KarinSiri

"Maybe we should get a cat," Trinity says one late morning, after a night shift has run you both ragged. 

"A cat," you repeat. "Why would we get a cat?" 

"We could share custody so it won't get lonely," she continues, "and besides, we've basically destined ourselves to being forever alone with our jobs. Who the hell will understand that?" 

"Other doctors." 

She snorts derisively. "How many ER docs do you know that are happily married? Or shit, even just married?" 

You think about it for a moment, sighing. "Okay, fair." 

"I mean there's Abbot, sure, but..." 

"He's not married," you say before you can stop yourself. "I mean, he was, but..." 

"Is he divorced or something?" 

"Widowed," you admit. "A few years ago." 

"Huh. Well, case in point. Guy's love life is probably as dead as the rest of ours." 

You don't know what to say to that without giving anything away, so you don't. Better to keep your mouth shut than admit you've been in a weird 'will they, won't they' situationship with your attending since your plane landed in Pittsburgh, dooming you to your fate.  

"The attendings all seem to like you," Trinity adds. "Must be that Doctorpedia magic." 

"I just show up and do my best." 

"I'd hate you if you weren't obnoxiously humble," she replies. 

"Oh. Well. Thanks?" 

"Anytime." 

You stifle a yawn. "I can't wait to be back on days. My circadian rhythm is screwed." 

"And just when you think you're settled, boom! Fuck you, here's another flip-flop, intern scum!" 

You groan. "Can I just skip to being an attending?" 

"They'd probably let you and your giant brain get away with it. How are you doing it?" 

"Too much tequila with my neighbor and crying in the shower. I had a panic attack in the ambulance bay the other night," you admit, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. 

"Wait, really?" 

You nod. 

"How come you didn't tell me?" she asks. "Was it after the kids came in? I noticed you took off for a minute, but I figured it was to follow up with the cops or something." 

You did talk to the cops, but that part happened later. After Jack talked you down, both of you gave statements to the police, and you refreshed the chart for the boys' surgical notes obsessively until they were admitted to the PICU for close observation.  

"It was a really shitty trauma," Trinity admits. "God. The whole thing... makes you wonder if you're cut out for this." 

"I definitely rethought double-boarding," you confess, "but then I realized I saved the kid, and maybe he would've died if I hadn't been there--" 

"Probably would've died," she corrects you. "You were by yourself, and it's not like anyone could've helped you." 

You take a second to let the words sink in. In your mind, you're just a regular doctor. Hell, you're barely a doctor. You only just graduated, and you still have so much you barely understand. Jack taught you about medications and dosages just a couple of hours ago, and you might've pushed a less effective drug had he not course-corrected you.  

Mistakes are common, and you've made your fair share, just trying to fit into the Pitt ecosystem without drowning. Just when you feel confident in your abilities, a new trauma comes in or a difficult patient throws you off your game. You adapt, you do what you can, and you try not to embarrass yourself. 

"By the way," Trinity drawls, "I noticed Dr. Abbot's been checking you out." 

You stiffen. "What? No he hasn't!" Your sputtering reply is the least convincing you've ever been, and it doesn't go unnoticed.  

"No shit!" she shrieks. "you're into him!"  

"I am not!" 

"You are! I mean, I knew with that whole dad's friend virginity story there were some daddy issues there, but I didn't realize it was your whole archetype. Fuck, dude, you really are a DILF hunter." 

"Abbot doesn't have kids." 

"How do you know that?" Trinity wiggles her eyebrows, and you wish you could melt into your couch, which suddenly seems very interesting.  

You suck in a breath. "Okay, if I tell you this, it cannot leave this room." 

Her nose scrunches, like you've just said the sky is blue or something else that's incredibly obvious. "Sure." 

"No, I mean it," you insist. "No one at the hospital can find out. This is between us, strictly." 

"Cross my heart," she says, a bit more serious.  

"Jack cannot find out that I told you," you warn, face hot, voice growing a little more shrill as it sharpens. 

"Oh, so it's Jack now?" She teases, then grows more serious. "I got you, babe. Top secret, no hospital gossip." 

You smooth your clammy hands over your scrub pants, bracing yourself before blurting in a single breath, "Jackismydad'sfriendandwe'veknowneachotherforyears." 

The words register. Trinity's eyebrows shoot up, and as the math starts to add up, she gasps. "No fucking way." 

You nod. 

"No fucking way!" she yells. "He's the guy?" 

You don't reply, which is a confession in itself.  

"Tell me everything. When did you meet, when did it start, are you still fucking on the side—" 

"Trinity, Jesus!" Your embarrassment disappears as the confession starts pouring out of you. For years, you've sat on the story, every moment of that summer, how you fell for him, how you think, maybe, he fell for you too. You tell her about the hike, and your ankle, and the grief you shared under the stars. You tell her everything you kept inside of you because you didn't have anyone to share it with.

You do shape up the end of the story, just for the sake of your reputation and Jack's wellbeing. Trinity can be a pitbull for the people she cares about, and if you tell her he took off on you without another word, leaving you naked and alone, she might storm into the hospital for the night shift and beat him to death with his own prosthetic leg.

By the time you're done, you didn't realize how much you'd been carrying, how you'd been dying to talk about it, like a sky holding rain for too long until the clouds split open. She listens without judgment, just letting you speak. 

"Does anyone else know?" she asks when you're finished.

You shake your head. "He and my dad go way back. They're war buddies. I never wanted to ruin their friendship, and my dad and I weren't close until my mom died. I don't want to lose my dad, not when we're finally good, and Jack... Jack's a good guy. A good friend. We didn't mean for it to happen." 

"Oh shit," she mutters, "you've got it bad." 

"It's complicated." 

"See, now it's starting to make sense," she admits. "The yearning looks, the way he touches you when he's walking you through a procedure. It's like you're magnetized and he orbits you or something." 

"Is it that obvious?" You grimace. 

"Not really," she answers. "But I think I get it now." 

"Get what?" 

"Why you don't seem interested in anyone else. I hope for your sake it works out, because I'd hate for you to get hurt." 

But that's life, isn't it? You're always a second away from getting hurt, always risking your heart when you start to fall for somebody.

But is it really a start, or a continuation? Are you falling, or have you?

God, I'm a goner, you realize. "And getting involved with an attending is a catastrophically bad idea." 

"The worst," Trinity agrees. "But at least you're aware of it." 

You groan. 

"Could be worse," she adds. 

"How could it possibly be worse?" 

"He's just as down bad for you as you are for him," she replies. "Maybe you'll get a happy ending after all." A beat, then, "Or maybe it'll crash and burn." 

"Gee, thanks, T," you deadpan. 

"Either way, your secret is safe with me." She gestures toward her mouth, miming zipping her lips and tossing the key.  

