But you’d never been good with words. Everything you got you used your body to get it. That’s apparently anyone ever saw you as.

You leaned back a little, subtly, just enough to let your nightgown cling to the curves of your body.

Joel was hanging on by a thread. Only once or twice had he let his thoughts drift to what it’d be like to run his hands over your soft body, to feel you under his hands that didn’t deserve to hold anything so precious.

“You don’t gotta do that.” He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice nearly cracking with restraint.

Your heart sank. “Do what?”

He pinned you with a hard stare. “You know what.”

Then your patience snapped. You had gotten everything you wanted just by flaunting yourself about but you never realized how frustrating it was when you had to work for it.

And it irritated you just as much that you secretly loved that he wasn’t easily giving into you.

You let out a frustrated huff.

Then it all came spilling out.

“What is it, Joel?” You said rather harshly. “Am I too young? Am I too naive? It can’t be. Every other men would’ve jumped at me so what is it? Don’t make me embarrass myself anymore. Please. If I’m reading this wrong… just tell me.”

Joel’s heart ached. He didn’t want you to feel like that. But he didn’t want to mess this up even though he felt like that was already happening.

You blinked at him, almost feeling humiliated again. “Why’d you bring me here?”

Joel went ridged.

You cleared your throat, trying to gain some confidence back. “You would’ve gone home if I wasn’t in the truck so tell me now why did you bring me here?”

Just like that, he’d been caught red handed. You were right, of course, he would’ve gone back to Austin in the storm if you hadn’t been with him.

His silence was driving you mad. You hit your hand against the side of the mattress. “Damn it! Say something—!”

Joel pushed off the counter faster than you could blink and suddenly rough hands were cupping your face and lips were crashing against yours.

Your heart slammed hard in your chest. For a second, you were stunned.

Joel Miller was kissing you.

And you’d be dumb to not kiss him back.

Your hands flew to his broad shoulders, feeling the scorching heat of him radiating through his shirt. Joel wasn’t rushing, his lips moving slow against yours and when you opened your mouth to him, he licked into it in such a languid way that had heat blooming through your lower stomach.

This wasn’t those kisses you had with those other men who acted as if you’d pull away at any given moment.

Even with his musky scent clogging your nose and his tongue tasting yours and his heat warming your cold skin, he was making it known that this was your choice.

When Joel pulled back, his face stayed close to yours and you couldn’t suck enough air into your lungs.

One of his hands moved, gently brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I brought you here because I couldn’t stand seein’ you with those boys anymore,” he said, his voice deep and low only for you. “And right now, you don’t have to pretend anymore. Not with me.”

Just like before, your eyes softened and you felt like you could cry. So it wasn’t all in your head.

“Joel…” you whispered, fingers grazing his collar.

“Yeah, sweet girl?”

The nickname made your skin go hot.

Your gaze roamed over his weathered face and it made your longing for his touch feel consuming. “You know what everyone will say.”

Of course he’d thought about that. That’s the first thing that had crossed his mind when those feelings for you came about. He knew everyone knew the farmer’s daughter, knew that the whole town just about recognized your name. They’d look down on an older man being with a girl younger than him.

“I know.” Joel murmured, pulling back his hands.

You quickly grabbed them. “I don’t care,” you said firmly. “You know me, Joel. You know I’ve been with older men. I’m just worried about what they’ll say about you.”

Joel was taken aback. You were worried about what people would say about him? He wasn’t expecting that. But when it came down to it, he wanted this.

He wanted you.

That wasn’t going to change just because some people didn’t agree.

“I’m a grown man, baby.” He stroked a thumb over your cheekbone. “They can talk but I’m not letting you go. Just let me take care of my pretty girl.”

I’m not letting you go.

You slid your hands up his forearms, tears pricking your eyes. Joel didn’t need another word. He put his hands beneath your arms and gently lifted you further onto the bed. He followed, slipping off his boots and crawling over you.

Looking at him hovering over you made your stomach flip with butterflies. You’d been with many men but Joel was different. He made you feel special in a way no one else had before.

His rough hand caressed your cheek, those dark eyes tracing your features. For once, you didn’t feel the need to take off any clothes. You just wanted him here, with you, holding you like you weren’t just another body to be had.

Joel leaned down slowly, holding himself up on one hand beside your head while the other slowly trailed down to your waist. He traced slow circles as his mouth lowered to yours.

Your lips parted and his tongue gently dipped into your mouth if only for a second. Every movement was made with care.

His lips sealed against yours once more, his beard scratching against your face in the most delicious way possible. You sighed, feeling like an ice cream cone in the hot sun as you melted into the rough sheets of the motel bed.

The storm outside sounded like white noise as Joel kissed you, deep and loving in a way you never felt before. His fingertips grazed against your thigh, not in a sexual manner but more like he was learning you. Mapping every surface of smooth skin and soft curves he wanted to know every road to.

Here there was no Randy. Here your father was miles away. Here your mother didn’t parade around in your head.

It was just Joel.

Carefully, he moved down to press featherlight kisses to your jaw and then your neck. “This okay, baby?” He murmured softly.

For a moment you were too speechless to say anything. You slid your fingers into his graying curls. “Yes. More than okay.”

Joel wasn’t taking. He was giving. That was something unfamiliar to you.

He kissed further down, keeping everything over your nightgown. His kisses left your heart a fluttery mess, making you curl your toes inside those frilly socks.

Joel finally reached your thighs, one large hand settled on top of your knee, pulling it aside gently to reach the inside. You let out a shaky breath and then a small little laugh.

He grinned against your skin. “You ticklish, darlin’?”

Your smile widened. No one had ever picked up on that before. “Little bit.”

Joel returned your look of happiness, a smile so rare you didn’t even know he was capable of it.

He reached down, lightly tugging on the sock. “Cute,” he muttered before sliding his hand back up your leg and moving back over you.

This time, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you cupped the back of his neck. “Do we ever have to go back?”

Joel brushed his nose against yours. “I don’t know. This motel room might not be so bad long as you never leave this bed.”

You laughed, real and unrestrained. “Well then,” you said, batting your lashes playfully. “Consider me incapable of walking ever again.”

He pinched your side just a little bit before kissing you as your foot accidentally nailed the back of his leg. It didn’t hurt. But he knew you’d still try to say sorry anyway.

For one moment, everything felt right. You were just a girl who finally found someone to care. He was just a man who was more than willing to give it to you.

For once, you wanted him to be the one to take you home.

You pulled into the clubs parking lot in your red Cadillac, a statement most people would recognize. Your hair was pinned up high, your makeup done flawlessly, and your smile plastered on wide. This was the girl that everyone wanted to see. The one who didn’t deal with loneliness and the mental pressure of her parents. The one who charmed people and got away with whatever she wanted.

Your white heels landed on the asphalt as you stepped out. Your matching dress hugged your figure tight, baring just enough cleavage to be distracting.

Randy rounded the car, slipping an arm around your waist. You didn’t want him to take you out. But tonight he was just an accessory.

The two of you stepped into the club together, Randy looking out place while hanging onto you like a prize someone would snatch away.

The music blared, bass thumping and vibrating under your feet. It wasn’t a setting you particularly enjoyed. You’d rather be at the Tipsy Bison, playing a lousy game of pool and chatting with Tommy or Maria at the bar.

But tonight you just wanted to escape reality for a while.

You made your way through the swaying bodies, Randy making a beeline for the bar but you hung back, glad to have already shaken him off.

You didn’t need alcohol to forget.

Just a few hands on your body and a joint between your lips.

The place was alive with people of all kinds. Many were already drunk, dancing with absolutely no mind of personal bubbles. Here, it would be a little more rare that people recognized who you were.

That didn’t stop the people who did from giving you dirty looks and sneers.

You paid no attention to them.

As the lights flashed, your body started moving to the music. You closed your eyes, letting the heavy bass melt your brain for a moment. You snaked your hands up your body, hips swaying like you knew what you were doing.

For a second, everything faded to white noise.

The old man from the Tipsy Bison, Ben shaming you at the farmers market, crying to your dad’s friend, the conversation with your mother.

Joel.

The second his face popped behind your eyelids, your heart gave a pang.

You weren’t sure why. After earlier and him telling you he only cared because you were his friend’s daughter, it had upset you more than it probably should’ve. You were an adult. A grown woman. And some unknown part of you desperately wanted him to see that.

He wasn’t the other men you’d gotten with. He didn’t ask for anything more than what you were willing to give. He didn’t pry for answers or shame you for your reputation.

He was mature. Experienced. Stoic to the point you wanted to break through his barriers to see the real him underneath.

As you started to pretend his hands were your own, you froze. A distressing thought crossed your mind.

Do I have a crush on Joel Miller?

You didn’t let yourself answer that question.

As you continued to get lost in the music, a pair of hands settled onto your waist. You turned, looking at a girl. She smiled, flashing a gapped tooth set of teeth and bright eyes.

You grinned back, letting her sway with you.

The hands didn’t stop there.

Randy came back over. He saw the girl dancing with you but didn’t say anything, more than a few drinks in. He settled his hands on your waist, above the girl’s whose were on your hips.

He leaned close to whisper, “my pretty baby’s got some moves in her.”

The words nearly made you recoil along with the way he already reeked of alcohol. You ignored it though, moving in time with the man in front of you and the girl behind you.

Then when your eyes closed, your mind drifted off into dangerous territory.

Randy’s face was no longer his.

It was Joel.

You pictured his hands, the way they had wrapped around the bucket of water, the veins standing out against his tan skin. You imagined they were on your body. You pictured the burn of them through the thin silk of your dress, pulling you against his strong body.

His fingers would move up your spine, arching you into him as the music played. He wouldn’t want to be there but he’d still hold you like he didn’t mind.

You imagined your hips brushing against his with every move. He’d whisper in your ear, “you better watch yourself, baby.”

You’d act dumb, giving him those eyes. “What am I doing?”

Your breath hitched just thinking about the way he’d press harder against you, the evidence of his answer in the form of his arousal.

Heat pricked your skin, burrowing deep as it settled low in your belly.

Then you opened your eyes and Joel was gone. In his place was Randy and it was the biggest sense of disappointment you’d ever felt in your life.

Your heart cringed with shame and embarrassment as you felt the wet heat gather in your panties.

There was no way you just got turned on from a fantasy while in the middle of dancing with people you barely knew.

You were never going to let yourself live that down.

You let your head hang back, eyes wide and mouth parted as you danced and danced until it felt like your feet were going to fall off. You wanted to picture Joel again but clearly that was a disaster waiting to happen.

Somewhere between the smoke of cigarettes and the haze of drunken people, you lost all sense of what was real.

The hot bodies made you sweat, your body taking on a euphoric feeling as reality slipped away and left you in the middle of a fever dream, grinding and rolling against strangers bodies.

One moment Randy’s lips were on your neck. He sucked before swirling his tongue over the expanse of your craned throat. Then another pair of lips joined and then a third and somewhere in the midst of this fever dream, you lost perception of who was around you.

Your body felt like it was somewhere else, your eyes hazy and shut as they ravished your skin. Hands of all sizes were sliding over your body, groping like they just wanted a handful of skin to own.

“Baby,” Randy rasped into your ear again at some point. “No one here knows you’re mine.”

He drunkenly stumbled into you and some other person knocked into him. He laughed like he was floating, pressing his forehead to yours.

Then everything felt like it unraveled around you.

The feeling came back to your senses.

You were too hot, drenched in sweat and people’s saliva. Your body was tense, growing more and more uncomfortable and you couldn’t see anything with the flashing lights. It smelled of sweat and alcohol and smoke and the music was blaring too loud to think properly.

You pressed your hands to Randy’s shoulder and panic curled into your chest. “Randy…”

“Yeah, baby?” He slurred, hands moving down to grip your ass.

You pushed harder. “I need to go. I need air.”

He chuckled lazily. “There’s air right here.”

“Randy, stop,” you said breathlessly, shoving away but you only got swallowed by the crowd.

A mass of bodies slammed against you, jostling you every which way.

The world felt like it was shrinking in on you, cramming you inside a tight box even your daddy had the courtesy of keeping just big enough to fit you.

“Charlotte,” you whispered helplessly to yourself. She had come with her boyfriend earlier but you hadn’t bothered to say hello. You had been too busy trying to forget everything else.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done this to yourself.

Not by a long shot.

Once you finally slipped free of the swarm, you made a beeline for the doors.

The air outside was still stifling with heat but it felt better than being trapped inside. You inhaled the fresh air, looking around to make sure you were safe.

The club was good for momentary periods of time. But if you weren’t drunk, it got tedious after a while.

Without giving a warning to Randy, you hopped in your car and drove a few miles to the Tipsy Bison instead.

The wind whipped around the small curls that hung loosely around your face, a content close lipped smile on your lips.

Now this felt normal to you.

Ditching one distraction for another was your speciality.

Before going inside, you fixed your hair and reapplied your lipgloss. You smacked your lips a few times before smiling and heading inside.

The atmosphere was already much better compared to the club. The lights were low, the music quieter, the people less intense. It was a good place to end your night.

“There she is,” Maria grinned, wiping down the counter.

You slid into a bar stool with a wide smile. “I’m back.”

Over the last couple weeks you had kept to the farm and it felt nice finally getting back out there. You felt carefree again, something that the recent events hadn’t been able to permit you. Here there was no boys, no father, no mother, just you and your pretty fuck me eyes.

“How’s the little one?” You asked, pressing your forearms on the counter and leaning over slightly to see her round belly.

Maria placed a motherly hand over it. “He’s gettin’ big. I really wish he’d come out already.”

The two of you laughed slightly. You rested your chin in your palm. “You’re going to be a good momma. I just hope Tommy will know what to do with himself when he’s got a newborn screaming in the middle of the night.”

Maria chuckled, glancing over at her husband as he tried to fix the jukebox. “Oh he’s a goner.”

“For sure.”

She made you a Shirley temple as per usual, pouring in the cherry syrup. She kept glancing at you, noticing the way you didn’t seem all there. You were always a ray of sunshine who could lift smiles onto anyone’s lips. But Maria could tell something was wrong. Your light was dimmer, your eyes so full of passion and intrigue now distant like someone had turned it all down.

“Folks were talkin’,” she spoke up, sliding the sweet drink into your hands. She rested hers on the edge of the bar. “Randy from the corner store? Really?”

You were caught off guard by her knowledge of your most recent hook up. Of course it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Word got around town faster than wildfire.

You shrugged, sipping the sugary drink. “He’s decent.”

“Decent,” Maria repeated, tasting the word. She knew you got around. And it made her heart break.

Everyone knew who your parents were, your father more so, but how could people not know your mother when she used to be the biggest pageant queen in all of Texas?

Maria sure did. There were too many times she had run into the wasted woman. And every time Maria scolded her with things like “I hope you know how amazing your daughter is. She deserves better than whatever sorry excuse of a mother you are.”

Even though she didn’t see you much, Maria had a motherly instinct towards you. She knew your reputation, how you tried to find love in beds that would never even come close to deserving you.

“You don’t deserve just decent, hun. You deserve a man who will give you his all. Who cares about you when it feels like no one else will.”

You looked up at her through your lashes. It reminded you of what Mrs. Baker had said at the farmers market.

Now I’d be willing to bet the right one would change your mind.

You had convinced yourself no man would ever love you the way you craved. That no man would ever yearn for you the way you wanted to be yearned for.

Yet with Maria’s words, you pictured how Joel had looked at you earlier that day. He had taken you in like you were the sun and he was fortunate to get just a drop of your warmth. You remember how he held you in his truck, how his words dug deep and took root.

But instead of the type of lying weeds most boys fed you, it felt like this could bloom into something different.

Something beautiful even.

You hadn’t wanted to confront your emotions tonight. That was quite literally the thing you were trying to escape.

But as you stared at Maria, you knew something was growing inside your heart and it just needed a little more something to shine through.

I have a crush on Joel Miller.

That simple fact slammed into you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

He saw you.

He saw you.

He didn’t care where you’d been or who you’d been with. He wanted you to be yourself with him. He held you in his arms even whilst knowing your skin had been touched a thousand times by different hands.