"Thanks for listening to me. I haven't really been able to talk to anyone about it. Ever. I don't have many friends." 

She squeezes your hand. "Me neither. I'm glad I have you." She clears her throat, armor back in place. "Now I'm gonna go the fuck to bed, before we start crying or something." 

You burst out laughing. "Good night?" 

"See you in seven hours for carpooling," she says, kicking the front door shut behind her.  

All things considered, you sleep surprisingly well. By the time your alarm goes off, you're sluggish, but prepared for another shift. You do your yoga stretches, reciting bones and procedures, dress for the day, pull your hair back, and then make coffee for both of you. As much as you prefer the day shift for the sake of your body's sleep patterns, you'll miss nights. You'll miss Jack.

But of course, if it crashes and burns, it’ll be easier to put distance between you on opposite shifts until the wound closes. Then again, you thought you were healed, but loving Jack is proving to be an easy thing to do. A hill to die on. Whether you like it or not, he's been written into your story, and you can't seem to shake him.

Walking into the Pitt after confessing it all to Trinity is surprisingly easy. You feel better, just because you spilled your guts. Funny how that works.

The Day Shift looks absolutely awful during hand-offs. Collins, who normally is as cool as a cucumber, looks like she wants to strangle Robby, Langdon looks exhausted and keeps wincing like he's in pain, and Mohan can barely muster a smile with teeth. The beds are full, the hallways are packed, and a psych patient they call the Kraken is restrained and drugged with enough haldol to kill an elephant.

"We got a trauma rolling in," Jack calls out as he drops his backpack in Central. "Shen, you and Doctorpedia prep Trauma One, bring Santos with you. Ellis, you're covering triage. Henderson, with me in Two. Let's move, ETA in three."

The first patient comes through in two and a half minutes. He's a frat boy, his vitals unstable, screaming in agony. The moment the blanket is removed, you understand why.

"Nico Harris, twenty-one, brief LOC at the scene. Unstable pelvic fracture, probable hip dislocation, open tib-fib displacement with penetrating—"

"Holy fuck," Trinity hisses at the sight of his bone sticking out of his right leg.

Nico wails.

The paramedic continues to rattle off more information about his injuries, but you're too busy trying to calm him down in a soothing tone. "Nico, Nico, hey, we're gonna take care of you, okay? Wanna tell me how this happened?"

"Jumped into a pool," he stammers out. "M-Missed."

"Okay, okay."

"It's a bit early for frat rushing," Trinity points out.

You shrug. "Doesn't matter now."

Shen nudges you with his shoulder. "Want to run this, DP?"

You pause. "Me?"

"As opposed to who?" Shen teases. "Look, I'm right here. What do we do first?"

You steel yourself, clearing your throat as you step into your gown and snap your gloves into place. "Pain management first, then the ABCs. Gotta get him sedated for the dislocation and put that bone back into place before it cuts off his circulation."

Shen nods, pleased.

A trauma room in the Pitt is like an orchestral chamber. Every instrument is lined up to play harmoniously, and one missed note can change the trajectory of the outcome in a second. Everyone has to play in careful time, and even if you've been in dozens of traumas before, none of them are the same, and anything could change in a second, even under the best of circumstances. 

You get to work. High-flow oxygen first, after the pain meds are pushed through the IV. You have him on a non-rebreather mask, flooding his system, before moving into checking pulses. As expected, his pedal pulse isn't registering, which means the bone's displacement is cutting off his circulation. Shen watches as you and Trinity hold his leg, immobilize the wound, and snap it back into place. 

"There's the pulse," Trinity announces, once the splintered bone is back beneath the skin. 

"Let's get the hip stabilized for a closed reduction and ultrasound on board so we can check for free fluid in the abdomen, make sure he hasn't lacerated his liver or spleen," Shen adds, stepping behind you. Together, you pop the hip back into place with Trinity providing counter-traction. 

"Perfect, nice and steady," Shen says. "That's it. Fantastic work!"

Theoretically, this is the part where things slow down, and the patient is stable and moved upstairs for emergency surgery under the watchful eye of an orthopedic surgeon. They paged Park the Shark the moment the call came in over the radio, but he hasn't shown up yet. 

"Page Park again," Shen orders the nurses. "Hell's he doin'? Sitting with his thumbs up his ass?" He shakes his head. 

One of the other night shift med students pokes her head into the room. "We need an attending in Curtain Four."

Shen snaps off his gloves. "You got this? Give me five."

He's gone on a brisk jog over to the Curtain area, leaving you alone. You and Trinity set vigil at Nico's bedside, monitoring him closely. While most of his immediate injuries have been addressed, the ultrasound shows he might need exploratory surgery at the very least, not to mention several pins in his legs.

"CK is elevated," one of the nurses reports as the monitor kicks up. His heart is beating too fast, and his BP indicates severe pain, even though he's unconscious. All the signs are there, and you reach the conclusion before you're even conscious of it. It's his other leg, the left one, with a non-open fracture, which has quickly turned into something worse internally.  

"Compartment syndrome," you realize. "Let's push fluids first, find Shen, tell him he turned. Aggressive IV fluids to maintain perfusion, I need all bandages removed and the leg raised to heart level."

You're surprised when everyone starts moving under your orders. Then again, when a patient is in distress, the right move is following the doctor while waiting for a more senior physician to take over. You wish Jack were here, but since he's not, you have to improvise.

Think, you tell yourself. Think.

"No change on the monitor. He's crashing. Scalpel!"

Trinity's eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"We need to reduce the pressure before he codes," you reply, hand shaking ever so slightly as you palpate his thigh, identifying where the pressure has started to build. Then, you make the incision. Sure enough, as blood and fluid spill onto the table, the fascia snaps open, and the muscle bulges like it's being squeezed. For a moment, the monitor spikes, and then stabilizes.

In the doorway, Shen claps slowly. "Amazing job, Doctorpedia!" 

Trinity grins. "Told you it would catch on."

Shen approaches the table, inspecting your work. "Looks like a second incision isn't necessary. Park's on his way… Speak of the devil—"

Park the Shark bursts into the trauma room, scanning over the space with a grunt. "The hell did you do in here?"

"Saved your patient," Trinity deadpans.

"Control your intern, Shen," Park spits. "I don't need this shit."

"Sorry you had to come do your job," Shen says, with mock sincerity. "Get him upstairs. Doctorpedia will walk with you, give you the rundown on her amazing save," he adds, nodding his head toward the door.

You, Park, and the transport team wheel him up to the elevator. While standing closely beside Nico, you fill the surgeons in on the details of the case, specifically all the orthopedic concerns leading up to the compartment syndrome. By the time you're on the surgical floor, Park seems a bit less annoyed, which you'll consider a win. At least he doesn't look like he wants to rip your head off. They say all surgeons are sharks, anyhow, but he definitely has that look about him. 

You're riding the high of the good outcome the whole way down to the Pitt again, a bit of a bounce in your step. Once you get to Central, Shen wraps an arm around you and steers you straight to Jack to present.

“My girl was a legend in there!” Shen exclaims, his hand on your shoulder as he beams proudly. “You weren’t kidding around, Abbot. She’s something.”

My girl hits the ground and lands hard, like an atomic bomb, seconds from the blast breaking the sound barrier. Jack stiffens, bracing himself, and his jaw clenches so hard a muscle ticks beneath stubbled skin. He nods once. 

Shen prattles on about the trauma, how you set the open displaced fracture and performed a perfect fasciotomy that saved your patient from vitamin K build-up and eliminated his compartment syndrome. It was an objectively fantastic save.

But none of that matters, because Jack is looking at you, his features hard, mouth curled into a frown, and you’re aware, suddenly, that everything has changed.

Because sure, you’ve come to terms with the fact your mind has started to think of Jack as yours.

You just didn’t realize he’s claimed you as his, too.

"I'm going to DoorDash some emergency Dunkin, since it's a full house and a long night," Shen announces. "What do you want, DP?"

"Oh, I don't need—"

"On me," he says. "Or rather, on Abbot; his card is on the app."

Jack scowls. "You're lucky I need another attending. Otherwise, I'd push you in front of an ambulance."

"He's kidding," Shen assures you.

You're not so certain. Still, you order an iced latte, and another for Trinity too, who preens as Shen praises her performance as well. Before long, you're back in the thick of it, trying to clear the board as quickly as possible. For the next several hours of your shift, everything is a blur of stimuli and chaos, all before crashing to a halt.

You're charting at Central, the ward suddenly so quiet a pin could drop.

Trinity yawns, her coffee already wearing off. "Jesus, it's qui—"

Ellis clamps a hand over her mouth. "Nope!"

Trinity widens her eyes, pushing Ellis's arm off of her. "Jesus, what the fuck!"

"We don't use the Q word," Ellis warns, deadly serious. "It's like saying Macbeth in a theatre, okay? Dangerous. Don't do it."

"Oookay," Trinity remarks. "It's dead then."

"Hopefully it stays that way; I have charts to finish," you remark. You've been trying your best to stay on top of them, but it seems like every time you're caught up, there's another mountain of paperwork to comb through and labs to run and scans to analyze. It's exhausting, just trying to handle it all. It doesn't help that you're so aware of Jack—every room he steps out of, every look he casts across the room. 

"Hey, hey, last night shift for you two!" Shen exclaims, dropping one of the tablets in the rack to discharge a patient. "You coming to Ellis's birthday bash next weekend?"

"Birthday?" Trinity asks.

"Karaoke and shots, baby!" Shen exclaims, flopping into one of the swivel chairs. "Ellis spits bars."

"And you can't sing for shit," Ellis retorts. "But you guys should come, yeah?" You don't miss the way her eyes linger on Trinity, or the blush that spreads to the apples of your best friend's cheeks. You'll definitely tease her about it later.

"I do like karaoke," Trinity admits. 

"I like excuses to drink," you mumble.

Trinity grins. "That's my girl!"

"Hey, Doctorpedia!" Jack calls. "Need you in Exam Three for a consult."

"I thought we moved Exam Three," Ellis says with a frown.

You shrug. "Guess we didn't," you reply. You log off of the computer, your badge snapping back into place on the reel as you walk over. The door closes behind you, and Jack draws the curtain.

But the bed is empty.

"What's going on?" you ask. "If it's about my charts, I haven't had a chance to proofread them. I wanted to write all of them out first, then double-check."

"Your charts are perfect," he says, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "That's not what I brought you in here for."

You frown, tilting your head. "I don't understand—"

"You and Shen seem friendly," he bites out.

"Uh, yeah?" You shrug. "We had coffee, and we worked through some procedures. Am I doing okay?"

"You seem really friendly," Jack quips. "You should know better than to flirt with your attendings."

You bristle. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

You scoff, pushing a hand through your hair. "Oh my god, I was not flirting with him. That would be inappropriate and unprofessional, and he's just friendly. That's just who he is. I'm all clear on workplace fraternizing, or what the fuck ever."

"He checked you out."

"He was watching me suture!" you exclaim. "God, Jack, are you serious right now?" The realization hits you slowly. "You're jealous."

"I am not," he seethes.

"You are!" You point at him accusatorily, feeling a bit like a schoolmarm wiggling your finger. "You're fucking jealous!"

"I have nothing to be jealous about. I'm a forty-six-year-old man."

You snort. "Come on, Jack, just admit it. You're jealous because you think I'm running around here throwing myself at attendings and you're too emotionally constipated to admit it's because you—"

He kisses you.

Hard.

The moment Jack's mouth meets yours, the world falls away at your feet. Whatever insults and accusations you were going to hurl at him die on your tongue, because he's tasting it, his slipping into your mouth as he groans like he's relieved. He fists your scrubs in one hand, pulling you onto the tips of your toes, and with the other, he threads his fingers in your hair and tilts your head back, ravaging your mouth.

The kiss at the Pirates game had sparks, yes, but this? This is a wildfire.

He pushes you against the wall, and you whimper as his mouth presses beneath your ear, suckling gently as he nips down your throat. "You're everything, baby," he grunts. "My fucking girl. My genius."

He kisses you again, deftly untying your scrub pants.

"Jack," you plead. You're not sure if you're gonna push him away or beg him for more. It doesn't matter that you're at work, in a room that doesn't lock, with just two doors and a curtain keeping you out of sight. 

"Gonna remind you," he tells you. "Gonna remind you who you belong to."

Under most circumstances, you'd tell him off for being a possessive caveman, because you were raised by a grunge, man-hating feminist. You've never needed a guy, let alone tolerated one acting like he's got a claim on you, but Jack is sliding a hand down the curve of your stomach, and you can't form words.

"Keep it down, sweetheart," he chides you. "Can't let anyone hear what I'm doing to you."

He cups your wet pussy through the fabric of your panties, and you squirm into his touch, shuddering.

"You're soaked," he whispers. "All that for me?"

You nod.

"I'm gonna fuck you again," he decides. "Not here, but I will. Christ, what you do to me." His cock, stiff under his scrub pants, presses into your stomach as he kisses your neck again, his fingers shoving the fabric of your panties aside to trace your wet folds.

You moan softly, and he muffles the sound with his other hand. 

"Be good," he tells you.

You nod again, frantic.

His fingers trace your clit, rubbing slow circles over the bud. You're swollen already, all of your nerves set ablaze, your pulse thrumming with the sound of his name, over and over.