Your eyes were wide and your breath was a little shallow now.

Then the pain smacked into you all over again.

You’re my friend’s kid.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

“Honey,” Maria’s voice brought you back to reality. “You seem distracted. Is everything alright?”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “Actually, there is someone else. Not a boy but a…”

“Man?” She raised her brows.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, slowly nodding as Joel’s weather face resurfaced in your mind. “He’s a man.”

Maria smirked at that and you quickly lit a cigarette, taking a long inhale to try to calm the sudden nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

You’d never felt like this before. Not for any of the previous boys you’d been with.

This feeling was derived from hope. Of potentially getting a chance to be who you truly were and being seen fully for it.

“Do I know him?” Maria asked.

You inhaled again. There was no way you could tell her that you had feelings for her brother in law. No way. It felt too new and you felt open and vulnerable with all of these new feelings. Real feelings. Not lust or crazed desire. This was something entirely different

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “You know a lot of people.”

“Long as it ain’t my brother.”

Your heart sank, head swiveling to look at Tommy as he approached, hair tucked behind his ears and expression stern.

“You were eavesdropping.” Your accusation was actually true but a part of you felt frustrated and wanted to call him out on it.

Tommy stopped beside your stool, hands on his hips. “You’re not the most quiet person in the world.”

“You could’ve stopped listening.”

“You could’ve spoken quieter.”

You scowled like a petulant child before Maria cut in. “Lay off her, Tommy. She’s had enough scoldings to last her a lifetime.”

Thank you, Maria you silently thanked her for coming to your defense.

“And no,” you said, straightening your back and trying to look like you meant what you were going to say. “It’s not your brother.”

Good thing you weren’t wearing pants or else they would’ve caught flame.

Maria raised a skeptical brow. How would she know you fell for Joel? “Joel’s old anyway.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, letting out a rough sigh. “I keep telling him he should let his job go. He’s lived most his life already, deserves to live the rest without carrying everything on his shoulders.”

You knew how much the Miller brothers cared for each other. They didn’t show it in big, dramatic gestures but you supposed that’s what you admired about them.

A loud crash sounded from behind you.

Both you and Tommy whipped around to see two dudes starting to brawl.

Tommy grumbled something incoherent before rushing over to intervene. You wanted to help but you didn’t know what you’d do to stop it.

Maria looked unimpressed. When she tore her gaze away from the fight, they landed back on you. “It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

The color drained from your face.

You tried to laugh it off. “Me? Have a crush on Joel Miller?” You sipped your Shirley temple. “That’s not possible.”

But as you sat here in front of Maria, your cheeks burned. Thankfully you were wearing makeup so it wasn’t noticeable.

Maria knew you were lying. You were confident about mostly everything and she caught the way your voice was a pitch higher and how you avoided her gaze.

Before she could reply, a new voice came from behind you.

“There you are!”

You looked over your shoulder to find Randy. You didn’t know how he got here or how he found you but it made your heart twist with annoyance.

At least it was better than talking about Joel.

He strode over to you, a feral look in his eyes. He was clearly wasted, stumbling over himself and bumping into everything.

You stood up, dropping some cash on the counter to pay for your drink. “Randy.”

Soon enough he was right in front of you, latching onto your wrist like you were property he was afraid of getting stolen. “Where did you go? Why’d you leave me?”

You blinked at him, your easy going attitude from all night wavering. “I just needed some air—”

“So you rode all the way here?” He snapped.

You flinched, brows furrowing. “It was close by and my feet were hurting so I thought maybe—”

“You thought some other guy would take you home?” He cut you off yet again. His accusation stung but he didn’t stop there.

He leaned down, getting in your face. You tried to move away, smelling the alcohol on his breath and feeling the anger in his hold.

“Let go—”

“That’s enough,” Maria’s voice cut in but it didn’t stop Randy.

“You’re a whore,” he breathed out angrily. “And a slut. E’ry guy who comes in you just bang, huh? The second they give you attention you just climb into their beds like a—”

He was ripped away from you. You watched with wide eyes as Tommy shoved him back. “Get out.”

The demand was firm and rough but in his drunken state, Randy thought he was a match for Tommy Miller.

“That’s my girlfriend, you old bitch.”

Tommy pointed a finger at you without turning around. “That girl is no one’s property, you hear?”

Randy sneered, grinning like a crazed man. “You sure ‘bout that? I bet you tumbled with her too, huh? You’re just jealous that I—”

The audacity he had to say that in front of his pregnant wife.

Tommy cut him off in a swift right hook, throwing Randy to the ground.

People gasped.

You jumped back, hands to your chest and eyes wide. Maria came around, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and quickly ushering you to the back door. When the two of you stepped out, Maria placed her hands on your shoulders, looking you deep in the eye.

“Go home,” she said, leaving no room for argument. “We’ve got this handled.”

“I’m so sorry, Maria.”

She shook her head, running her hands up and down your arms, knowing you were still shaken up. “No apologies, honey. He’s a drunk asshole. He had it coming.”

“Because of me,” you said, voice almost breaking but not because it hurt, but because you were so frustrated with yourself.

Every time this happened, you brought other people into the problem and you hated it. It wasn’t fair to them. But now? Now you felt completely over letting it continue to happen.

“Maybe you are dating these douchebags but you’re so much more than what they say about you,” she gave your cheek a light tap. “Now go home and get some rest. It’ll help you process everything better.”

You wanted to say more but you knew Maria was serious about you getting out of there.

She hugged you goodbye before you got in your car and drove home, music blasting still.

After you took a shower and did all your routines, you changed into a nightgown, the hem scratching against your thighs as you moved around. You slid some frilly socks on your feet, the hard floor hurting since you had been on your toes all night.

Your parents were sound asleep. You could hear your father’s snores drifting through the old walls.

The events of the night didn’t rattle you as much as they usually would have. But for some reason, you got immense satisfaction out of watching Tommy sock Randy across the jaw.

Your efforts to feel good were successful in your opinion. The club, the Tipsy Bison, talking with Maria. All of the things that made you feel better if only for a moment.

Now, you sat on your windowsill, the smoke from your cigarette drifting beneath the open window.

Your eyes roamed over the dark fields, the moon casting long shadows over the open expanse of land.

Somewhere in the past two weeks you had come to terms that this was probably where you’d always end up being. The peeling barn, the wide fields, the sounds of horses whinnying and cows mooing.

You were the farmers daughter and that’s all you’d ever be.

You inhaled a long drag, the tip flaring red before holding it in your lungs and releasing.

There was no where for you to go. Every strangers bed was a dead end. Every corner of town knew your face and turned you away.

That void of loneliness started to creep back in.

The last time you had felt that was the night in Joel’s truck. Right before he held you in his big arms.

No one out here’s askin’ you to be anythin’ more than yourself.

Gosh, you wanted that again. So badly. He made you feel safe and known. He didn’t pry or say you were being dramatic. He wanted you to drop the facade you wore all the time. The way you used your body as a magnet, how you batted those lashes knowing it’d get you exactly what you wanted.

Joel didn’t want that.

He wanted you for who you really were which was just a girl wanting to be loved.

Maybe, just maybe, he was willing to give that to you.

He wasn’t supposed to want you. It had gone against everything he convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to have—a life of normalcy. Coming home to someone who was so untainted by the dark side of the world had been something Dex had always feared. The thought of letting the blood on his hands bleed all over the one person he needed was scarier than anything else he’d put himself through.

But then there was you.

Every moment, every spiral, every time he thought he was done for meant so very little to him now. And all it took was an accidental stumble on your front door.

You remembered the first time he had shown up. He was bleeding profusely from his ribs, his blonde hair caked with blood and his face streaked red. He had looked at you with such an unchecked fury that you felt it sizzle low in your veins, bubbling and popping. But you refused to let him bleed out on your doorstep.

He’d seen it then. How gentle you were with him, even though his fingers itched for something to throw. It was a safety net of sorts, knowing he was in control even whilst wounded.

Control. Control. Control.

He should’ve known better than to think he had that with you.

Dex had grown obsessed. Just like he’d done his whole life, he latched onto the closest thing that helped him gain some semblance of sanity. Spiraling horrified him. It had him losing grip on his mind, those thoughts slipping back in like a dark cloud of bad decisions and self loathing.

However, he didn’t need to have control when you were around.

You saw him since that first night. A man who was losing his mind because everything around him was unraveling at the seams he’d tried so hard to intricately stitch up himself.

You became his thread.

You were his North Star that gleamed even on the most darkest of nights when he was on the brink of collapse.

And for Dex? He had to learn not to strangle what he so desperately needed to keep safe.

It was an ordinary night in Hell’s Kitchen. At least for you anyway. Rain pattered softly against the windows, creating a calming atmosphere with the quiet music drifting from the beat up radio on your kitchen counter. You padded around your dingy apartment in a pair of cotton shorts and a threadbare tank top, the summer humidity costing you your comfort.

Dex had told you he’d be late. You had to admit your surprise towards the heads up.

He was a man with an agenda. He was calculated in that way where no one would ever see him coming.

Which was why your heart lurched when you heard the loud clatter of something heavy drop onto the fire escape stairs.

You rushed over to the window, yanking it open despite the risk of letting in the drizzle. But a little water was barely an inconvenience to the state your boyfriend was currently in.

Dex pushed himself up from the slick steps, grunting beneath his dark blue balaclava as he fell against the brick wall. His massive frame was slightly hunched, only illuminated by the occasional strike of lightning.

“Dex,” you gasped, quickly urging him inside.

As much as it still worried you, this was a normal occurrence. And some morbid, sick part of you didn’t want it any other way. Dating a vigilante was thrilling, filling you with a high that was better than any drug you could get your hands on.

He grunted again as he slipped over the windowsill, his boots landing without a sound on the carpet. One of his gloved hands reached out, gripping your arm tight but not enough to hurt—even though you wouldn’t have minded. His free hand came up, pulling the balaclava off his head to reveal his blonde hair, darkened with sweat and rain. The corner of his eye was bleeding but it seemed to have scabbed over in the time it took to get to your apartment.

“Where else are you hurt?” You asked tentatively, guiding him down to sit on the worn sofa.

Dex went willingly yet you were pretty sure he’d let you lead him off a cliff. “My arm.”

Your eyes quickly darted to each bicep, finding the torn blue fabric ripped in a thin line, soaked with red liquid. It didn’t look too bad all things considered.

“And my ribs,” he grunted out, back arching as he adjusted himself. His large frame took up a lot of space, his broad shoulders straining against the tight fabric. Once he settled again, you pressed a gentle hand to his torso.

He groaned, head falling back against the cushion. His blazing eyes returned to yours, piercing you with a heady gaze. He was an intense man and yet it got you every time.

You stepped back, going to get the med kit you kept on standby for nights like these. He wasn’t in too bad shape tonight which made your job easier. But still, looking in those haunted irises of his made your heart ache.

He was closed off, yes, but there were moments when he’d let you in. It was the bravest thing he’d ever done, opening up to you instead of cowering in on himself because he thought he deserved to bear the pain alone.

You hurried back over to him before carefully removing the leather holster from his body and letting his shirt follow.

Underneath he was a map of hard muscle honed from years of combat and violence. Caved in scars marred his skin, drops of perspiration dripping down the lines of his toned stomach. It was a sight that made your mouth water.

Dex saw the way you traced his body like it was a fine piece of art. Despite the dark purple and blue bruises blooming over his side, you were never scared of admiring him. It sent a jolt of need through him, the feeling of being seen going straight to his head.

You did make note that his ribs seemed untouched, though. Maybe it was broken and you just couldn’t tell.

Your hands quickly made work of finding a suture kit, sitting beside him with your knee pressed against his thigh. “What’d the guy do this time?”

Dex rested his head back against the cushion again but his longing gaze never left your face. “That’s for me to know.”

“And for me to find out,” you finished with a sigh.

He nearly frowned. “No.”

He leaned towards you a little bit, catching a finger on your chin and turning your head to face him. “What I do, I do it for you now. They’re not gonna touch you. They won’t even get a chance,” he said with one of those side smiles that told you he really believed it.

His words cut straight through your heart and stirred something warm in your belly. He sounded so sure. And you knew he wasn’t lying either.

Dex on the other hand felt an icy fear grip him at the thought of you finding out the extent of his Bullseye alias. In his eyes, you were pure, untouched by the gritty world he lived in. If keeping you dumb from the way people screamed and ran the other direction when they saw him meant that you stayed safe he wouldn’t give up now.

“Lay back,” you commanded, bringing his arm towards you.

Dex complied shamelessly.

You brought the needle to his skin. He tensed up, a rough exhale coming from his nose as his fingers dug into your thigh. “You’re okay,” you murmured. “‘S not a big cut.”

He relaxed slightly. Both of you knew what your voice did to him. How easily compliant a few syllables could make him.

“You’re doing so good,” you continued, careful not to yank the suture thread. “Almost done.”

He could’ve whimpered. This was what he looked forward to every single day—you taking care of him and telling him how well he could take it.

Finally, you cut the remaining thread before soothing a hand down his forearm. “There you go. You did so good,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple before going to clean up.

Before you could go far, he grabbed the bobby pin that had fallen from your hair and ricocheted it off the wall. It bounced back, nailing the med kit shut before you could do anything.

While distracted, his fingers dug into your hips, whirling you around so you stood between his legs.

Your eyes were wide as you took in his crazed face. You knew then. He gave you that look on days when his mind got too loud and he needed his North Star to guide him.

In this case, he just needed to be reminded he was yours.

Your hand came up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the messy blonde locks. He released a low hum as you pulled his head back just enough to see his face fully. “Do you need me to make it better, honey?”

His eyes practically lit up. “Mhmm,” he hummed again, his lips fighting one of those satisfied smirks.

Your grip tightened a little bit, drawing a small groan from deep in his throat. “Words, baby.”

“Yes,” he rasped out like the word had been trapped for too long. “Yes.”

The hand that wasn’t in his hair trailed to the freshly stitched wound on his bicep, pressing down just slightly. “Does it hurt?”

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, refusing to look away from you. His fingers dug into your hips, his touch burning even through the cotton of your shorts. Just that change in pressure gave you your answer.

“Poor thing,” you said lowly, stroking a finger over his nape. “Can’t keep out of trouble, can you?”

His fingertips nearly turned white, holding onto you so tight that he almost forgot he didn’t want to hurt you. “Don’t,” he said bluntly.

Riling him up was too easy. One single word or touch had him crumbling in your hands.

Your hand on his arm trailed upward, sliding over slick skin that was beginning to dry. The thick muscle of his bicep twitched. Your fingertips grazed the slope of his shoulder before tracing his thrumming pulse with your index.

One strong hand wrapped around your wrist. You stopped the gentle ministrations, knowing he was either getting overwhelmed or shrinking back into himself. You knew he didn’t mean it. He never wanted you to stop touching him like he was something worth giving attention to. No one had ever given that to him.

He wanted to be in this position. But he would never admit it out loud. Which was difficult considering he was seconds away from begging you to touch and kiss away the pain.

You didn’t force his hand off. Just let him ground himself.

Dex was struggling. Usually the static in his head dulled to a distant hum whenever you had your hands on him but tonight it felt like a knob was being turned, amplifying the messed up signal.

Shes going to get hurt and it’ll be all your fault.

She’s going to leave once she realizes what you really are, Dex. Save her now before it’s too late.

His thoughts were screaming no but his body was screaming yes. He wanted you so badly. He always did. He wanted to possess you. He wanted to be the thing that haunted every single thought in your mind.

It was the most terrifying thing he’d ever let himself feel.

“Hey,” you said a little firmer than he expected. “Look at me.”

His eyes that he hadn’t even noticed were closed opened. The corner of his lips curved up. He was right where he wanted to be.

“I’m here,” you grabbed his hand and placed it over your heart. “You’re not your thoughts. Get out of your head. Be here, with me.”

Dex could feel the steady thump of your heart and it reminded him that no matter how many lives he took, you were alive.