Jack, Jack, Jack.

One meaty digit parts your seam, the tip of his finger dipping inside your pussy, and you cry out loudly against the palm of his hand. He just chuckles before sliding it inside you fully, hooking just enough to touch that sweet spot inside of you that makes your head feel fuzzy. Then, just when you're aching for more, he answers you with another finger inside your cunt, curling them just right as his thumb rubs slow circles on your clit.

"You feel so good. Just as beautiful as I remember," he whispers in your ear. "I'm so sorry, baby. Don't know why I ever gave this up. You're so good. So perfect. Fuck, that's it. Squeeze my fingers. Yeah. Yeah."

Your hips have started to rock against his hand, your muscles tightening as you get closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss. He keeps that steady tempo on your clit, just pressing down enough as he works his fingers inside you and fucks you with them. Just as your orgasm starts to crash over you, he scissors them, and you shatter into a thousand pieces.

You might black out for a second, as pleasure washes over you. He keeps talking you through it, muttering sweet nothings and praises into your ear until you come down. Then, he slowly withdraws his fingers from the soaked fabric of your panties and lifts them to his mouth for a greedy, generous suck. 

You take a second to recover, straightening your clothes and hair like you didn't just have the most intense five minutes of your life. When Jack kisses you again, it's slow, sweet, like everything has changed. 

And then his pager goes off, and he's gone.

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THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE!!! Whether you’re a tumblr or an ao3 reader, I see you, I love you, etc !! I’m always posting more Crash Course content on TikTok [at] fxckingjo_ and Instagram [at] jofayewrites so follow me there ;)

how are we feeling, gang? what do we think is coming next? i cannot wait, personally.

YEAR FOUR

DAY ONE

Turning twenty-five turns out to be a more weighty milestone than you could have ever anticipated. Usually, birthdays are a low point for you. Another year gone, a temporal marker for you to measure yourself against, to tally up all the things you still haven't managed to achieve. But something about this one feels like a turning point.

According to science, your brain is now fully developed...you think (you'd never been much of a S.T.E.M. gal, but you'd heard it said enough times by smart enough sounding people to accept it as fact), and while you don't quite feel like you've completely matured, you know you're not the same girl you were on that fateful trip all those years ago.

The past year has been full of growing pains, the kind you'd thought you'd be over by now. You moved across the country to New York City, and started an in-house job for a new fashion brand that makes your last job feel like state sanctioned torture. Got your very own studio apartment, lived one hundred percent on your own for the first time without any nosy parents or EDM obsessed roommates cramping your space. Finally took yourself off your family's insurance. Picked up a dog from the very overcrowded shelter you swore you were only coming to volunteer at - a slobbery, ten year old lab who came pre-named (whose name has somehow evolved from Roxy, to Rocks, to Shittin' Rocks, to Poo). You've even made new friends, something that seemed impossible when you stepped out of the gates at JFK in September of last year. 

And for the first time, when you arrive in Lihue for your summer trip, you are able to get your very own rental car. 

You are aware that you probably seem more than a little insane when you squeal upon accepting the keys from the glassy eyed woman working the counter at the rental place, but you can't find it in you to care. Not about that, or the fact that the car you receive is a decade old minivan, or the fact that the company has not even made a half-assed attempt to scrub off the thick layer of mud coating the fender, or the thick cloud of humid, tobacco scented air that hits you in the face when you force open the door. All that matters is that for the next seven days, it's yours. 

All yours. Like a real fucking adult.

You are practically bouncing off the walls by the time your dad gets the text from Jack that their flight landed, and you're quick to offer to pick him and Florence up from the airport. 

Driving down the highway, you feel as if you are rediscovering the island. Your first trip was a dream - then a nightmare, and your second was somehow even worse. Last year was the first time you really enjoyed yourself. But this year...

Something's different. You can feel it.

You are a grown fucking woman. Confident, in total control of yourself thanks to your longstanding sobriety (coming on two years at this point) and the new diet/fitness regimen Malcolm forced you onto a few months ago. You've clawed your way up from rock bottom and learned to find peace in...well, peace, leaning into the good that's in your life with open arms.  

The next seven days are full of pure possibility.

The part of you that likes to dim any and all hope with reminders of reality is far less talkative than usual, and it finally doesn't feel totally delusional to let yourself dream.

Dream that, maybe, this will be the summer Jack will finally see you. That all of the growth you've experienced this year will convince him that you're not some kid anymore. That, if you tell him about your feelings (which you've long since come to accept), he might not run away. 

The thought makes you feel wonderfully dizzy. 

As if the weather itself is catching onto your good mood, an actual, honest to god rainbow shimmers outside your window, arcing above the highway from the mountains into the water to your left. 

It feels like a good omen. The first you've had in a long time. 

You snag a spot on the curb outside of their gate and send a quick text to Jack letting him know you're there. Bubbles percolate at the bottom of the screen, then disappear, and he gives your message a simple thumbs up. 

With nothing to do for God knows how long, you decide to FaceTime Malcolm since it's just after two in California - which probably means that he's awake (although you can never quite guarantee that, no matter the time of day). He's rubbing his eyes fairly aggressively when he picks up, and you catch the flannel blue pattern of his sheets beneath his head. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

He waves a hand. "No, no, just having a wank before this date tonight."

You wrinkle your nose. "Did not need to know that."

"Don't judge my pre-date rituals, it's the only thing that keeps me from puttin' out. So, today's the big day is it?"

Your cheeks immediately heat, and it's a testament to the quality of the camera on your new phone when Malcolm teases you for blushing. 

"As your best friend, it's my duty to warn you that you should probably should let Jack shower off the airplane stink before you beg him to make sweet, sweet love to you."

You groan. It had been a mistake telling Malcolm that you've been celibate for two years. Before Jack, you had been a casual, no strings attached kind of girl. You'd even convinced yourself that you liked it. Treated sex like going to the gym, something to get over with, and would reward yourself with soggy McDonald's fries and midnight McFlurries after your hookups inevitably kicked you out like a bad houseguest. 

You liked sex - had had plenty of good sex - but something about it always made you oddly panicky. In all other areas of your life, you were prized for your brain (and occasionally for your sparkling personality), but it was as if as soon as a guy got your top off, you became just a body to be claimed and filled. Before your sobriety, it had been a ritual for you to have a glass of wine (or three) before you finally felt comfortable kissing someone. Recently, you came to the somewhat obvious realization that it didn't have to be that way. 

The next time you have sex, you want it to feel like making love.

There's a part of you that groans at that phrasing. Like it's a sign that you've gone soft, all those rom-coms Jack forced you to add to your watch list turning you sappy and swoony. But this year, you've come to accept that there's nothing wrong with being soft - with you being soft - especially with the people who make you feel safe.

One of whom is, undeniably, Jack Abbot.  

You no longer want Jack to take you up against a wall, or on the beach, or in the mud, or any of the many, many ways you've fantasized about fucking him since that first year. This time, you want to be with him in his bed. No candles or anything as dramatic as that. Just...him. His voice, telling you that you're beautiful. His hands stroking your cheek. His eyes never leaving yours. When it's over, you want to fall asleep in his arms to the simple melody of his breathing. 

Okay, you are definitely turning sappy. 

"I still have no idea how I'm going to tell him how I feel," you confess, nibbling on your thumbnail.

"Well, you know that he's attracted to you. You know that he likes spending time with you, even more than me, which is saying something. That he cares about you. Doesn't seem like such a far leap from that to love."

He has a point. It hadn't been a far leap for you. 

"My family's going to freak."

Malcolm rolls his eyes. "Well you don't need to go bringing them into your business this early. I firmly believe family is the killer of romance. My advice is to wait to tell them until after you've already married 'im."

You snort. "That might be a little difficult."

It's a miracle you've been able to keep what happened that first summer a secret for so long. You can't imagine trying to keep a full blown relationship with Jack a secret from your parents, especially on one of these trips. Lucy would probably sniff out his cologne on your clothes like a blood hound. 

"Stop overthinking and go get your man."

You lift your eyes from your phone and spot a familiar pair of silhouettes behind the sliding glass doors of the terminal. 

To say that your stomach fills with butterflies is an inadequate description of your current state. None of the usual cliches will do it. The closest analogy you can think of is a moment during your flight when the turbulence got bad and the plane dipped suddenly, making you feel totally weightless and exhilarated for a few seconds before the plane stabilized.

Total fuckin' free fall.

"You're right." You steel yourself with a deep breath. "I can do this."

"That's my girl."

You hang up. Check your reflection in the rear view mirror and are pleased to discover you actually look pretty good. The humidity hasn't turned your hair into the usual poof ball it reverts to on this island, and instead it falls over your shoulders in perfect beach waves. You reapply your lipgloss and give yourself a final appraisal before opening your door. 

The first thing that you notice is the Hawaiian shirt Jack's wearing, a different one than last year but just as capable of bringing a smile to your face.

The second is the woman clutching his arm. 

In Jack's defense, it seemed like the only option at the time. 

Last summer, he had been reckless. Maybe even more so than that first year. Spending so much time alone with you - Jesus, it was only a matter of time before someone said something. 

And it was a stroke of unbelievable bad luck that that person happened to be his daughter. 

"What happened last night?"

Florence's hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee, and she directed the question to her mug rather than to him. In his sleep addled state, Jack was playing catchup, brain struggling to form a rational explanation for why his daughter just discovered him curled up in the bathtub of their suite with the twenty-four year old daughter of his best friend. 

"Nothing, sweetheart." 

Wrong fuckin' answer. Florence's pale eyes hit him full force with a petrifying glare.

"You said you were going to start telling me things."

"I - fuck."

Usually, when he slipped up and cursed around her, it made her smile. That day, her lips remained pressed in the straightest of lines. 

"It's the Fourth," he finally confessed. "It's a difficult day for me. Your mom used to help me through it, and after she passed I got through it by working. Last night, I was in a bad state. She found me, made sure I was alright. My back was bugging me, and I couldn't get out of that stupid fucking tub, and she offered to keep me company. We watched a couple movies, and I guess fell asleep."

"You're...friends?"

His daughter was not an idiot - far from it, would probably end up at a much better college than the one he'd managed to trick into accepting him. But what was he supposed to say? That the two of you had been intimate, and toeing a strange line between platonic and something else for the past two years?

"Yes." Jack scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in examining his own cup of coffee. "We talk. Have since last year."

There's something not quite satisfied in Florence's expression, jaw still tight, eyes narrowed. 

"You could have called me."

"I know."

Jack let out a sigh, head falling into his hands. 

He felt Florence's weight at his back, then her thin arms wrapping around his chest. Her chin nestled into the groove of his shoulder. 

In that moment, Jack knew something had to change. He was so fucking tired of being in that situation. A grown man, nearly fifty fuckin' years old, being comforted by a fourteen year old. 

He increased his weekly therapy sessions, got on new meds.

Put distance between the two of you. Slight, at first. Eventually, he stopped calling, and would only pick up half the time when you did. Thankfully, you didn't seem to notice the change. You were busy, he knew that. Had your own life to live - a life that was only just beginning. It was good for both of you, he told himself, to get a little space. 

Not just because what happened that night couldn't happen again, but because that night was emblematic of a much larger problem. Jack's relationship with you was bordering on dependency. You filled the same cracks in his life as the shelf of medications he'd been prescribed over the years. Even though you likely didn't understand the extent of his reliance on you, from the moment that he recognized it, guilt tore through him every time he thought of you. 

So when Jack was having trouble sleeping, when he needed relief, he didn't call you. He handled his shit on his own - which, he will admit, is the total opposite of what he'd promised Florence - but it was necessary. It was time for him to act like the grown man that he was. 

He did take one piece of her advice. 

I think it would be good for you to have someone. 

Because, Jack discovered, guilt was a powerful tool. And if he was in a relationship, it was just one more reason to feel guilty for thinking of you. 

It certainly doesn't help that she's so fucking beautiful. You've come to appreciate your own looks over the years, and you are well aware that you are pretty - sexy, even, in certain contexts. But the woman standing in front of you is beautiful in a way that you could never replicate. She looks like the grown ups in the movies you used to watch as a kid, the women whom you hoped to emulate as an adult. Put together, confident in a way that runs too deep to be artificial.

Her hair is tied in a perfectly messy bun with a tasteful few pieces pulled out to frame her heart shaped face, and the matching cotton set she's wearing makes her look like an undercover celebrity. You briefly wonder if she is a celebrity, given the good looks, but you don't recognize her from anything. 

"Hi! I'm April," the woman says with a brilliant grin that looks torn straight out of a Victoria's Secret catalog. "And you must be the famous Lucy! I've heard so much about you." 

Your lips part, and you blink at her for a few seconds, eyes darting from her outstretched hand to Jack's face, which reveals...nothing. A brick fucking wall. You can almost feel it being physically erected between you, the distance he so clearly intends to conjure in the uncharacteristic blankness of his stare.  

"Uh - no, not Lucy," you say with a polite smile before shaking her hand and introducing yourself.

"Oh gosh, sorry about that." April laughs nervously, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "That does make me feel a better, though. I was a bit nervous at the prospect of being driven around by a sixteen year old."

"No, I'm the other daughter. A bit less famous, but a fan favorite I hope."

You have to fight to keep yourself from wincing at your own joke. April, at least, gives a polite laugh (even if it is a bit clipped). Jack doesn't so much as smile. 