You leaned down slightly, and even as he tried to resist it, you brushed your nose against his and then gripped his hair firmer. Your lips ghosted over his, sending a whining hum through his skull.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his hand moving over your breast to your ribs and down to your waist, desperate to pull you closer. He nearly felt pathetic for how bad he wanted to bury himself in you. Most times he wished he could crawl into your skin and stay there.

You knew the things he was willingly to do to keep you. Maybe not the full extent, but you knew enough.

You pressed a teasing kiss on his lips and Dex could practically feel the blood on his hands transfer onto you. Yet, with your heat and the way you felt under his skin, it suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

Your fingertips pressed into his shoulders as you finally climbed into his lap, straddling him like you belonged there. He shamelessly complied as you pulled his head back further so he could look at you.

“Your ribs aren’t even hurt.”

His lips curved up. “I know. It just felt good.”

Your face morphed with surprise at his admission. He had groaned when you touched them and you had thought maybe he broke a few. Then it occurred to you—he was just touch starved.

You pressed your forehead against his and his eyes fluttered closed, a satisfied smile on his lips. His veins popped under his skin as he squeezed your thighs subtly. You could feel the strength in them and yet you trusted them completely.

“You could’ve just asked,” you whispered against his lips.

“Yet you still figured it out.”

His retort made you playfully roll your eyes before sliding your hand down his chest, feeling the hard muscle under hot skin. You sank your nails in enough to draw a groan from him but before he could release it, you pressed your lips to his.

Dex’s fingers dug into your plush thighs, sitting up just a little bit. One of his big hands slid to the small of your back, pushing you closer as he opened his mouth to yours.

You tightened the grip you had on his hair, your tongue sliding into his mouth. He damn near moaned as he felt the wet heat glide against his tongue, his body starting to buzz with need.

Usually he was smothered in the weight of his life but with you? He wanted to be consumed by your love.

He’d let you do anything to him and he’d say thank you.

The hand you had on his chest slid up to his face, cupping his jaw. Your thumb gently skimmed over the jagged, horizontal scar cut across his cheek.

Dex felt like he couldn’t breathe. His body was burning up, his hands—usually so sure and steady—shook, his mind was racing, and his pants were getting uncomfortably tight.

He had to break away from your addicting mouth, panting heavily against your swollen, wet lips.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” you murmured, pain zigzagging down your legs as his fingertips pressed bruises in your flesh. “Just tell me what you want.”

Dex stared, pupils blown wide. He still wasn’t used to being given a choice. For a long time everyone told him what he should want, what he should be.

Now that you were here, touching him like he wasn’t a monster, it nearly made him feral.

He leaned even closer, hand pressing against your spine, forcing you to arch into him. “I need… I want…”

He pressed his forehead hard against your chest. “Fuck, I need you so badly.”

There it was. Laid bare, stripping him of the control he tried to maintain. But feeling you so close had made his brain short circuit.

Your fingers went to the rough scar on his back, tracing the old wound of his spine. You weren’t a violent person but you would be happy to see Mayor Fisk’s death printed in bold on the Bulletin’s front page.

“You’ve got me,” you said and you’d say it over and over again until he believed it.

Make it go away he nearly begged. Love the pain out of me.

Somehow getting his legs to function, he stood up, holding you close like you weighed absolutely nothing. Your legs wrapped around him, forcing your chest against his.

He quickly swung open the bedroom door, stepping inside and kicking it shut again. Your room wasn’t anything special—a queen sized bed covered in dainty floral sheets, a nightstand and a dresser, and a few Polaroid photos hanging on the line above the mirror.

Dex hated it. He wanted to be the only one on your wall. The only one you saw every morning and every night. He wanted to be the only one you ever thought about.

He sat you down on the end of the bed. Rain pattered against the window but any memory of what he’d done tonight didn’t matter when his hand tangled in your hair and his lips found your neck.

Your head tipped back and your mouth parted on a soft moan. He smirked against your skin like he’d just won a well earned prize.

He trailed his kisses up to your ear and whispered, “crawl up a little. Let me see you.”

Your heart fluttered as you turned over and crawled up the bed until you were by the pillows. Dex watched intently, his need slithering up his body and sinking its claws into his chest.

He toed off his boots and socks but before he could reach for his belt, your voice stopped him. “Don’t.”

His hands fell away instantly.

It wasn’t long before he followed you, hovering over you and the sight of your hair cascading over the pillows was enough for him to grab your waist and flip over.

The positions changed, your thighs now straddling his lap. That’s where he liked you best. There was nothing more satisfying than to see your body moving on him, head thrown back in pleasure because of him.

Dex was so used to inflicting pain. He never batted an eye either. Every object imbedded into his victims so precisely that it brought him immense satisfaction. But watching a fork sink into someone’s skin was nowhere near as pleasurable as watching himself sink into you.

The wounds on his body suddenly became a dull sensation. And all it took was a few kisses.

You leaned in to kiss him again, but this time it was hot and desperate. Your teeth clashed against his for a second before you caught his lower lip.

He groaned again, muttering a breathy “fuck” before his hand traveled to your throat. His slender fingers wrapped around your neck, not tight, just a subtle pressure.

He tugged you closer by your neck, dragging his tongue against yours in a way that was almost obscene.

You grabbed his wrist of the hand he had on your hip and brought it to the hem of your tank. He got the hint, tugging it up and over, tossing it to the floor.

He could’ve salivated at the sight of your bare torso all exposed for only his eyes.

You let him look, watching how his eyes took you in like you’d somehow vanish into thin air. He tracked how your chest rose and fell. He had memorized every little tell and hitch whenever he touched you a certain way. He could play your body like an instrument and you both knew it.

Good thing you gave him just as much attention.

His thumb grazed the corner of your jaw. He knew the exact pressure and point he had to use to break it. It was a piece of knowledge that he felt guilty for thinking about in this moment.

But he would never hurt you like that. His thumb moved down your jawline to your lower lip, pulling it down slightly.

You traced slow patterns into his skin, slowly moving down the hard planes of his stomach and to his abdomen. The muscles jumped in response to your touch as you unbuckled his tactical belt.

Dex knew the second you removed the last of his clothes his fraying control would snap. His synapses would fire and the city outside of the four walls would melt into an abyss of static.

His eyes remained locked on your features and only one word formed: her.

Everyone else was irrelevant. The only important person was you. The most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. The one he’d do anything for.

The belt made a snapping noise as you slid it from the loops, discarding it. Just by undoing that belt buckle it had shown him that you really weren’t going anywhere.

You wanted to make him feel better and you weren’t scared of it.

His hands clenched tight, telling himself he wasn’t allowed to touch you. Your skin was so smooth in comparison to the jagged scars engraved into his. He might’ve spilled the blood of others onto you but you didn’t know that. In his eyes you were too brave, too gentle with a man who knew nothing but violence.

You noticed the tension straining his neck, the cords tight. His shoulders were stiff and he was looking at your face and your hair and your eyes and your neck and your arms and your chest and…

“Dex,” you said a little more firm than he was expecting. A lot of the people who’d tried to help him were soft spoken. So were you most of the time.

But you knew that right now that’s not what he needed.

He needed reassurance and he needed to believe it.

“Look at me, honey,” you put a hand under his chin, coaxing him to meet your eyes.

When he did, the tension drained again. His gaze, usually cold and dangerous, softened at the edges.

When he spoke, his voice was low and rough like sharing a secret only you got to know. “I’m not… good at this, you know.”

You cupped his face, caressing his cheeks softly. “You don’t need to be.”

He let out a short huff that was nearly a scoff. “But I want to be. I want to be good for you.”

Your heart ached and your entire face shifted into love and patience. That’s all he ever needed whether he knew it or not.

“You just being here is good for me, Dex,” you said quietly, your voice a soothing lull. “I’m not asking for anything more than you. Just you, honey. Let me make it better.”

No matter how much he wanted to protest, he couldn’t. He wanted it. He wanted you to keep him in this spot of calm and quiet for as long as possible before the blue haze of Bullseye returned.

He didn’t answer right away but nodded slowly. “Okay.” The word was strained with need and want, a tangle of overwhelming emotions that were spiraling out of his control.

You gave a small, encouraging smile before kissing his forehead and then his nose, both his cheeks and his chin. He fought back the urge to make a noise, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer.

But when your bare chest met his? He was back to craving you.

“There you go,” you whispered, sliding a hand between you two and kissing down his neck to keep him from getting too overwhelmed.

Dex let out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead into your shoulder, his fingers clamping down on your waist. Come tomorrow your body was going to be littered with bruises in the shape of his fingers but it did nothing but fuel your desire.

You helped him out of his pants, his boxers following soon after and he couldn’t form a coherent thought except more more more.

When you stood up to remove your own shorts, he tugged you right back into the bed, his body pressing against yours. One strong arm held you to him while he yanked your shorts and panties down your legs with one hand.

Your heart gave a sharp thud against your ribs.

When you settled back on top of him, the room was filled only with the heaviness of both your breaths, tangling in the space between you two.

His hands settled heavily on your hips, thumbs pressing into the bone as if trying to brand himself into your skin. He looked up at you, your hair nearly a curtain encapsulating the heated intimacy.

“What do you need from me?” He forced out, his voice nearly cracking with restraint.

You just gave a little smile, one hand holding the side of his face while the other snaked down again. “Just sit still, honey. Let me kiss it better.”

When your bodies came together, Dex broke. His jaw fell open on a guttural groan, his strong arms banding around your waist and pulling you closer and closer until there was no telling where he ended and you began. You wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing hard as the heat and length of him filled you completely.

For a long moment neither of you said anything. Dex couldn’t think straight. Not with you wrapped around him like that. He was panting into your ear, holding you tight against him just in case everything were to fall apart he’d still have you.

“Shh,” you eventually got out, running a hand over his blonde hair and tangling your fingers in the damp strands. “Just us. Just me and you.”

When you started to move, Dex couldn’t even function properly anymore. You held on tight to him, chest brushing against his with every roll of your hips. All he could do was sit and take it.

And boy did he enjoy it.

At first, you whispered sweet nothings into his ear. He whimpered. It was a sound so beautiful you wanted to hear it again and again.

Dex watched you move above him, his eyes hooded and dark, his wet lips parted as you drew abrupt gasps and expletives and whines from him. He was so addicted to you. It wasn’t healthy in the slightest. He wanted to be here inside you for the rest of his life if he could. Your warmth was unlike any other reassurance he’d felt before.

His hands roamed all over you, squeezing and caressing every inch of skin he could get his fingers on.

Yet, his efforts seemed small in comparison to the affection you showered him with.

“Does that feel good?” You whispered, kissing his neck and down his shoulder, sinking your teeth into his meaty flesh just enough to draw a reaction out of him.

When you pulled your mouth away, imprints of your teeth were left in his skin.

Dex would do anything to get those marks tattooed into his body.

You kissed over the scar on his cheek, your fingers gliding over the one on his spine and you felt him shudder against you.

Eventually, it was too much.

It was all too much for him.

The feel of your lips on his scarred body, your nails dragging down his back, leaving behind stinging red scratches was making him begin to shatter.

It wasn’t slow or pretty.

It was violent and completely consuming.

His hips surged upward, making you cry out and sink your nails into his shoulders. His eyes shined with adoration and a distorted, staticky voice inside his head repeated mine mine mine.

Dex grunted into your neck, lips latching onto your pulse and giving a firm suck. You were going to destroy him and he’d let you do it a million times over with a smile on his face.

“I can’t,” he panted, the overwhelming sensations building and building like a storm about to burst.

“Yes, you can,” you breathed against the side of his head before gripping his chin in your fingers, forcing him to look at you.

He was wrecked. Completely and utterly wrecked.

And he never looked prettier.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I can’t. You don’t… oh fuck…”

You did your best to stay functioning but it was so difficult as the heat kept rising and rising. His fingers dug into your hips, nearly bone crushing as he guided you in that sweet motion that had both of you unraveling at the seams.

Sweat fell from his forehead, slipping down his chest and when the pleasure crested, he came undone.

Your moans and his whimpering grunts filled the room along with the sound of skin. These were highs neither of you had ever experienced before and Dex was ruined by it.

There was no coming back from that for him. He could never let you go now. Not even if you begged and screamed to let him let go.

Bullseye didn’t matter. Fisk didn’t matter. New York didn’t matter.

It was only you.

Once you fell against each other, both completely spent and dazed, Dex slid a hand up your back and gingerly pressed a kiss to your temple. It was his way of saying thank you for loving me.

Afterwards, when you two were cleaning each other up, you kissed the scar on his spine to say I know you and I love you anyway.

Once the sheets were changed and the rain fell to a quieter hum outside, Dex held you close. His back still stung with the scratches you left but it was a delicious type of pain.

You were half asleep, tracing the fading bite mark on his shoulder.

He looked at you with a face of awe for a man who never knew how to be anything more than a weapon.

You were his North Star and because of that, you made everything better.

The truck rumbled down the dirt road, jostling you around as the suspension did its best to absorb the shocks from the bumpy terrain. It didn’t bother you much since you were raised on miles of dirt roads and rocky paths.

You hadn’t told Joel what had caused your emotional breakdown and really, you didn’t want to either. But the larger part of you figured you’d owed him as much.

Joel remained stoic, wrist draped over the wheel with an elbow resting on the console. He looked relaxed, focused on driving but every so often he’d glance over to make sure you weren’t crying again.

Neither of you had a destination in mind. He was just trying to help you escape town for a little bit.

Your tears were dried now but your heart still hurt.

You were used to a lot of the insults people tossed at you. They were usually followed by a backhanded compliment to soothe the sting. Most of the time you ignored it or let them roll off your shoulders.

It was the only way to live with yourself and not be in complete misery.

But what Ben said had really hurt your feelings because you felt that he was right.

Before your thoughts could spiral and your tears could make a reappearance, Joel pulled off the main road onto the wide expanse of a field. There wasn’t much to look at—just dry brush and empty landscape.

He slowed the truck to a crawl before it eventually came to a stop and he put it in park.

You brought your legs up onto the seat, curling into yourself. You leaned against the uncomfortable metal door, pressing your cheek against the panel and resting your fingertips on your closed mouth.

Joel never pressured you into giving him an explanation. His presence alone felt grounding and you just needed a moment to let yourself enjoy it before it was over.

Eventually it became clear that he was letting you talk first. He wasn’t going to pry details or answers from you—it was all up to you.

The air conditioning was helping to cool you down. It felt nice to get out of the blistering heat for a while, you just didn’t expect it to be in the passengers side of Joel Millers truck.

After sitting for a moment and gathering your courage, you looked over at him.

He was drumming his fingers along the steering wheel, one arm resting on the rolled down window now. No matter how close someone might’ve been to him, you were sure no one would ever be able to tell what he was thinking with that deep furrow between his brows and the wrinkling of his forehead.

Because you were starting to feel bad with all the silence you were giving him, you finally sat up a little more, legs still pulled to your chest. The lacy hem of your dress rode up your thighs but his eyes never ventured anywhere below your neck.

It made you feel a sense of… safety.

You fiddled with one of your curls as you finally spoke up. “I’m so sorry, Joel. You… I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Even after planning the whole car ride on what you were going to say, it still sounded like a jumbled mess coming from your lips.

Good thing he didn’t seem to care. He just let you keep rambling.

“We barely know each other and so I don’t really know what I’m doing. But I never really know what I’m doing. And… I’ve just had a really shitty past 24 hours and some guy said something today that really just tipped me over. Then I ran into you and I really didn’t mean to, I didn’t know where I was going and you probably just wanted to take those apples and go home and I’m so sorry I interrupted.”

Once you finally stopped and took a breath, you regretted just about everything that had just come out of your mouth.

You really wanted a cigarette right about now. At least then it’d give you an excuse to stop talking.

Joel noticed the way you looked anywhere but at him. You were spiraling and something told him that you didn’t do it very often.

He wondered if you ever got to let out your emotions at all around other people.

Your eyes started watering again as you thought about how annoyed he must be right now. You were usually so confident and had your emotions under lock and key but something inside you had momentarily shattered.

And as far as you knew, nobody cared.

Except Joel Miller.

“Darlin’, I ain’t mad at you for being human,” Joel said, his southern accent a low drawl as if to not scare you away further. “You needed some time away from the noise and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

You sniffed, trying to gather your bearings. But his words hit that barrier between your heart and your pride.

Gosh, you wanted to believe him. But for as long as you could remember, you never got to have a break.

It was always put on a smile, be kind, and be pretty.

Be loud so people notice you but not so loud that you become obnoxious.

Be outgoing but not so outgoing that people find you annoying to be around.

Be sexy but not so sexy that you come across as attention seeking.

But wasn’t that all you ever did? Trying to get men to notice you for the tiny chance that they might fall in love with who you were and not for who they all wanted you to be?

Joel turned his body more towards you just so you knew he wasn’t afraid of being there for you. “I don’t need to know you personally to see you’re hurtin’, sweetheart. But no one out here’s askin’ you to be anythin’ more than yourself.”

Feeling brave enough, you finally turned your head to look at him. In the light of the setting sun, he looked more rugged than ever. The type you had never knew could look so beautiful until now.

No you quickly corrected yourself. You couldn’t latch onto this sliver of affection. Not now.

You knew if you did, you’d strangle it just as you did every other time.

Joel’s gaze remained unwavering, the deep brown of his irises delivering a silent promise—this stayed between them.

Your gaze returned to looking out the windshield, watching as the sun faded beyond the horizon. You picked at what was left of your nail polish.

“Can we… stay here for a little bit?” You whispered, not being able to stomach going back into town for a while.

Joel cut the engine. “As long as you need.”

The two of you continued to watch as the sun set, turning the sky into an inkwell of darkness. The first star appeared, twinkling like a beacon in the open sky.

Your thoughts started to drift as it felt like the dark would swallow you whole. You wanted to reach for the closest safety net to hold onto just in case the void of a sky would actually come to get you.

On most occasions it would be a pack of cigarettes, one after the other until suddenly they were gone. Or it would’ve been a text to the most recent hookup. And on the worst days, it was a bottle of strong liquor that made you feel like you could swim in the ink of night.

But right now, the closest thing you had was Joel.

So, despite knowing you probably shouldn’t, you said, “could you maybe hold me?”

You half expected him to lash out, to tell you that request was absurd and that you could walk home.

But that wasn’t who Joel was.

He was steady, a man who knew how to take life one step at a time no matter how frantic things might get.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, resting an arm over the back of the seat in open invitation.

You stared at the space waiting for you to fill like maybe it was reserved for another person.

How could it be for me?

After what he knows?

But the longer you stared, the more safe it looked.

You scooted over until you were resting in the crook of his arm, tucked between his broad body and the leather seat. You were stiff at first but the second his arm closed around you, it felt like nothing else mattered.

As Joel relaxed behind you, you took a steadying breath, inhaling the manly scent of him. He smelled of wood and a faint trace of cologne. Something that you never would’ve thought would be comforting until now.

The rise and fall of his chest against your back reminded you of who you were with—Joel Miller, your father’s friend and the towns best contractor.

Yet right now, those things didn’t exist.

Joel smoothed a hand over your hair, unable to stop himself. He knew that the boys who got their hands on you didn’t know how to appreciate something so beautiful and precious. He also knew those were words you probably didn’t use to describe yourself.

How he wished he could change that.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be encouraging you to find solace within him when he was most likely a hundred times more broken and wounded.

But if keeping you safe and cared for for one night meant you could breathe easily for once, he’d risk it.

Just one time.

Joel didn’t drop you off back at the farm until a little after midnight. You had meant to get there earlier but you had dozed off and he wasn’t about to wake you up. It had been a nice experience for the both of you. He didn’t want to ruin that now.

For once in your life, you felt like you didn’t have to fight for attention.

Joel gave it to you without any questions and in a gentle, caring way rather than what you were used to.

As the yellow glare of the headlights cut across the driveway up to the farmhouse, you felt your phone vibrating in your lap. You had turned it off hours ago and finally turned it back on as the night ended.

What was a few hours of peace and quiet was now over as reality set back in.

Joel stopped the truck, the engine purring as it idled. You looked over at him. “You don’t know how much I needed tonight. Thank you, Joel.”

He gave a curt nod. “You get to sleep alright, sweetheart. I’ll let your daddy know you got home safe.”

Your heart gave a panicked thud. “No. Please don’t tell him I was with you.”

Joel picked up on your panic but didn’t ask about it. “Alright then. Your secrets safe with me, darlin’. Now get on inside, you hear.”

You nodded, unbuckling the seatbelt before getting out of the truck. You hurried up the front porch steps, listening to the sound of croaking frogs and distant bugs chirping and the hum of his truck.

Once you slipped behind the screen door, you glanced over your shoulder to see Joel already peeling away.

A smile crossed your lips.

Your secrets safe with me.

A fortnight passed. Two weeks of no contact with Joel and a whole lot more contact with Randy.

You weren’t mad at Joel, not by any means. Disappointed was a better word. But not towards him. Towards yourself.

That night had been the calm you needed. A momentary break in the whirlwind of your life. A single moment where your smile fell and no one asked why.

You thanked him for it.

A part of you just hoped he would do it again.

You were in your room, sitting on the worn floorboards in only a threadbare tank top and a pair of small panties. An old television show droned on the old box tv your grandparents had “donated” to you. They had actually bribed you to take it and who were you to say no to free money?

“Let me take you out,” Randy’s voice crackled from your phone speaker that laid next to the open nail polish bottle.

Your lips parted in concentration as you carefully laid a thin coat of red paint over your toenails. “I’m busy today.”

“Oh yeah? Doing what? Mucking out the stables? That sounds like something you could skip.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t work at a gas station like you do but I do have a job of my own.”

“Let me guess, getting paid to look sexy as fuck all day while you bend over to fill pails of water?” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Ugh, no,” you replied before gently blowing on the wet polish. “But I do work on the farm whether I like it or not so you can be patient.”

Randy groaned like a teenage boy not getting his way. “But I wanna see you, baby.”

Your heart gave a leap. He wanted to see you.

Then the excitement died out when you remembered why he wanted to see you.

“Not today, Randy,” you said but you didn’t really care. Not when you had better things to do.

“Fine. Be that way. But just know I’m taking you out some other time.”

“Works for me.”

“Good. Alrighty, I’ll talk to you soon. Bye, baby.”

“Bye,” you said before hanging up, releasing a breath of relief. To be fair, he wasn’t that terrible of a guy but he still wasn’t the best. Just another sleaze you got around with and who let your friends get away with free alcohol.

And he gave you what you wanted so you didn’t feel like you had a right to complain.

Once your toes dried, you padded across the room to your closet before deciding to put on some denim overalls on top of your tank. Once they were on, you braided your hair into two pieces and slid on a pair of brown work boots.

The only thing you actually enjoyed about being the daughter of a farmer was the work.

Was it enjoyable in a hundred degree heat? Absolutely not.

But the constant movement and long walks around the property let you get your mind off of things for a bit.

Your father was already in the fields, driving the tractor like it was an average car. You were glad for his far away place so you could go about your work by yourself.

First, you handled the animals—collect chicken eggs, feed the livestock, care for the horses, and put out milk for the cats. You weren’t sure why you put your favorite part of the day at the top of your to-do list but it was a nice way to start out.

You hummed a little tune as you worked, for once feeling somewhat content on the ground that usually felt like a prison.

As a kid the farm was your playground. You knew every in and out, every crevice to hide in, every broken fence to slip through when things got too much to bear.

Now you wished those places would lead you somewhere more permanent.

Randy’s words surfaced through your mind as you stood by the water hose, filling up a bucket.

Let me take you out.

For some reason, those words kept filtering through your mind until it was someone else’s voice entirely. But you weren’t sure whose it was.

From your experiences, take you out meant going by some shitty dive bar, getting drunk if the peer pressure was high enough, and then crashing in some guys bed.

Letting people take you out was a recipe for the worst nights of your life.

And they never meant anything either.

Too lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice the water spilling over, turning the dirt into mud.

You quickly turned off the hose but the nozzle tweaked out and water sprayed. It was a shock to your system but it felt nice under the sweltering sun.

“Need a hand?”

You looked up to see Joel heading in your direction, boots crunching with every step. You couldn’t help but notice the way his black t-shirt reading Millers Contracting hugged his biceps and the small amount of pudge at his stomach.

Jeez, it shouldn’t be doing the things it was doing to you.

“Are you on break, Mr. Miller?” You asked, brushing some loose hair that escaped the braids away from your eyes.

“Had some time on my hands,” he answered before stopping in front of you, placing said hands on his hips.

For some reason, it drew your attention towards the muscles of his thighs, his jeans hugging them just right…

“Well, if you’re offering.”

He helped you lift the rather heavy bucket of water but when you tried to grab the second one, he lifted it with ease.

Your eyes betrayed you yet again as you traced the veins bulging in his forearms and hands, watching the way they wrapped tight around the handles.

Get a grip you mentally reordered yourself.

You had spent one night with him two weeks ago and you were still thinking about it. But not in the way you usually would. You thought about how caring and gentle he was, how those strong arms did nothing but hold you like you were a delicate flower.

Now, watching him lift hefty buckets made you question if you had been missing out all those times he’d come over to help before.

Once he was done placing them in their designated spot, he went back over to you.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Plowing the fields. I can go get him if you want.”

Joel studied you for a moment before his eyes squinted in the bright sunlight, his lips parting. “No need. I just wanted to check on you.”

Your heart nearly faltered.

He couldn’t just come around and say things like that especially while looking like that. And even though it’d been two weeks, he still was showing that he cared and you didn’t even have to give him anything in return.

You stared up at him, quickly blinking away your surprise. “Everything’s gone back to normal. Or at least my kind of normal.”

He nodded, lifting the back of his hand to his forehead and wiping away sweat. “Good.”

Then, a question burned your tongue and you had to spit it out before it scalded you.

“Why do you care?”

Joel stared at you like you had stared at him. In his mind it was why wouldn’t he care? Any man alive who was smart enough would have that same question.

Over the last couple weeks, Joel had caught himself thinking about you more often than not. He hated how you invaded his headspace when he was trying to carve or when he was busy building houses and especially when he was trying to go to sleep.

In the past times he’d seen you around, it was nothing. You were simply Rhett’s daughter and that was that.

But the thoughts began that first night at the Tipsy Bison. He had seen you with those guys at the pool table, noticing how absolutely bored you looked as the one nibbled on your neck like a damn vampire.

Again, it didn’t really matter to him.

Then he saw the old men ogling you. That was when he switched from just unwinding with a glass of whiskey to being on high alert.

He had seen his employee follow you out of the bar and instantly knew something was wrong. He was so glad he had gotten to you when he did. And from then on, you had become such a prominent thought in his mind.

The farmers market had solidified it and when you accidentally ran into him, he wanted nothing more than to be a safe place for you.

Now you were asking why he cared?

Just looking across the field at your father was answer enough in his opinion.

That night in his truck he really felt like he got to see a side of you that nobody else did. The woman everyone called a sex symbol was really just a girl looking for someone to truly see her.

And for some aching reason he couldn’t figure out why, he wanted to be that someone.

But here, looking at you with your braids and your cute overalls, it reminded him why he couldn’t be that person.

You were young. Way too young for an old man like him. He’d never be able to give you everything you needed and desired no matter how badly he wished he could.

And the worst part?

He’d never be able to tell you that you deserved so much better than what everyone gave you without sounding like a jealous loser.

“You’re my friend’s kid,” he answered and he hated the way the words rotted in his mouth.

Whatever warmth was fluttering in your heart quickly melted away. After everything he’d said in his truck that night, those were the last four words you ever expected to hear.

You’re my friend’s kid.

Whatever happened to your secrets safe with me?

Better yet, why did it hurt so bad?

You didn’t believe you had the right to be disappointed or offended by his reason. But then again he had never paid attention to you before so how could that possibly be why?

“Well, I’m an adult if I must remind you,” you said, trying to keep the coldness from your tone.

He didn’t deserved it just because you were confused. Other men weren’t that confusing. They spoke their minds and any opinions they ever had on you to your face.

But Joel wasn’t other men. Not by a long shot.

Joel was glad when Rhett walked over. The man clapped Joel on the back in greeting before his eyes landed on you. “Hey, sweet pea. Would you mind going to check up on your momma?”

You forced a smile onto your face. “Not at all.”

Joel watched as you walked away and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking back as your father dragged him off to do some fence repairs.

You sighed, wiping your hands on your thighs. You didn’t know why you were suddenly so upset. You had been glad to see him and now you just felt like bed rotting.

The farmhouse was cool, the AC unit blowing in cold air from the vents. You slid off your dirty boots, leaving you in frilly white socks as you padded upstairs.

As quietly as you could, you pushed open the cracked door. Your heart gave a helpless kick at the sight of your sickly mother, lying in bed with a heart shaped pin cushion and a half-made blanket.

She looked over at you, her cracked lips breaking into a smile. “My dear. Come sit.”

You didn’t really want to. The room reeked of cigarette smoke and you saw the empty prescription bottle on the dresser beside the bed. But going back outside in the heat and dealing with your father wasn’t anymore appealing.

So you got in beside her, accepting the cigarette she offered you. She let you curl into her side, one bony arm resting over your shoulders.

She was high. You could tell by her red eyes and how she moved like she was made of air.

She gave you a squeeze after lighting both of your cigarettes. “I don’t know how you manage to stay so good, sweetie. You… you deserve better than the life we gave you.”

Your heart ached and if only for a single bittersweet moment it felt like it did as a child—having two loving parents who wanted what was best for you.

“Momma?” You whispered as smoke curled from your lips.

“Yes, my dear?”

Silence settled in. You gnawed on your bottom lip. You wanted to tell her everything. You wanted her to know the depth of the hollowness in your chest and the desperation you were experiencing.

“I’m so alone, mommy,” you whispered, the words barely audible between the smoke and the clean space between. “No one cares. No one calls my phone unless they want to have sex with me or want me to go get them free drinks. And I’m suffocating myself. And there’s one man who actually cares about me but he’s daddy’s friend and—”

A soft snore cut you off.

You sat up, looking down at your mother. Her high had crashed and now she was dead asleep. The still burning cigarette hung from her bony fingers and you grabbed it before it set the blanket on fire.

You weren’t sure if you were glad that she didn’t hear you or not. Maybe it was best she didn’t.

You snuffed both the cigs out in the ashtray before setting her stitching things aside and pulled the quilt over her frail body.

You turned off the light and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind you. You leaned your head back against it with a deep breath.

You didn’t want to think anymore.

It was time to be the woman everyone knew you as because all your efforts felt like they were for nothing.

Right now you didn’t care what anyone said. You just wanted to feel good.

Of course the day you had to be outside for an extended period of time was the most hottest. You took back what you said about Texas not being so bad. The heat was just another thing telling you to leave even if there was nowhere else to go.

You stared at the white dress hanging on the back of your door. Freshly ironed. It meant that your mother had taken it upon herself to step up and tell you that she still cared. But under it all, the pressed fabric was another way to say you are still apart of this family, act like it. No matter how cute it was it still felt like a brand. A way to rub it in your face that you were confined to this life of your father trying to keep you in bubble wrap.

A Lana Del Rey vinyl spun behind you as you fastened your artificial curls with hair spray and dabbed some lipgloss on your lips. This wasn’t new. Everyone in town would throw compliments at you but at the end of the day, you started to not believe them.

The least you could do was pretend they meant something.

“Let’s go!” Your father called from downstairs. “We have work to do, sweet pea!”

With one last spray of your strawberry perfume, you headed down. Once you made it to the foyer, the scent of stale cigarettes invaded your senses as your mother swept you into her arms.

“I knew that dress would look beautiful on you,” she murmured.

From behind, you could practically feel your father’s gaze burning holes into your back.

“I think it’s a little short. Don’t need those boys ogling you. It would take away from the sales.”