"Can you pop the back?" Florence asks, and the surge of gratitude you feel for the interruption is so great you could kiss her. 

You help her with the bags. Jack, who usually takes charge of this part, hangs back, saying something to April that you can't quite hear. When he leans in to give her cheek a quick peck, your stomach turns inside out. 

You already have your dad rock playlist cued up for Jack, and you cringe when a Springsteen song automatically starts to blare through the tinny speakers when you start the car. 

"Oh my god, I love this song," April says as she slides into the passenger seat. 

You'd hoped that Jack would sit there, that maybe it would give the two of you a chance to actually talk. Instead, you're forced to watch as April flashes him a grin in the rearview mirror, and there's something about the knowing quirk of her brows that feels so intimate, a dynamic that is completely lived in. It makes you feel like the cab driver in a romcom - you know, the one who mumbles some grumpy line from the front seat while the two leads look lovingly into each other's eyes in the back, totally in their own world. 

It is totally, and completely, sickening.

And more than a little petty when you decide to put on a playlist Malcolm has entitled Songs to Cry to in the Shower just to kill the mood.

Jack has never had trouble with confrontation. On the ER floor, he's quick to handle unruly patients, and hits his residents with sharp but informative reprimands when they slip up (although he's proud to say these incidents are few and far between). He's one of only two people (the other being Dana) capable of handling Robby when he's spiraling, something that seems to be happening more and more these days. And on the rare occasion that Florence needs to be disciplined, he's able to lay down the law, even if he does need to call his mother for reassurance that he's done the right thing when she storms off to her room. 

He has no idea why he didn't tell you about April before this trip - although, that's not exactly true. But to acknowledge the reason for his anxiety about this disclosure would be to acknowledge the strange space his relationship with you has come to occupy, and he is determined not to think about that if he can help it. 

Now, he can fully grasp the gravity of his omission. It's evident every time you glance at him in the rear view mirror. Quick - calculated, he's sure, so that he won't notice, but unfortunately for you his line of work requires exceptional peripheral vision. 

Of all the things Jack has to feel guilty about, he should not feel guilty about bringing his girlfriend on vacation. It's one of the most normal things he's done in years. His therapist had even offered him a relieved little smile when he'd told her about it, as if she could finally take him off of her running list of potential 5150's.  

And April is undeniably good for him. Always urging him to cover less shifts, forcing him to switch his ringer off during his nights off for the first time in a decade. Helping him to develop a semi-healthy work/life balance for the first time in years, holding his hand as he learns to lay down his arms with an easy, encouraging smile.

Sure, she doesn't know that during the nights she stays over he'll occasionally slip out of bed after she falls asleep and sit in his garage for hours listening to his police scanner while he checks and reorganizes his go-bag. And yes, she doesn't know that on some of the days that he tells her he's working he's actually volunteering with S.W.A.T.

But total honesty takes time to earn. It took him years to fully open up to Robby, his therapist, even Marisol. Eventually, he will tell her. 

He will someday find a way to tell the woman he's slept beside for months the things he confessed to a stranger on a cliffside all those years ago. He's sure of it.

Jack doesn't meet your eyes, not during the drive, nor the long walk from the parking lot of the hotel to his unit. You can't seem to keep your own eyes off of him - which feels like a lingering symptom of the masochistic tendencies you've been trying so hard to get over, especially as you watch him sidle up to April as she takes in the view from the window, wrapping his hands around her waist. You don't even say anything - just Irish goodbye and slip out the door, racing back to your suite before your legs collapse beneath you. 

For the longest time, you sit on the floor of your room, knees hugged against your chest, trying your very best not to hyperventilate. You can hear the high pitched screech of Lucy and Florence's reunion, then a heavy thud which you guess is Lucy probably knocking something over again. Her growth spurt this year has made her extremely clumsy, which you cannot call attention to without her storming off. 

All that you want to do is call Malcolm and tell him everything, but you can't seem to conjure the energy to lift your phone, and you're certain that the very thin walls of your unit would reveal your dilemma to your entire family no matter how quiet you try to be. 

The worst part is that you're aware of how silly this entire situation is. You are having a panic attack after finding out that your crush - your father's best friend, a man more than two decades your senior, who has quite literally known you since you were in diapers - is dating a beautiful woman who clearly makes him happy.

Jack is your friend - at least, you thought he was. You should be thrilled for him.

But why didn't he tell you?

That is the part that stings the most. Because not only does this development mean that Jack is in love with someone else, it means that the friendship that has sustained you for two years wasn't as strong as you thought. You feel like a stupid little girl - the very thing, you realize, that Jack has probably thought you were all along. 

And that's what makes you get up off the floor, wipe the clumps of mascara from beneath your eyes, and put on a goddamn smile. 

By the time you have worked up the courage to leave your room, the shadows have grown long, and you discover that your parents have already changed for dinner. By the time that you've showered the eleven hour plane ride off of you and changed into one of the new dresses you purchased for the trip (a dress, you recall with a pang, you'd thought Jack would like), everyone is already gathered in the hotel restaurant, steaming plates of food sitting in front of them. 

"We weren't sure what you wanted," your father says as you take the only empty seat - which is, unfortunately, between your mother and April. 

"It's okay, I'm not hungry," you lie. 

"You can have some of mine," April offers, sliding her kale salad toward you. "I had one too many Biscoffs on the plane."

"Thanks."

Her friendly smile makes you feel even shittier, but you force yourself to take a few small bites to be polite. Jack is seated on her other side, glaring at a plate of fish and chips that looks mostly untouched. It takes a great deal of effort not to stare at him, psychoanalyzing every twitch of his jaw. 

"So, I've been meaning to ask," April begins, setting her fork down. "What does the itinerary for this trip usually look like?"

Your parents look at each other. 

"Usually we just go with the flow," your mom confesses. 

April seems particularly excited by this answer, brightening a little. 

"Okay, great! I just have a few things that I thought we could try, but I didn't want to interrupt the way you usually do things."

"That would be lovely," Nani says, although her eyes are pinched a little. 

"Better than a bunch of old farts shooting the shit," Koa jokes, and his wife prods his arm.

"Well, I'm looking forward to hearing some old army stories. Jack here never tells me anything."

April's words are light, but you can sense something sharper concealed by the forced breeziness in her tone, a tack hidden beneath silk sheets. You force yourself to take another bite of salad to distract yourself from thinking too deeply about it. 

Soon, she begins interrogating Koa about the island, and he seems more than happy to have a willing ear to opine to. As they talk, your mother leans into you.

"Did you know that he was bringing her?" she whispers.

You shake your head. "No. I didn't."