You laughed awkwardly and pulled away from the woman to look at him. He was a worn man from days of working under the sun and carrying weight that was probably getting too much for him now.

“Don’t worry, dad. I’ll help draw them to the stand.”

And that was no lie.

The sun blazed down on the market. Farmers and other salespeople were standing under the awnings of their stands, wearing various different types of hats to keep cool. Some even had portable fans blowing on them but you highly doubted it was actually doing anything.

As you helped him unload the van and set up the stand, your father kept giving you a scrutinizing glance. You shrugged it off. You were an adult who could wear whatever she wanted. Besides, the dress wasn’t even that bad. It covered much more than what your other clothes usually did.

At one point, he looked over his shoulder before whispering, “pull that dress down.”

You froze for a minute. The length of the dress shouldn’t have been a problem since it was at the mid-thigh point. But, ever since you were a kid, he’d been strict on the tips of your fingers rule.

Deciding not to make an argument, you tugged at the hem even though it barely made a difference.

As the farmers market started filling up with people, you did your job by bagging up the produce and handing it to the customers. Most of them had something to say considering you’d been doing this for a long time now. You constantly got things like “you’re sweeter than a peach” “your parents sure did a good job” and “lovely to see you still care, honey.”

Your cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling. You didn’t want to be here. As a kid it was easier, bathing in the affection and praise and not thinking twice about it.

But now it felt like everyone knew something you didn’t.

Some of the boys came flocking over when your father left to restock the ice chests. You weren’t sure if you felt up to flirting. After last night you didn’t feel up to anything.

Landing in Randy’s bed was a reminder that you just wanted someone to care. For someone to see beneath your appearance.

Joel.

His name invaded your mind so suddenly that you had to blink a few times to understand why. He had stood up for you even though he barely knew who you were. He didn’t ask for anything either. He just wanted to make sure you were safe. Something about that stirred up feelings you weren’t used to.

You leaned on the stands counter as one of the boys started to go off about how he saw you leave Randy’s house last night.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s the problem? You wish it was your trailer I was leaving?”

The boy seemed a little taken aback by your retort before one of his friends chimed in. “Yeah, I do actually.”

“Dude, she’s literally been banged by every guy in town. You sure you want to hit that?”

Your heart clenched in your chest. Now they were talking about you like you weren’t even there. They were spewing lies, things that were only rumors but no one ever wanted to know the truth. Yeah, you got around and slept with guys who were douchebags but it was definitely not the whole town. Only a select few you shouldn’t have kept going back to.

“If you guys want to talk about me when I’m right here then you can leave,” you said calmly, knowing it’d be bad for business if you scared away customers.

The boys seemed shocked by your warning. “Oh, so she does talk back.”

“Do you do that in the—”

“Here you go,” you said, loading a brown paper bag with fruit before shoving it into one of their chests. “It’s on the house.”

They snickered before finally relenting and walking off, whispering amongst themselves.

You tried to not let it get to you but it was getting to a point where you wished everyone just forgot who you were. No one understood what it was like to have to be the farmers perfect daughter and still search for love in random people’s beds. No one understood your loneliness.

You started to zone out, picking at your red nail polish, staring at your hands and wishing you could just disappear.

A shadow came over you. “Hello. What can I get you today?” You said, each word rehearsed.

“Four apples please, darlin’.”

You dragged your eyes up and landed on Joel. He was blocking the sun from your face, making it easy to see him. He looked different than he had at the bar—probably because he was in broad daylight now. Younger, maybe, as the sunlight softened his features.

“Coming right up,” you muttered, reaching for a paper bag and a honey crisp apple.

For a moment it was just the bustle of shoppers and the laughs of children as they zipped through the stalls.

“Those boys causin’ you trouble?” Joel spoke up, his voice not accusing but rather a genuine curiosity of observation.

He noticed.

You fought the thought back. He was just being a normal human being and you already found yourself trying to latch onto it.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you replied with the sweetest smile you could muster.

If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t want to handle it. For years you had been handling things on your own because if you told anyone else all you would receive was scrutiny and backhanded criticism. You didn’t blame them. But it felt like living in a black hole and trying to claw your way out on your own.

You bagged up the apples before handing it to him. “That’ll be three dollars and ninety six cents.”

Joel paid without a complaint. “Thank you.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “It’s no problem really. I wanted to thank you again for last night.”

He shook his head slightly, the sun catching the silver dusting of his hair. “You shouldn’t have even been in that situation. But between you and I, I let him go.”

In other words: I fired the pervert.

You felt an involuntary smile twitching at your lips that you tried to smother with sinking your white teeth into the gloss of your lower lip.

“He had it coming,” you said, brushing some curls behind your ear.

“For too long probably.”

Your attempts to tamp down your smile broke when you saw the twinge of one on his own mouth. It disappeared as quick as it came but you felt some sort of satisfaction knowing you shared an experience with him now.

Not a very pleasant one but one where you felt lighter knowing he might’ve had your back.

Something you always yearned for.

“Miller!” Your dad’s voice came from behind you as he returned with bags of ice. “Didn’t expect to see your old ass out here.”

You watched Joel’s grip tighten just a fraction on the bag. “I still got some kick left in me believe it or not.”

Rhett let out a loud laugh that came from deep within. “Just wait till the back pains begin. That’s when you know you’ve lived a good life.”

“You’d be surprised,” Joel said.

Rhett dumped the ice into the chest before walking around and crossing his arms. You tuned out their conversation, picking at your nail polish again. Whatever you thought was untouched by your father, he had to remind you that he still had jurisdiction over you. He didn’t care if you were an adult. And you were too scared to remind him.

At some point, your father’s hand lay heavy on your shoulder. “You’ve met my daughter, right?”

Your eyes met Joel’s and you gave a subtle plea within your gaze—don’t let him know where I’ve been.

Joel seemed to understand. “We’ve been acquainted.”

You went to sigh in relief when your father opened his big mouth.

“She’s a good girl. Just don’t let the boys around her though.”

Your chest tightened. It was one thing to be shamed by some random guys who didn’t know anything about your life but it was another when your own father was openly shaming you and laughing at it.

You let out a tiny, awkward laugh as he shook your shoulders, avoiding Joel’s gaze.

Joel didn’t laugh. “Ah, those boys can keep it to themselves. Don’t go blamin’ it all on her, Rhett.”

There it was again. Him defending you.

You felt that you didn’t deserve it. You knew what you did and you kept doing it just to make the void not feel as gaping. And yet you felt selfish for wanting him to do it again and again.

“If only you knew, Miller,” your father said and quite frankly you didn’t want to know what he meant by that.

As the day dragged on and the heat grew stifling, you wanted nothing more than to leave. After being humiliated by your own father in front of the only man in the county who didn’t look at you with lust, you wanted more than anything to know where you were going with your life.

So far you were nothing more than a pretty figure and a sex symbol.

Randy had texted you a few times but it wasn’t really anything more than asking when you were free next. And since the farmers market was a public event with just about everyone in town stopping by, your old hookups had caught wind of you again.

When your father let you go for a break, you headed over to Mrs. Baker’s stand. She was selling a variety of honey and jams, all the jars covered with a white cloth and secured by a colored band.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Baker.” You approached with a sugary sweet smile.

“Well don’t you look like a little doll,” Mrs. Baker beamed, her white ringlets bouncing as she reached over to press a wrinkled hand to your cheek.

You scrunched your nose with a small laugh at her motherly affection.

The woman turned to grab a jar of strawberry jam. “Here! I saved a jar just for you.”

“You’re too kind,” you said nicely as she bagged it up for you.

You were sure ninety percent of the reason people were so nice to you was because of where you came from. But Mrs. Baker seemed to be one of the only ones who genuinely cared.

You glanced over your shoulder as you heard some familiar voices. Tommy and Maria were hovering by a stand selling fresh bread. Maria was practically glowing, a hand resting on her very pregnant belly.

Joel was with them, conversing with his brother as Maria scanned the loaf options.

“Ah, the Millers,” Mrs. Baker’s voice pulled your attention back. “Can’t wait to see the little one. It’s about time we had some new babies around here.”

All of her children were grown up now so you couldn’t blame her for wanting to have little ones to be looking after again.

“Yeah. I’m really happy for them,” you answered with a smile, casting one last glance but this time, your gaze lingered on the oldest Miller.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how he stood up for you in front of your father. First it was that old man and now your own dad.

You kept telling yourself he was just being nice but considering he most likely knew about your reputation, you weren’t quite sure why he was being so considerate.

Mrs. Baker caught your lingering gaze. “You know, all those young boys they’ve said you’ve been with were probably a waste of time.”

Your eyes snapped back to hers. What? She was the last person you thought would bring that up.

But, you couldn’t really argue with her.

“You’re not entirely wrong.”

Mrs. Baker raised her penciled on eyebrows. “Well, seems like I still know a little something. But you need a man, hun. Not one of those inexperienced boys who probably don’t even know where the cl—”

“You’re probably right.” You cut her off quickly before she could get graphic. You stifled a laugh. “Well, I can say that experienced men aren’t much better.”

Mrs. Baker rolled her eyes with a scoff. She was old enough to be your grandmother but you knew she had lived a life like yours before this.

“You just aren’t finding the right ones,” she said, waving a finger at you. “Now I’d be willing to bet the right one would change your mind.”

You let out a chuckle. “Maybe. But I think I’m good on men right now.”

She shrugged. “Just remember, honey, you’re not the first woman to go through this.”

Her words caught you off guard. But you knew she was right—you lived under the same roof as one.

You paid for the jam and shared your goodbyes before heading back to your father’s stand. Dirt crunched beneath your boots and you could feel the kicked up dust clinging to wherever sweat poured. The sun hung low in the sky, making everything miserable.

You were taking your time, not wanting to get back too quickly.

An arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm body. You looked at the culprit invading your space—one of the boys from earlier.

His name was Ben, you recalled. You had slept with him once your senior year of high school which felt like a lifetime ago now.

“You sure do look like your momma today,” he said, moving his hand down to tug at the strap of your dress.

“I know,” you said with a smile that was nowhere near as warm as the one you had given Mrs. Baker.

“Shame what she’s done to herself.”

You nearly bristled at that but after everything, it barely riled you up.

“Is it true?”

You looked up at him through your lashes. “Is what true?”

“You know, you being banged by the entire town.”

Your eyes narrowed. “If you really believe that then there’s something wrong in your head.”

Ben put a dramatic hand over his heart. “Wow, and everyone thinks you’re the sweet farmers daughter?”

“I tend to talk back when people accuse me of being in every man’s bed in the county.” You pushed away from him. “You wouldn’t know how it feels, would you?”

You knew you’d gone for blood. But you were fed up and couldn’t bite your tongue like the good girl you were supposed to be.

He nearly flinched but kept his cool. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’ve been in and out of plenty of sheets. You’ve had your fair share of silk and cotton and cashmere and no one shames you for it.”

Ben stopped walking, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to face him. The second you saw that judgmental look in his depths, you felt a knot pull tight in your throat.

“It’s because I don’t flaunt it around.” His voice was full of condescending undertones. “You do realize that, right? You purposefully wear those tight, tempting outfits because you know what they do to men.”

Your throat felt like it was being wrapped in barbed wire and someone was pulling it taut, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing…

Ben rose a finger, voice raising so other people could hear it. “You dress and act like a slut so I don’t wanna hear you complain about it.”

That was it.

You stepped back, not caring about the stares coming from the people nearby as you threw the jam at his feet. It broke, pinkish red jelly flying over his shoes and shins.

You turned around, ignoring the gasps and murmurs as you headed towards the markets exit.

Why did everyone think they had the right to humiliate you? You knew what you did. You knew you wanted attention and you knew that you got it. But for whatever reason they thought they needed to remind you, you didn’t think they needed to do it in front of everyone.

Your pace picked up once you got to the dirt lot that was posing as a parking lot. You sucked in deep breaths as you tried not to cry but your bottom lip trembled uncontrollably.

As the hot tears started to stream down your cheeks, you quickly wiped them away so no one could see.

With your vision blurred, you didn’t notice the figure in front of you.

Strong hands gripped your bare shoulders. You blinked the heavy drops off your lashes, looking up at the person you ran into.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

Of all people it had to be Joel Miller who had to be a witness to the perfect farmers daughter falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” you rushed out, hands flying to your cheeks in attempt to erase what he’d already seen.

“Hey,” Joel said lowly, reluctantly letting go of your shoulders. “Hey, darlin’, you have no reason to apologize.”

The way he was talking to you was completely different from how people usually did. Most people talked with contempt and condescension, treating you like you were below them because of the acts you engaged in.

You’d only known Joel for barely 24 hours and he was speaking gently, not shaming you or calling you out.

Embarrassment filled your cheeks and it only caused your cries to get louder.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel murmured before looking at his truck. “How about you have some quiet, hmm?”

Usually an old man’s truck would freak you out. It certainly had last night. But you were humiliated and Joel was offering a sliver of privacy.

With your tiny nod, he responded with a quiet “okay” and opened the passenger door. You slid into the cab, the worn leather sinking under your weight.

Joel came around, getting in on the drivers side, the whole truck creaking as he did so. Once the door shut, it was just the two of you and your soft cries.

You covered your face with your hands, wetting the chipped red polish of your nails. The hollowness inside of you opened its jaws and nearly fit your whole heart into it. Within the black abyss of it were little whispers.

Humiliation.

They all hate you.

You’re going to be alone forever.

No one wants a slut.

Who are you fooling? The farmers daughter?

You’re a disappointment to your family.

You sank down in the seat, keeping your sobs quiet even though you wanted to scream.

Joel remained silent. He didn’t scold or shame you for crying as your father would have. Unbeknownst to you, he had seen the pressure Rhett poured onto you. He recalled the days he’d been over at the farm, watching from afar.

You had walked out of the house, a pretty thing wrapped in lace. Joel remembered hating himself for even thinking the word beautiful when he saw you. But it was the only word he allowed himself.

You had yelled for your father, something about not knowing where your keys were. Rhett had excused himself and went to attend to you.

Even from a distance Joel hadn’t missed the words he spoke to you: “You better watch yourself, girl. Ya hear me? Your momma didn’t raise no improper woman.”

Joel hadn’t said anything then but now, sitting there and listening to your weak sobs, he wished he would’ve done something.

He knew of your reputation. The towns it girl, the farmers daughter, the girl who got around. There were plenty of names people had come up with.

His favorite had always just been the name you were born with.

Every time he heard whispers about where you’ve been and who you’d been under, the first thing that came to mind were two simple words…

So what?

It wasn’t anyone’s business who you slept with. It wasn’t their job to make decisions for you, especially not your father.

But here in the quiet of the cab with you crying, Joel knew you were so much more than whatever labels people slapped on you like an object.

You were a woman who just wanted to be seen.

Once your cries subsided and all that was left was your sniffles, Joel inserted the key into the ignition. The old engine rumbled to life.

You looked at him, bewildered that he hadn’t kicked you out yet.

“We’re gonna go on a drive,” he said, letting you know before he pressed the pedal.

For a second you were stunned. You blinked, wondering why he was being so kind and generous.

But you didn’t object either.

Right now, you were just along for the ride.

“You want me to get in trouble again?” You asked with a soft laugh. Smoke billowed from the space between your glossy red lips, filling the quaint room with the smell of cigarettes. Not a great habit but in your mind it was better than my mother. Your head lolled to the side, staring at the barn a few feet away from the house. You’d memorized the way the peeling red paint looked like between dusk and dawn—a constant reminder that you were built on a firm foundation and yet it felt like you were falling apart.

“C’mon,” your friend’s voice crackled through the receiver. “You’re the best at bribing the cashiers. Especially Randy.”

You could practically hear the smirk in the girls voice. But she was right.

A cow mooed from the pasture.

The end of the cigarette flared red.

You exhaled. “He’s too busy staring at my tits to even care.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Charlotte. “Put on that top of yours and come with us. It’ll be fun.”

You sat up, hair spilling over your shoulders. “Give me five minutes.” Once the call was over, you jumped out of bed and grabbed a bunch of bobby pins. The curls you’d done with the rollers the other night went up smoothly into a pretty updo. You drew on some eyeliner and glossed up your lips before slipping into a pair of shorts that were probably cut too close to be decent and tying on a red checkered top. You looked in the mirror, making sure your breasts were accentuated.

Then, with a pearly smile, you slipped on your cowboy boots and skipped downstairs. The old wooden steps creaked, the ancient walls riddled with family pictures and taxidermy settling. You’d always hoped you would be able to escape the confines of a house trapped with childhood memorabilia and teenage mistakes.

But so far it looked like the road ahead was a dead end.

Country music drifted from the living room where your mother was sat on the rocking chair. Her hair, once silky and long, was now frizzy and gray. She was a beautiful woman at one point in time. Even now she was still young since your parents had you in their late teens. Unfortunately drugs didn’t allow for beauty to stay.

“Where are you off to?” The woman asked, crushing the end of her cigarette into the ashtray. Her husband had banned her from using any hard drugs inside the house which you had always been grateful for. Although it was just another thing for her to yell at him about and she still kept the pill bottle next to her. Just to keep an eye on it, she said.

“Charlotte invited me out,” you answered, leaning against the doorway with one hand braced on the frame.

Your mother gave a hum, picking at her blanket with a bloody finger. She was supposed to be wearing bandaids to keep her from cutting up her cuticles. “Your daddy know that?”

Why she was asking that you weren’t sure. You were an adult. A woman with a life free of her parents. But your daddy did have tendencies to keep you sheltered, to keep treating you like a little girl.

“He doesn’t need to.”

A moment passed, filled by country music and the sound of the tractor starting up outside, before the woman gave a gapped tooth smile. “I raised you well.”

You gave a little smile. You believed her. While your father gave all his time and energy into his farm, at least your mother stuck to her role. Even if she was high most of the time. She didn’t question you further as you headed to the front porch, keys in hand. The red Cadillac was parked in the long, dirt driveway, looking out of place among the worn property.

Once you started it up, you turned the radio to full blast and checked your sunglasses in the rearview before peeling off down the dirt road. It was a hot day, the sun beating down on you—the downside of having a convertible car. It wasn’t ideal but Texas was your home. Somewhere deep down you believed there wasn’t another place out there where you belonged more.

The ride to the convenient store was short. Your car came to a stop beneath the red awning where the gas pumps were stationed. You turned down the music but it was no use because people had already glanced in your direction.

You plastered on a big, white smile. It was so rehearsed. That smile was the product of the pageants your mother had put you through as a child—one that you still never managed to shake off because it made you likable.

A pretty smile for a pretty girl, as most boys around town would say.

“There you are!” Charlotte threw her arms open wide as you approached the group. She was the only one you really considered a true friend considering the other girls talked bad about you behind their backs and the boys… well, they were just pigs.

The eight of you headed inside, the little bell chiming to announce your arrival. You pushed your sunglasses on top of your head before leaning against the counter. “Good evening, Randy.”

The man—probably in his early thirties—immediately flashed a smile, gold tooth glinting in the dull light. “Evenin’, Miss America.”

You knew they only called you that because of your mother. You were nearly a copy and paste of her yet you had never been crowned Miss America in your life. But you still acted like you did. “Doing anything tonight?” You asked, leaning forward so your arms subtly pressed your breasts together.

Randy’s eyes immediately darted south, not even trying to hide it. Then he looked back up at your eyes that had narrowed, looking up through your lashes—your signature. The look everyone knew you for. The one that made men fumble over their words and grab their belt buckles.

He swallowed hard. “Nope. Not much to do in this boring town. You uh… you going out?”

“Just don’t tell my daddy,” you said in a conspiratorial whisper, bringing a red nailed finger to your lips.

Randy nodded like his head was going to come off before he reached for a pack of Marlboro reds from behind the counter and tossed them down. “Let me guess… the club?”

You let out a little laugh. Polite but fake. “Close enough.”

Not even a second later was he smirking, ringing up the pack of cigarettes as he said, “You know, if you’re free after, you have my location.”

You fought the urge to cringe at that. The image of doing anything with him in the cramped confines of a storage closet was not particularly appealing. Instead, you gave a knowing smile before your friends came up, placing down tiny bottles of alcohol on the countertop.

Randy quickly cleared his throat, pulling his mind out of the gutter as he rang up the items. After you paid, you blew him a kiss before leaving.

Four of you hopped into your convertible while the other four got in the other car. Girlish laughs carried with the wind on the way to the bar, some of them already pulling out their flasks. It was cheaper that way. It was a thing now—buy small bottles at the liquor store, pour it into a flask, and not have to buy expensive drinks later.

However, you didn’t drink. Smoking was a nice way to take the edge off but alcohol made you lose it. All sense of control vanished after a few sips so it no longer had a place in your life.

Didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun, though.

The Tipsy Bison was the towns hotspot for old and young alike. It was a cozy atmosphere provided with decent music and lively conversation, attracting locals who needed a break from their lives. As you entered, there weren’t many people there considering it wasn’t too late in the day yet. It didn’t bother you or your friends much. It meant faster service and more space to breathe. It wouldn’t last long considering it was a Friday night and once people got off work it was straight to the bar they went.

Tommy Miller stood behind the counter as you sauntered up, shining a glass. He was one of the only men in town who you didn’t feel the need to flirt with. He was good friends with your father so there was really no use for it.

“Hello, Tom,” you said with a kind smile, sliding into one of the black leather seats.

He raised an unimpressed brow. “It’s Tommy to you, missy.”

“Hmm… I think Tom suits you better. I bet Maria thinks so too,” you grinned a little as he rolled his eyes and set the glass aside.

“What can I get for the lady of the hour?” He asked, bracing his hands against the counter. You liked that he still felt the need to ask even though he already knew what you wanted. Most men never asked.

“Shirley Temple with extra cherries please.” You watched as his mustache twitched upward, pushing off the counter and going to fix you up a drink.

Moments later Charlotte sidled up next to you, her boyfriend next to her like a parasite. He was always touching her in some way and you wondered if it ever got annoying. You liked being touched but only for so long. Then it got annoying if it felt like grimy hands were clinging to you all the time which was more often than not.

Charlotte and her boyfriend fell into small talk with Tommy about the new house developments off the freeway—something about Tommy’s brother being a contractor. You didn’t listen. Didn’t care to either.

You sipped your sweet soda, popping cherries off the stem between your pearly teeth as you thought about the thousands of outcomes the night could bring you. Perhaps it’d be some guys bed or—because it had happened before—on your back in the middle of the desert, contemplating your choices.

The bar was filling up fast, just as you expected. Old music drifted from the jukebox in the corner, curtesy of someone with taste and a quarter. Men and women of all ages found themselves a seat at the tables while others ordered beers and held a cue stick between their fingers, leaning over a pool table. Everyone always seemed to be having a good time which was one of the reasons it was so appealing to you.

You were laughing at something Maria said to her husband when Charlotte leaned over to whisper in your ear. “You’ve got eyes.”

The both of you glanced over at the pool table. At first all you saw were men knocking back bottles and being obnoxiously loud. And then, when you looked a little closer, three men all in cowboy hats and flannels were practically gawking at you.

Did any of them interest you? No.

Were you bored? Yes.

You slid off the stool, the uneven wood beneath your feet creaking slightly as you pushed through the crowd. For those who recognized you, they all had to make it known. Every reply you gave was the same as ever, promising to let your father know they said hi.

When you finally reached the boys, one of them handed you a stick. With a smile, you bent over the table with ease. The trick you found was that they liked it best when you pretended to not know what you were doing. They shamelessly checked you out, eyes locked on the sliver of your ass that the shorts failed to cover.

By the fifth round, one of their arms was secured around your waist. Despite him looking like a second hand cowboy, his arm was lacking in the muscle department. His breath wreaked of alcohol as he buried his face in your neck, sucking on the skin. His hands were everywhere, feeling you up like it was a normal Tuesday.

Smoke billowed between your lips, cigarette dangling from your fingers as you watched them continue to play. Charlotte was laughing over something someone said. You’d stopped paying attention a while ago but still managed to smile and laugh at the appropriate times.

It was later in the night now. Your father was probably wondering where you were. Not that you cared much. You were just trying to keep your mind off of the emptiness.

One of the boys stepped forward, putting a hand on his friend’s arm. “C’mon, Mickey, let me have a turn.”

Mickey, the guy holding onto you like a prize to be ripped away, held on tighter. “She’s good here with me. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You took another drag, showing how uninterested in either of them you were. You stepped out of his possessive grip but his hand still held on tight to your hip. “You boys figure it out,” you said simply, putting out the cigarette on one of their belt buckles and walking away without a care.

“Whore,” one of them whispered under his breath. You had brushed off that insult more times than you could count because at the end of the day, it wasn’t entirely wrong.

The Tipsy Bison was rowdy as the people now were more than a couple drinks in, the music louder which made their voice volume also increase. The ones at the bar were nearly toppling out of their seats, laughing and hollering at each other.

As you walked up, you snagged the eyes of some old men. Not the ones you usually got with, but ones who had white beards and grandchildren with children of their own.

You spared them no attention, instead working on getting Maria to come assist you. They were slammed tonight but good thing you had the privilege of being close with the bartenders. Or maybe it was the privilege of being the farmer’s daughter, you weren’t sure.

Eventually, Maria came up to you, hands on her hips, belly round. Tommy had been the one to tell you his wife was pregnant and it made your heart swell.

It was also a reminder of something you’d never get to experience yourself.

“What can I do for you, love?” Maria asked, that motherly tone you had come to be quite fond of prominent in her tired voice.

You leaned your elbows against the sticky countertop. “Just a—”

A sudden crash cut you off. Your gaze snapped over to the commotion quickly, landing on the sight of a new worker who had just accidentally knocked over a shelf of wine glasses. Maria sighed, scratching her head. You couldn’t even imagine how exhausted she must be. To be honest, you were shocked Tommy was even still letting her work.

“Be right back, sweetie,” she said, going over to the mess before you could offer to help.

The sound of your nails tapping against the counter was drowned out by the chaos of the bar as you watched Tommy try to persuade his wife that she shouldn’t be picking up broken glass. In the time you’d known them, you’d always been in awe of their relationship.

At one point in time, maybe your parents had been the same way. But not anymore. When you had grown into a teenager, that was the last time you’d ever seen them in love. It was rare that you ever saw it and it was practically impossible that you’d ever experience it either.

But Tommy and Maria? That was love in its truest form.

You glanced sidelong down the bar top to see those men still ogling you. It was getting annoying and a little creepy if you had to admit.

Then you noticed one who sat at the far end.

He seemed younger than them—still old but not ancient. But he wasn’t paying even an ounce of attention to you. His eyes were locked on the beer sweating in front of him, rough hands hovering around the glass. From what you could see, there was some silver speckling his beard and hair. The brown jacket over his shoulders easily showed how broad they were.

Stop it you mentally berated yourself. This had become a habit for you since your junior year of high school. When the boys your age didn’t give you what you wanted, you found it in older men. Not that you were proud of it—you never had been—but the town was only so big and you didn’t want to further your reputation as the town whore.

Your gaze was drawn away when Maria came back over to you, giving a weary smile. You admired her strength, somehow still smiling between sore ankles and rude customers. “Sorry ‘bout that. As you were saying?”

“Um…” you were just going to order some water but now the noise and heat of sweaty bodies was starting to get to you. “Actually, I think I’m gonna head off.”

Something in Maria’s gaze softened. You weren’t sure why but you weren’t going to ask either. “Okay, love. Be careful out there.”

A small, genuine smile graced your lips as you stepped back. “I will.”

You scanned the room for Charlotte so you could tell her to get a ride home with her boyfriend but the bar had become so packed that she was swallowed by the crowd. You were sure she’d be fine so you just left.

Even though the strong Texan sun had set hours ago, the air was still heavy with uncomfortable heat. But it was quieter outside. In the distance you could hear crickets chirping and the sound of passing cars whizzing by.

If you never managed to get out than maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Loose gravel crunched under your boots as you headed to your car, another cig glowing red in the dark of the parking lot. A neon sign buzzed overhead by the street, a bison lit by a flickering yellow light.

Right as you reached the red Cadillac, another set of footsteps followed after yours.

You turned around, pulling the cigarette away from your mouth as you saw one of the men from the bar crossing the length of the lot. He didn’t seem to be going near you but it was only a trick of the light.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled, country accent thick with the slur of alcohol. “You need help gettin’ home?”

The sign flickered across his face—sagging wrinkles, yellow teeth, skin spotted with age. It took everything in you not to cringe.

“No, sir,” you said politely, the smoke from your lungs disappearing into nothing. “I can get along just fine.”

He laughed but it was more just a painful wheeze that came from deep in his diaphragm. A chill shot up your spine even though you were sweating. “Little thing like you? I don’t believe it for a second.”

Your free hand gripped the door handle but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get in and start the engine quick enough.

You swallowed hard. “I can assure you I can handle myself.”

Over the years you’d had your share of creepy old men trying to get at you but you’d always been careful. Tonight, however, your mind wasn’t set on hooking up with a boy in the back of his mom’s mini van or getting high with your friends. For once, your bed actually sounded like a nice place to be.

When he inched closer, that’s where you wished to be.

“You women don’t know a thing about how to handle yourselves,” he slurred, only a few feet from you now and you could already smell the tobacco radiating from him, making your stomach turn. “You need a real man to teach you.”

You nearly shuddered. “I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to get going.”

And when you got home, you’d probably sneak one of your mom’s rolled up joints.

When you finally turned to open the car door, wrinkly fingers wrapped around your wrist. You gasped, immediately trying to yank your hand away but he was strong for a drunk guy.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let me…” the man said, a sick smile creeping on his lips and the smell radiating from him nearly made the contents of your stomach make an appearance.

Your heart was slamming against your ribs now as his hand snuck to the buttons of your shirt but before you could scream, a hand gripped the man’s shoulder.

“Back away from the lady,” a deep voice laced with a southern accent demanded flatly. With wide eyes you saw the man who was sitting alone at the bar.

How did he know to come outside? Had he noticed you leave? Did he want what the creep wanted?

The man whose stubby fingers were still wrapped around your wrist looked at him and realization washed over his aged face. “Boss, I—”

“Go home to your wife, Ted,” the man commanded, shoving the drunken guy back. “And expect a cut on your next paycheck.”

You watched intently, on edge as your eyes darted between the two men. But then it occurred to you that no one had stuck up for you like this. Now a stranger was? There was no way he didn’t want something from you, you thought. Why else would he be doing this?

“But Miller, I need that money,” Ted pleaded, too drunk to even make sure his words were coherent.

Miller.

The name resonated in your mind and you scrambled to make sense of it. You remembered seeing signs on empty house lots that read Millers Contracting in bold yellow letters with a phone number under it. Then you recalled Tommy talking about how his brother was a contractor and it just so happened that their last names matched up.

You stared at the man helping you and suddenly the resemblance between him and Tommy was clear as day.

“Too damn bad,” he replied. “You know better than to put your hands on a woman and your what? Pushing seventy? You should be damn grateful that’s all I’m letting you off with.”

The old man nearly collapsed in on himself in defeat.

“Now get on outta here before I let the cops do it themselves.”

The man walked away, shoulders hunched as he disappeared into the darkness. You watched until he was out of sight before turning back to the man who had saved you for no reason at all.

You shifted on your feet, still shaken by the fact something terrible could’ve happened to you had he not stepped in. “Thank you, sir.” Those words felt too simple but you weren’t sure what else to say.

He kept his distance from you which you appreciated. If he really was Tommy’s brother, how had you never noticed him before? Now that you could properly see his face, you couldn’t help but notice how ruggedly handsome he was. He was aged in a way that told you he’d seen things, done things he wasn’t proud of. His face was worn, almost weathered by the years.

Clearly he kept to himself or else you would’ve already known his name.

“No need to thank me,” he replied simply as if he hadn’t just saved you from who knows what.