Her lips sink into a frown. You're grateful to have at least one person as put off by April's presence as you are, but the concern in your mother's stare as she watches you makes you uneasy. You turn away, facing the horizon, and watch the sun slip beneath the sea. 

You know that Jack won't be at the cliffside that night, but you head there anyway. Pick at a bag of chips as you gaze up at the stars until temperature finally plunges enough to make you shiver and you head back to your room, determined not to cry yourself to sleep.

DAY TWO

The next morning, you sneak out to your car under the guise of going for a coffee run and finally call Malcolm. Of course, you forget that it's barely five a.m. in California and thus wake him many, many hours before he usually gets up, but when you tell him what's happened he immediately sits up in bed, totally alert. 

"She sounds awful," he says after you finally get through telling him all about April.

"She's not. She's actually...nice."

It hurts a little to admit.

"Babes, it's me. You can tell me that you hate the bitch and want to burn her house down and I'll get the gasoline."

"I don't hate her!" You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I'm trying not to hate her. I don't want to be one of those women that villainizes the wife."

"Need I remind you that you are not the other woman, and she is not his wife. Not yet, anyway."

"Somehow that makes me feel worse."

"It should make you feel better! He's only known the woman a few months. You've known him for years. The only advantage she has is that she's shagging him on the reg."

God, just the thought of that has your dinner threatening to come back up. 

You know that you have two options. You can be an immature, desperate girl and try to win him back. Put on your lowest cut dresses, flirt, fight for your man.

Or, you can be an adult. Accept defeat. Allow Jack to be happy. 

It's no question. Because no matter how many times he hurts you, you love Jack Abbot. And he deserves this. A woman like April to love, who will be good for him, give him the steadiness and easy support he needs after everything he's been through.

You know deep down that he deserves so much more than you can offer him. 

"I just wish that he would talk to me," you confess. 

"So figure out a way to get him alone, lure him away from the others. You're a fuckin' lawyer, you manipulate innocent people for a living."

You flick the camera, and Malcolm feigns a wince. Aside from the slander, you realize it's not a bad idea. 

So, at breakfast that morning, you throw out the idea of going for a run - fully aware that Jack likes to go for one at least once a day along the beach. 

It's just your luck that it is instead April who leans forward with a grin, and exclaims, "That sounds lovely. I think I'll join you!"

You debate feigning food poisoning as you lace up your shoes, but decide it's best to just get this over with. Rip off the bandaid. You're going to be spending a lot of time with April this trip based on the itinerary she proposed (which Lucy eagerly accepted), you might as well get used to it.

April is stretching outside your door when you open it, and greets you with a grin. 

"Ready?" she asks, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet. 

You nod and let her lead the way down to the beach. 

You're grateful for all the weekends you've spent with your run club this year, because April is in annoyingly good shape, her breath remaining even as you run along the beach, not a single droplet of perspiration glimmering on her unlined face. You, on the other hand, have to keep swiping at your upper lip whenever she's not looking to keep sweat from trickling into your mouth. 

The water is a perfect shade of aquamarine at your side, glistening in the morning sun as it laps calmly at the shore. While you enjoy running in New York, this single beach puts that entire island to shame. It's so stunningly beautiful that it briefly snaps you out of the misery that has hung over you since yesterday morning.

That is, until the conversation starts. 

"I've never been to Kauai before," April confesses. "My family's Pennsylvania born and bred, and we only ever vacationed on the Jersey Shore, which is basically a wet dumpster compared to this."

You laugh. "Yeah, I have to agree. My friends took me there a few months ago and I've never been more grateful to have grown up in California."

"I'm looking forward to exploring the island. Jack told me about this beautiful lookout spot along the cliff."

You're so focused on what she's just revealed that you nearly trip over a gnarled piece of driftwood, and you hiss a little as you hop over it, narrowly keeping your toes from catching on it.

"Yeah, it's pretty great," you say once you've caught your breath.

Jack told her about the spot - your spot? You feel a sudden surge of fierce possessiveness, which is probably why you make the idiotic decision to confess, "Jack and I actually discovered it during our first trip here."

"Really?"

There's something lurking beneath the question, a shadow of doubt beneath the surface. Her blue eyes stray from the trail to your face, searching for something. You imagine a layer of steel surrounds your brain and you try to keep your face impassive. 

"You know, I didn't even know Allan had two daughters. Jack never mentioned you."

It stings, but you're not entirely surprised. Why would he? Clearly, you and Jack were not the friends that you thought you were. You can't help retracing every moment you've spent together over the past two years, every late night call.

That whole time, was he just being nice? Worried you might do something stupid if he didn't pick up after all of the things he's witnessed since you met?

"Lucy's Florence's best friend," you croak out, suddenly hoarse. "I'm just the spare."

April looks at you then, a clear question in her eyes, but you offer her a placating smile. If she wants to understand your relationship with Jack, she'll have to go right to the source. Clearly, you don't know him as well as you thought you did. 

From the moment April expresses interest in your run, Jack is on edge. He's certain that you wouldn't tell April anything. Positive, because there's nothing to tell. 

Except for what happened that first summer.

Or that car ride home from karaoke the second.

Or the night in the tub last year. 

Shit. 

He spends the hour pacing around his suite, certain that if he allows himself to set foot outside he will be unable to stop himself from wandering down to the beach and watching you both like a pathetic creep. It is nonetheless still pretty fuckin' pathetic how relieved he is when the lock finally beeps and April jogs inside, leaning against the door with a weary sigh as she eases it shut. 

"How was your run?" he asks, busying himself with rinsing the few dishes they've managed to dirty so that the question appears a bit more casual. 

"Good."

She gives his cheek a peck as she squeezes past him to pour herself a glass of water. 

"Allan's daughter, she's...interesting."

Jack's hand stills. The thrum of water from the sink suddenly feels deafening.

"Oh yeah? What'd you guys talk about?"

April waves a hand. "Nothing, really. I don't know. She just gives me kind of an intense vibe."

He huffs out a laugh. "She's a lawyer. I'd wager it's a symptom of her trade."

"Really?" Her eyebrows lift as she takes a long sip. "I would have thought she was still in college."

"Darby got pregnant right after Allan's first tour. They were young, but adapted to it pretty well."

"Huh."

Jack looks up and finds her staring at him, watching his hands scrub an already stainless plate. 

"What?"

After a beat she shrugs, and gives him a tight smile. 

"Nothing."

April is a seemingly endless well of energy, because after your seven mile run that morning she is still determined to spend the afternoon snorkeling in Poipu. The beach is crowded, one of the tourist heavy spots Koa usually advises your families to steer clear of, but it doesn't seem to deter her in the slightest. You've barely spread your towel on the sand before she's tugging off her shirt to reveal a tasteful one-piece that perfectly shows off her lean curves. 