The longer you stared at him, the more the question burned your tongue. “You’re Tommy’s brother, right?”

He seemed to tense a little at that. But it vanished quickly and he gave a curt nod, folding his strong arms across his broad chest. “I am.”

A man of few words, you noted. You thought long and hard about your past conversations with Tommy and the times he’d mentioned his brother until a name finally surfaced. “So you’re the infamous Joel Miller.”

His dark eyes seemed to study you for a moment. It felt like a refresher to have someone listen instead of immediately speaking before they think.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment. “And you must be Rhett’s daughter.”

“You know my dad?” As soon as the question came from your mouth, you felt like an idiot. Of course he knew your dad. Everyone within town knew your father.

Not to mention the fact you’d seen him around the farm from time to time. Probably helping your father out with heavier equipment and loads of manual labor.

Joel must’ve noticed your slip up but he didn’t make fun of you for it. “I do. He talks about you a lot.”

Those words made your stomach feel sick again. Your father tried to keep you contained to his life on the farm but he was so absent that it had failed. But you never thought he’d be talking you up to anyone let alone a man like Joel Miller.

“Right,” you replied, looking down at your boots before feeling that emptiness slam back into you. You didn’t want to go home anymore. You looked back at Joel and gave a small smile. “I really appreciate your help tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?”

Joel shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

You went to protest before you stopped yourself. He didn’t want anything. That was new on so many levels. Even here, standing in an empty parking lot with a girl in provocative clothing, he didn’t want anything from you. Not even your thanks.

Before you could dwell too much on it, you got in your car and bid him goodnight before driving off.

Your phone was going off like crazy, a sharp chime cutting through the small trailer. Your body was sore, eyes heavy as you blinked through your grogginess and threw an arm over your eyes.

Last night had been too much. The complete opposite of what you had planned it to be.

An escape from home turned into wanting to go back to ending up here.

“Turn it off,” Randy groaned into his pillow, lying on his stomach and turning his face away to try and avoid the loud pinging notifications.

You huffed, glancing over at him under the thin sheet that barely covered the both of you. His trailer was a mess, cluttered with empty bottles and dirty clothes. Your own were strewn around his small room and suddenly regret smacked you in the face.

Hooking up with Randy was the last thing you wanted to do but after last night, anything would’ve been better than thinking logically.

Holding the sheet to your chest, you reached over and picked up your phone. The screen glowed too bright for your eyes this early in the morning. But when you saw your father’s contact lighting it up, suddenly you weren’t so tired anymore.

The annual farmers market was tomorrow and you had promised him you’d help set up his stand. Every year since you were a little girl you had helped out selling fresh produce to the community. It was a chance to show everyone that the farmer had raised a well behaved and respectful daughter. And no matter how hard it was to still pretend like you had a good relationship with him, you wouldn’t miss it for the world.

You jumped up, throwing your clothes on and when Randy called out after you, you just let the door slam behind you.

Maybe you were the town’s whore. Maybe you had no clue what you were doing with your life. But you weren’t going to drag your family through the mud because of it.

Not even if it killed you.

It started just like all of his nightmares. Everything was fine. Too good to be true. He was actually smiling for once, laughing as he watched her dance around the kitchen. She was so beautiful in his eyes, flaunting about in only his too big shirt and those panties that drove him wild. Her smile was carefree, pulling at those soft lips he wanted to kiss. She was a vision, a dream plucked from a distant memory.

His girl.

He wanted to hold her, to feel her body move with his own as they danced around in the refrigerator light.

But when he reached for her, a single shot was fired.

His eyes zeroed in on the red liquid dripping onto the tiles as it all went quiet. Her eyes were wide, blood trickling out of her mouth as she held the side with the little thing made of lead.

Then he screamed.

Frank woke with a jolt, his grip on the pillow tightening before he frantically scanned the room for any signs of her. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead…

A soft hand firmly planted on his shoulder and he nearly flinched out of his body. “Frankie?”

His eyes darted to whoever was touching him. Her. But it wasn’t really her. His face contorted in terror as he watched the blood ooze from her pretty lips, red splatters against her throat.

“Frankie?” Her voice sounded distant. “Frank, come on. It’s okay. It was just a nightmare.”

He squeezed his eyelids shut and willed her to be okay. Just a hallucination he kept trying to tell himself. It’s not real.

The next time he opened them, it was her. She looked just as beautiful as the day he met her if not more even in her concerned state. Her brows were furrowed in that soft manner he’d gotten used to seeing when this happened. Her lips weren’t bloody, rather a soft pink and pulled into a worried pout.

Damn it, she was too soft for him. With her hair messy from sleep and her nightgown askew on her chest, he knew he never deserved to touch someone so good. She was everything he denied himself after Maria and the kids passed.

It brought back a new wave of frustration. Not towards her. Never towards her. But at himself for being selfish enough to drag her into his own personal nightmare.

Frank sat up, running a hand through his grown out hair. He could still feel her soft hand on his shoulder, his senses tuned to the way each tendon moved.

“I’m right here. It wasn’t real,” she whispered, her thumb rubbing circles into his heated skin.

She was right. It wasn’t real. But the fact that it could be his reality is what terrified him more than anything.

He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, hurrying over to the bathroom. The second he was inside, he turned the faucet on with more force than necessary and splashed cold water onto his face.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

The words kept ricocheting in his head, bouncing off every one of his past traumas. His family. His time as a marine. All those people that died because he failed to see the truth within his darkness.

He promised himself it would be different this time. Or at least he’d promised her. He’d never be able to stop fighting, to escape the war raging within him. And she knew that. She stayed anyway.

Frank closed his eyes, forearms braced against the cold porcelain sink as he ran a calloused hand over his course beard. He’d never forgive himself for what happened but he owed it to her to let her love him anyway.

When he went back to their room, he stopped at the sight of her curled under the white duvet, her hair sprawled out over the pillow. He had teased her about the sheer ruffles on the seams but she had just shrugged and said he had poor taste.

Now he wanted nothing more than to lay his head next to hers and let his silence speak louder than words.

He slowly and methodically slipped back in behind her, like a soldier bracing for a minefield. He could tell she was awake by the way her breathing was a little quicker, too heavy for someone being asleep. It felt like he memorized the rise and fall of her chest forever ago.

Frank cautiously moved closer to her, raising a hand to put on her hip but he hesitated. Instead, he let his large nose nudge against her bare shoulder. It was an invitation—one he would take back if she didn’t want to accept it.

Eventually, she turned over to face him. Frank felt the weight in his chest subside slightly as he studied the shadows under her lashes and the contour of her cupids bow and the slope of her nose.

“You scared me,” she whispered, her voice on the verge of shaking but she kept it steady.

Guilt hammered back into him but he tried so hard to keep it from letting it out on her.

“I know, baby,” he murmured.

He’d never been good with words but right now he wished he could tell her how sorry he was in a million different ways.

Her fingertips lightly brushed over a raised scar on his ribs. “Talk to me.”

He wanted to. Damn it, he wanted to more than anything. But the thought of burdening her with his twisted imagination was enough for him to stay quiet. Pushing her away was better than her getting hurt.

He felt restless, placing his feet back on the floor and bracing his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor, eyes taking in how clean she kept her room.

The mattress shifted behind him and then he felt her chin hooked over his shoulder. “Please don’t shut me out,” she said, her voice almost pleading. “Please.”

For a moment he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. She didn’t deserve his silence. All she wanted was to be there for him even if he wasn’t easy to get through to.

Finally, he turned his head. She moved back a little bit so their faces weren’t too close.

Frank couldn’t take it anymore. She had a look she reserved only for him. Those bright eyes, no matter how dark the room, gazed at him from beneath those dark lashes. It told him everything he wished he could believe—don’t let the darkness stop you from wanting this.

With a gruff sigh, his hand slid to the back of her neck, big enough to pull her closer without hurting her. He pressed his lips to her forehead and if only for a moment, all the fight left his body. His fingers slid up to cradle the back of her head, staying there a minute to just breathe in the scent of her vanilla shampoo and something distinctly her.

She was everything he forbid himself to have. But he knew it’d take a lot to make him leave her behind.

After a long moment of just breathing her in, he moved his lips down to her temple and then carefully pulled her frame into his and lied back down. All those soft curves felt so good against his hard, worn body. The contrast never failed to remind him that he could easily break her but it just made him hold onto her tighter, like proving to himself he wouldn’t. She curled into him, one hand resting on the side of his face.

“You’re not alone, Frank,” she whispered, her voice ghosting over his cheek.

He wanted to believe it. But the thing was, he couldn’t be alone. It left too much room to self sabotage and push away every good thing in his life.

Frank looked down at her on his chest, meeting those beautiful eyes that were innocent compared to his. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted quietly, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

“But baby, if… if I lost you I would lose everything again. You’re it for me, you know that?” His dark eyes roamed her face, drinking in every unique feature that made her who she was. “My girl. My only one. Know that.”

Her eyes softened. She shifted, bracing one arm on his chest as she studied him. “I know.”

His head tilted just slightly against her hand, his puppy dog gaze going straight to the heart.

She lightly ghosted a finger over his beard. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know the risks. You deserve happiness. You deserve another chance at letting yourself love. You deserve this.”

Her words struck a chord within him. For years he didn’t allow himself to care for anyone let alone let himself love another person that wasn’t his wife. And even now she understood he’d never stop loving the woman who’d gave his life meaning. But this time, with her, he could learn to love again even if it meant facing his worst fears.

Frank slid his other hand over the one she held on his face, his thumb stroking against the smoothness of her knuckles.

“Don’t let me ruin this,” he whispered, eyes taking in every detail of her. “Please.”

As if to seal her promise, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. They were so soft—so smooth, just like every other part of her—and he could’ve let himself drown in it. Her kisses always filled him with a sense of calm and warmth. It was a wordless vow that no matter how hard he tried to protect her by shutting her out, she just wanted him.

And that? That was everything.

You were at work, taking pictures for a modeling company like it was just an average day. Though, for you, it wasn’t. Your boyfriend’s face had been plastered on every newspaper and television within New York after he was presumed dead for a long while. Since no one knew you were dating the Punisher, you had to keep your worries at bay even though you had no idea where he was.

Frank told you he would be okay and you had no choice but to believe him. You’d be a fool to think he couldn’t handle himself but that didn’t stop you from worrying about that bounty on his head.

During mid-shoot, your coworkers started gasping and whispering, turning their phones towards each other.

Focus you told yourself, lifting the camera and snapping the shot.

But then one of the girls grabbed your shoulder and shoved the phone in your face. The headline made you feel faint.

The Punisher involved with a hotel bombing. If you see this man, run the other way and dial 911.

You were going to kill him. If the bombing hadn’t already got to him, he would be wise to keep the threat of his own girlfriend at the forefront of his mind.

You dropped your camera, snatching your bag and running to the stairwell. The girls tried calling for you but you were already long gone. The walk/run to Micro’s hideout felt like it took forever, worry and frustration making your fists ball.

The second you barged into the basement, you shouted, “Frank!”

Micro was sitting at his computers, looking defeated. When he noticed you, he turned in on himself. “Mama’s mad.”

You whirled on him when not hearing a reply from the wanted man. “Where is he? Is he okay? Did he even make it back here?”

The scraggly man shrugged. He was wearing some type of rain coat even though it was more than dry. You’d always thought he looked homeless but considering he lived in a basement he technically was. He also wasn’t your biggest fan, the feeling mutual. Micro thought you’d give their location away while you thought he’d get Frank into more trouble than he was already in.

“He’s here but trust me, I already tried to get him to talk. Maybe you can get to him but I highly doubt it.”

Your brows furrowed a little at the insult but you couldn’t blame him. Frank was a closed off man who didn’t let anyone in. He feared that just because of who he was it’d get the people closest to him hurt.

But you never minded the risk.

You set your bag down on the table, fixing your blouse and heading to the bathroom.

The lighting was dim, buzzing and flickering with how much electricity was being used to power to the place. It was grimy from the lack of use, multiple stalls open on loose hinges and urinals that were broken. Three sinks lined the wall, only one occupied.

Your breath caught at the sight of Frank.

He stood shirtless in front of the cracked mirror, his body packed with chiseled muscle covered in dark blood. It was thicker on the right side of his head and his torso but splattered everywhere else. It was a sight that would usually make your stomach churn but right now worry filled that sick feeling.

“You’re okay,” you breathed out, slowly inching closer like he’d lunge at you.

Frank didn’t reply. Just kept staring at himself in the cracked glass.

You rolled the sleeves of your silk blouse up to your elbows, stopping beside him. He looked so rough, beat up in a way that shouldn’t have been so familiar. But this was Frank Castle. The man who never pulled his punches.

He remained unflinching as you placed a tentative hand on his shoulder that was clean of any blood. You pressed just a little and he surprisingly followed.

The look in those puppy dog brown eyes made your heart clench. In those depths you found betrayal. Beneath his usual stoic expression, you knew this ran deep, something that made the war within him rage harder than ever.

Your face softened a little and you brought your cold fingers to his chin, turning his head to the side to find very fresh stitches lining his skull just above his ear.

You’d patched him up enough times now to know how certain wounds were made. “A graze?”

Frank gave a brief nod, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Thick blood was drying on one side of his chest and neck. It nearly made you feel faint. Your hand on his shoulder pressed flat and your lips formed a thin line as you glanced away.

“You didn’t need to come here,” Frank’s voice graveled out, quieter than what he looked like.

You scoffed involuntarily. “Right because your face isn’t currently plastered over every newspaper and report in the city and you apparently didn’t bomb a hotel.”

“It wasn’t me.”

When your eyes snapped back to his, they flared a little. “Then what is this?”

Frank stared at you before turning back to the sink. He lifted his right arm, bracing his hand against the wall by the mirror. His head bowed slightly, like he was unable to look at you.

Despite your best efforts, you were starting to get frustrated. You weren’t sure why you always did this with him. He was stubborn and claimed it was only to protect you. But this? You couldn’t handle him blocking you out anymore. Throughout the course of your relationship with him, you fought hard to keep him from self sabotaging and pushing you away. Yet you could only take so much.

“You know, I actually think I need to go,” you said quietly, looking away from him before you could tell yourself a lie. The lie that he needed you. But did the Punisher actually need anybody? Certainly not, was the first answer that came to mind.

You remembered all the nights you sat up waiting up for him. All those times you had told yourself that he was going to come home to you but never did. And those very few times when he did, it gave you hope that he’d stay. Those calloused hands that had held snipers and broken bones had traced every inch of your body. He touched you like you were worth something more than he ever deserved.

And his kisses? They stopped everything. They silenced the world around you, keeping you in a pocket of time that was meant for only the two of you.

Then he was up and gone with only a kiss on your forehead and a note.

You never told him but you’d kept every single one. During the day you’d read them and smile to yourself, constantly telling your heart he cared. And he did in his own way. One that you tried but just couldn’t see.

When you turned towards the door, you knew that if he stopped you, you’d never leave. And even if you hated yourself for it, you didn’t want to.

“Wait,” his deep voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

You barely had time to turn around when he was there, cupping your face like you were the most precious thing he’d ever had the privilege of touching. If only for a moment did it feel like he hadn’t taken lives with those same hands.

The silence stretched long and heavy between you two. Frank didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t lose you. Not after everything good that had already been stripped away from him.

You pressed your cheek into his rough palm before whispering, “if I don’t walk away now I never will.”

Fear passed through his eyes. That was an emotion so foreign to see from him that it made your heart squeeze hard in your chest.

His jaw tensed and he looked like he regretted everything that led to this point. The worst part? You couldn’t even be mad at him. He had lost everything and now that he finally found something good, it would ruin that last shred of sanity he had.

You turned your head to press a small kiss to his palm. When you met his gaze again, you had to say it before it got lost forever. “I love you, Frank.”

Surprise flashed across his stony face but there, in those eyes that had memorized every part of you, was tears that only you got to see.

You knew he wouldn’t say it back. He couldn’t. A part of you had always known that. So why did it still hurt so bad?

Frank didn’t do anything and you feared he wouldn’t until finally he pressed his forehead against yours, one large hand tangling in the back of your hair. Your eyes shut, unable to look at him.

Don’t go. Two little words that you ached to hear. Two syllables that would keep you with him forever if only he would stop being so afraid of getting you hurt.

And yet, when he brushed that one last kiss to your lips, you tasted the salt of his tears and your own.

Then when you finally brought yourself to pull away, he whispered, “I’ll find you.”

You didn’t know if you could run with those words. It wasn’t fair that you had to wait for him and you both knew it.

But deep down you knew you’d wait a lifetime if only he’d come back to you.

“Baby?”

“Yeah, Bear?”

You two were lying side by side in his bed, bodies bare and still cooling down. One of his large hands reached out between you two. A rough finger found the love bite he left on your shoulder. You knew you shouldn’t have been here. But yet your clothes were strewn around the room and you smelled like his cologne and cigarettes. Your perfume hung, worn in and dull but clogging up his nose.

Mikey watched as his finger traced the red spot on your delicate skin like it was a piece of art. When he looked back at your eyes like some lovesick puppy, it reminded you why you kept coming back. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Those words that you had been told a million times before. Ones that you loved to hear and forced yourself to feel.

You gave a tiny smile and a nod.

He was satisfied enough and moved his finger from your shoulder to your chest to your cheek. He gently ran his knuckle over the soft skin, a look of awe entering those eyes. Michael couldn’t hold onto a good thing even if his life depended on it. Now that he had you, innocent and sweet, how could he ever let you go?

His hand cupped your cheek fully, just about the size of your head, and ran a thumb over your kiss swollen lips. “My pretty girl,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes. He always knew what to say to keep you close. Through tears or smiles. And no matter what, you stayed every single time. He was your Mikey. That had to count for something. To get to see him in a way nobody else did. In these quiet moments beneath the sheets with the blue glow of the moon and Mikey’s sweet nothings, it was how you wished for it to be all the time…

You were already running late to Tiffany’s baby shower, running around your small apartment looking for your missing shoe. It was a mess—Michael’s mess. When Donna had one of her usual fits and kicked him out, he came to you high as a kite. As he broke down in your arms, you had the bright idea of letting him stay with you. Why wouldn’t you want to live with your boyfriend?

But as you looked under the couch and behind floor decorations, you kept knocking over empty beer bottles and fully smoked cigarette packs.

Just one more thing to put you in a bad mood.

No. You weren’t going to be the one to upset Tiffany at her own baby shower. She and Richie didn’t want anything big or extravagant, just a few close friends and family. Ever since Natalie introduced you to Mikey, you got the privilege of getting to be a part of the chaotic and dysfunctional Berzatto family.

At first it was good. After around the first month or so you had gotten used to the excessive foul language. How they were just naturally loud people. Then the warnings started. A casual little check in from Natalie when Mikey seemed off. You brushed it off. Richie was next. He’s pulled you aside when Mikey hadn’t shown up for your Halloween party. Again, not a big deal. Mikey made it up to you the next day.

You just didn’t expect Mikey to drag his chaos here.

“Damn it,” you grunted as your toe collided with the corner of the wall. You wanted to scream. Not because of the pain but because today just happened to suck.

Michael was already waiting in the car. You hated yourself for it but leaving him alone like that worried you.

He reminded you of a child with how he shoved harmful things into his mouth when no one was watching. He was already loud and boisterous as it was and those stupid white tablets only amplified it.

But he’d collapse without you there. You’d seen it happen.

It just couldn’t happen today.

Once you finally found your shoe, you swiped your coat and purse, taking the elevator to the parking garage where Mikey sat in a beat up white car. When you slid into the passenger seat, he was already on you. “What the fuck took you so long?”

Michael had the patience the size of a penny and you quite frankly did not want to put up with it. How he managed to keep his own business was a mystery to be solved. You sighed and buckled your seatbelt. “Couldn’t find my shoe.”

He just about rolled his eyes and started the car. His arm reached over the console, his hand finding your thigh like it was second nature. “You look pretty though,” he murmured, thumb grazing your inner thigh.

You had put on tights and a white long sleeve dress with your hair curled. You liked dressing up even if it was for simple occasions like this. “Thanks.”

You were glad he didn’t press further as he drove, occasionally squeezing your thigh to remind you that you were there with him.

When you got to Jerimovich house, you got out of the car first, sick of listening to Michael’s obnoxious choice in music. You walked around the car to the sidewalk. Why was he taking so long?

You glanced back just in time to see him sliding something back into the glovebox. Your body immediately went rigid. But of course he was popping pills before attending a family event that didn’t even have anything to do with him. That was just Michael. And you? You didn’t want to give him the time of day if he was going to be so selfish.

You didn’t even look at him as he stepped out of the vehicle. When you went to walk up the path to the house, rough fingers closed around your wrist.

Reluctantly, you turned to look at him.

His hair was somewhat messy but oily, hanging over his forehead. The dark facial hair had grown out a bit and if only for a second did he really remind you of a bear.

Then he leaned in, voice lowering. “Why’re you being like this, baby?” He asked, his head tilting slightly.

You bit the inside of your cheek and looked down at the broken concrete. You couldn’t tell him why or else he’d just get mad and you really didn’t want to ruin this for Tiffany.

“It’s just not my day,” you answered instead.

Michael stepped back, fingers sliding through yours and gripping a little too tight. “Don’t be selfish. ‘S not a good look on you.”

You said nothing as you went to the front door. Instead of knocking, Michael just walked right in like he owned the place. Instantly, a big grin broke out across his face as he greeted Richie and Natalie’s fiancée. You hung back, scanning the room for Tiffany or anyone else that wasn’t your boyfriend.

Richie clapped a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and led him to the kitchen to probably get a drink. As if Michael even needed it. He didn’t even spare you a glance as he disappeared behind the corner.

“You’re here!” Exclaimed Natalie as she walked out of the living room.

You managed a smile. Ever since Natalie had introduced you to her brother, you knew she blamed herself for the pain he caused you. But you reassured her time and time again that you stayed because he needed you. And deep down? You needed him too.

“Of course I am, Sugar,” you replied sweetly as she wrapped her comforting arms around you. “Now where’s the mommy?”

“Right this way.”

Natalie led you to the living room where Tiffany was sprawled on the sofa in a Taylor Swift shirt, her stomach rounder than the last time you’d seen her.

Her eyes lit up when she saw you. The woman next to her went quiet. “You came,” Tiffany said with a genuine smile, struggling to her feet until her friend assisted her. “And you look beautiful.”

“Hi,” you said softly as she embraced you with a side hug. “And thank you.”

When she pulled back, she gave you a once over before her brows creased with a maternal sort of worry.

You knew how out of place you looked among the older adults. You were in your mid-twenties, giving you the advantage of no wrinkles and a youthful appearance. The way you dressed was also a stark contrast to everyone else but it was your only attempt at feeling as pretty as everyone said you were.

“Did Mikey come?” Tiffany asked, her voice a hushed whisper now.

Clearly she hadn’t wanted him to be invited and honestly? You couldn’t blame her. But her husband obviously wasn’t going to not invite his best friend.

“He did,” you answered simply, adjusting your dress out of nervous habit.

Natalie put a hand on your shoulder and you pulled your eyes to her. She raised a brows in a silent question of did he take any?

Your silence was answer enough.

Then, as if on cue, Mikey’s booming voice sounded, coming closer as he walked into the room. Richie trailed him, laughing at some ridiculous story Mikey probably came up with.

The entire room seemed to perk up as his energy filled the space. His eyes landed on Tiffany’s round stomach and lit up. He walked over, hands outstretched like he’d never seen a pregnant woman before. “Look at that,” he breathed out in astonishment and Tiffany let out a playful scoff.

You hated what the sight did to you. It put the image of having that with him. A part of you believed that if you could love the addiction out of him, he’d want it to.

But you knew that logically Michael Berzatto could never be a good father. He could barely take care of himself and his appearance was evidence enough.

Then he looked over at you with a glint that told you everything.

He moved over to you, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder and kissing your head. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, his clothes smelling like cigarettes that he tried to drown with cologne. It should’ve made you wrinkle your nose but it was a scent you’d grown to find comfort in.

“You look so fuckin’ good, baby,” he murmured against your hair, a hand sliding over your belly. “Can’t believe you’re my girl.”

You hated how easy it was for him to make you stop being mad at him. Over one simple compliment, too.

As Richie went off on a tangent, Mikey sat down on the love seat, hands automatically reaching for your waist and pulling you back on his lap. He even helped adjust your dress so that it kept you comfortable.

This wasn’t anything new. Not even when he started playing with your hair and pressing his face to your neck, leaving small kisses in his wake.

As the “party” progressed and Tiffany opened her gifts for the baby, Mikey ended up with another beer in his hands.

Halfway through presents, you could feel the alcohol take hold of him. That hand he’d had on your thigh started to wander, gripping like you’d get up and go.

Then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you whispered to him, “I think you’ve had enough.”

His hand stopped. He stiffened.

Your little warning wasn’t even spoken rudely. You’d always kept your tone polite and patient with him. When he got like this, you knew better than to say anything. But he was being inappropriate and at a baby shower of all places.

Surprisingly, he didn’t freak out. Yet.

Afterwards, Richie and Tiffany headed upstairs because she needed a minute to relax. Everyone fell into lively conversation.

You leaned back against Mikey, arms around his neck as you sat there like a princess on her throne. Ever since you arrived you weren’t feeling very social, letting your thoughts drift. His voice was loud in your ear as he told his stories, making it difficult to doze off since he had no regard to how you were currently feeling.

That was until a man named Brad just had to open his mouth. “Yo, Mikey, is she even legal?”

Michael went still beneath you.

Brad had poked the bear.

“Mikey,” you murmured, getting up to stand but he yanked you right back down.

“Of course she’s legal you sick fuck,” Michael snapped, his words just about slurring together. “Pssh, is she legal? Fuck kinda question’s that?”

Brad shrugged, raising his hands in defense. Natalie was already sitting up straighter and you two shared a look that said he needs to leave right now. “Bear,” you tried again. “It’s stuffy in here. I want to go outside,” you said, tugging on his sleeve as if that would break his intoxicated state.

“No, baby,” he dismissed you as if you were merely an inconvenience. “‘F this guy’s got somethin’ to say he can say it to my face.”

Dread crept over you and curled into your chest. This wasn’t about you anymore. It was Michael trying to prove he could have someone like you. His possessive tendencies weren’t too bad outside of his intoxicated state but this?

There was no stopping it.

“Just saying,” Brad said nonchalantly, gesturing towards you. “Any young boy would love to—”

Mikey’s beer can clattered to the floor and he was standing up so quickly you barely had time to find your balance. It happened to fast as the others jumped up, putting themselves in front of Brad.

That’s when Richie came down the stairs, hurrying over and shoving Michael back by his shoulders. But Mikey was livid, intoxicated, and too high to function. With a hard shove, Richie pointed a finger in his chest. You drowned out whatever he was saying, tears stinging your eyes and before Sugar could get to you, Richie grabbed your shoulders.

“Get him home,” Richie said firmly. It was weird since he was usually just as loud and obnoxious as his best friend but not when it came to his wife.

You gave a curt nod but not before he continued, “be careful, okay? You need anything, call.”

Then you were scurrying off after Mikey as he vanished out the front door. He was already lighting a cigarette, pushing a hand through his already messy hair. It made your heart clench.

“Mikey?” You called out weakly.

He looked over at you before scoffing. “I don’t need your shit right now. I was defendin’ you and you go off and treat me like I’m a fuckin’ piece of shit. It’s fucking pathetic, baby.”

You felt your heart sting again. He always knew how to cut straight to the bone.

He took a long drag, the smoke curling into the cold air.

You swallowed down your emotions. “Let me drive us home. It’s cold out here.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t put up a fight.

But the second you got back to the apartment? He was grumbling and finding everything to blame on you.

“This place is a damn dump,” he said, kicking aside a beer can. “Can’t even fuckin’ walk.”

Now you were getting fed up. This was his mess that he made in your space.

“Then clean it up,” you said, kicking the can back to him. His eyes immediately snapped to yours, lacking any warmth you’d seen the other night.

“What’d you say?”

You swallowed hard. “I said, clean. it. up.”

Mikey stepped closer. “And why should I?”

“Because you live here,” you answered, trying not to be intimidated. “You don’t even pay half the rent, Bear. It’s not fair to me.”

“You wanna talk about fair?” He raised his brows before gripping your chin in a tight hold. “I’m a forty year old man who can’t run his family’s restaurant without slacking on bills and I can’t be sober because my head spins and nothing can make it stop unless I’m with you. Even then your body only works for a little while.”

Your heart nearly split in half. You quickly shoved him off which didn’t take much before locking yourself in your bedroom. You knew he’d panic. And you were right.

He banged his fist against the door like a feral animal. “Baby, don’t do this. You know I love you. C’mon on, open the door.”

But you didn’t want to.

You cried into your hands. Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to make it hurt so bad? And why did you keep letting him?

“Baby, please,” he practically whined. “You know I didn’t mean it. I love you. You like… you don’t even know how much. I need you. I need you so bad. And I’m fuckin’ trying, baby. You gotta understand that.”

But that was the thing. You didn’t understand. He carried around that pill bottle like a tin of mints, swallowing one whenever he needed the pain gone. Not you. Just those tiny killers. Otherwise, the only time he was ever truly sober was when he was inside you, whispering things that he would never have the courage to elsewhere.

He was getting impatient now, banging his fists harder. “Open the door! You’re being ridiculous. Damn dramatic, baby.”

You knew he wouldn’t hurt you in that way but he was still not fun to face when he was this intoxicated. Hopefully the cold air sobered him up at least a tiny bit.

But still, you kept crying, messing up your makeup that you had worked so hard on.

Then he went to his last resort.

“Fine,” he said, voice clipped. “Be that way. You want to throw this away? Me away? Then be my fucking guest.”

You felt lightheaded as you heard his heavy footsteps retreat and the sound of his keys jingling. He was going to leave. He needed to go. You knew that. But he was drunk and high and angry and wasn’t thinking straight. This wasn’t the first time he threatened to leave. And it ended the same way every time.

He loved you and when he was sober, he’d come to his senses. Right? Everyone saw it. How much of a mess he was without you.

If he left right now, he’d call you while sobbing from his car, telling you that he messed up and that he couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t in his life anymore. His favorite was telling you that you were it for him. That no one could ever make him feel the way you did. Funny thing was, you believed him. Every single time.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The bedroom door quickly flung open, tears still tracking down your pink cheeks. “Bear,” you said weakly, voice breaking.

This was usually the other way around. Michael would follow you around the apartment like a kicked puppy as you packed a bag. He’d plead with you to stay like he’d never see the light of day again. By the end of it his knees were bruised. But you were already out the door.

Michael was not.

He stood by the door, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a hit. His weary eyes flicked to you. When he saw your shiny cheeks and red eyes, he broke.

“Baby,” it came out half-sob, half-relief as his long strides carried him to your side. You closed your eyes, lashes wet and mascara running. In the past you would’ve been strong enough to push him away. That’s what you’d done to men before. Yet Michael was different. You two fed off each other, going through every difficult emotion to prove the need was still there.

His calloused hand was on your face, using a rough thumb to brush away your tears. He was crying now, too. You could feel the tension in that simple touch alone. One that betrayed how much he was resisting grabbing you and reminding you that he hadn’t really left. That he was trying because he was staying.

“My pretty baby,” he murmured, thumb stroking beneath your eye to collect each salty tear. “You’re so pretty when you cry.” As if to prove his point, his other hand came up to gently brush his digits against your swollen lips. They parted softly on a sharp, wet breath and you could taste the salt on your tongue.

Michael cupped your head, whispering his apologies that were never the words I’m sorry. You accepted them anyway. When your wet eyes opened, he tangled his fingers in your hair and pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead.

Maybe he liked watching you cry. Maybe you liked watching him beg. In your head it didn’t matter. High or not you believed it was real.

Even if your tears were only pretty.