She races down to the water - swim shoes be damned - and sinks into the surf. 

"Come on," she calls up to Jack. 

You catch a tiny wince in his eyes. 

"I'll watch the bags," he tells her. 

You haven't seen him get in the water in years, though you don't have to guess why. It's the same reason he is the only man wearing jeans and sneakers to the beach. While Jack hasn't spoken openly about his relationship with his prosthetic, you can guess that he isn't a fan of having his status as an amputee revealed in public. 

And you can't help thinking about your second night together, all those years ago. The quiet resolve in his expression, his determination palpable from a distance as he stripped down and removed his prosthetic, and made the difficult journey without it to join you in the water. The butterflies you'd gotten knowing he did it all for you. 

You force yourself to look away, and set up your things before shimmying out of your clothes. You're wearing your most conservative bikini, a calculated move, although more to prove to yourself that you are not going to try to compete for Jack's attention than to actually attempt to keep him from looking at you. When you finally wriggle your head out of your T-shirt, you catch Lucy glaring down at her phone, neck bent at an unnatural angle to stare at the screen.

"You okay?"

She nods quickly enough to make you doubt that. Her fingernails, you notice, are bitten to the quick, her cuticles torn and bloodied. 

"Is it school? You don't have summer courses, do you?"

"AP scores come out today," she says, rolling her eyes as if that should have been obvious.

You remember all too well the agonizing wait before the release of test scores. You'd nearly thrown up the day you got your final LSAT score. 

Looking at your sister, you're suddenly struck by how truly young she looks - so much younger than you felt when you were sixteen, at which point you were already convinced that if you did not graduate summa cum laude, you had no reason to exist. Lucy has always seemed so much more carefree than you, always dismissing your lectures with a roll of her eyes. You wonder if she's taken after you in more ways than you knew.

"Come on," you urge her, prodding her arm. "It's out of your hands. Whatever will be, will be."

She squints at you. "Do you honestly believe that?"

There's something about her stare, the razor sharp discernment that has always been so capable of cutting through your bullshit. It's why it's been so hard for you to get through to her. You try your best to be helpful, but she knows precisely when you are being a hypocrite.

"I think that you have to believe that. After a certain point, there's so many things to worry about that you just don't have the capacity to stress about the ones you can't control anymore."

It's maybe the most honest thing you've said to her in years. Her lips wriggle. Finally, she sets her phone on the towel with a defeated sigh. 

"Alright. But when we get back, I want you to check it for me."

You nod. "It would be my honor, madam."

She rolls her eyes, but a ghost of a smile passes over her lips. Together, you tread down to the shore.

It's not until you're in the water that you realize you forgot to put on sunscreen. When you turn back, you find Jack staring right at you.

Dinner is, of course, at a place April found online. A tiki bar-slash-restaurant with a live band and vintage decor. 

If you and Jack were speaking, you would have cracked a joke about his age, asked what it was like seeing color TV for the first time. Unfortunately, in the past forty-eight hours, you have said a whopping total of zero words to each other. Your attempts to get him alone have been unsuccessful, always thwarted by the presence of Florence or April, who clings to him like she's scared he might disappear if her hand isn't constantly wrapped around his bicep. 

You try to focus on the streams of conversation that flow through the group. Koa shares that his sister, who lives on the North side in Princeville, is bringing her family down to Kapa'a for a few days. You smile right on cue when Nani makes a joke about setting you up with his nephew, though you truthfully can't imagine anything worse than trying to force a spark with someone else when your heart feels like it's gotten the shit kicked out of it. 

Eventually, a couple from a nearby table wanders to the space at the center of the room and begins to dance. It's not long before Koa and Nani join them, then your parents. Even Florence and Lucy find a space on the dance floor, giggling and twirling each other. After finding out she got a four on her AP World History test a few hours ago, Lucy's relief has been noticeable, and the smile on her face is infectious even from a distance. It would be so easy to soak up her joy if it weren't for the sight of Jack and April, swaying together a few feet away from them. 

You are, officially, the odd one out. A title you and Jack used to share, and that makes you all the more miserable.

After a few songs, someone taps your shoulder. You glance up from your phone to find April standing in front of you, a visibly tense Jack by her side.

"I urgently need to use the ladies' room, and I was wondering if you could do me a favor and keep my partner company for a song."

Her tone is sweet and encouraging, and...oh god. Pity. She's taking pity on you. Jack clearly is not on board with this scheme, evident in the way his arms are stiffly flattened against his sides and he still won't fucking look at you. Your cheeks heat, and you suddenly feel like you're third wheeling your friends at prom. 

"Sure," you say, because you can't think of anything else to do. 

April grins and gives your arm a grateful squeeze before she breezes past you. Once she's gone, Jack doesn't move to return to the floor.

"We don't have to dance if you don't want to," you offer.

"Do you want to?" 

You don't. Not really. But still, you find yourself saying, "Yeah, I do."

You let him lead you to the space he and April occupied just a few minutes before. His hands ease onto your hips, but the pressure is so light you can almost forget that they're there. You twine your arms around his neck and begin to move to the beat. 

His posture is stiff, his movements robotic. The distance between you seems like something he calculated in advance and deemed socially acceptable, keeping a precious few inches of space between you that he doesn't dare breach. It's the closest you've ever gotten in the presence of your parents, but it feels so intensely sanitized that you don't feel the slightest bit of concern about that. 

After only a few seconds, the silence is unbearable. You clear your throat. 

"So...that's your type."

"What?"

"April," you clarify. "I - last summer, you wouldn't tell me what your type was. Now I know."

Jack looks at you for a long moment, then nods briskly. 

"Did I do something wrong?" You feel his fingers tense a little on your hips, and it's so satisfying to finally get a reaction from him that you decide to keep pressing. "It's just...something feels different. Is it because I didn't call as much this year? It was just, with the move and the new job I just haven't had as much time-"

"It's not you."

You suppose you should feel a bit relieved at that. You don't.

His Adam's apple bobs. 

"I think it would be good for us both to spend more time with people our own age."

Your mouth feels dry. "Oh," is all that you can manage in response.

He nods, as if to say oh indeed.

Your eyes begin to water, as if all the moisture in your body has been diverted there. It's a good reason, a totally normal sentiment, but what you can't understand is why that resolution would necessitate the kind of coldness he's been treating you with since he arrived. The Jack you knew was many things, but cruel wasn't one of them. 

"I miss you," you confess.

There - a flicker of pain in his eyes, so brief you almost miss it. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Swallows. 

"Sorry about that," April announces as she cuts across the floor. "The bathroom line was insane."

You and Jack practically leap back from each other. 

"Thanks again for keeping an eye on him."

She pinches Jack affectionately before sliding into his arms. 

Jack does not go looking for you. In fact, he heads to the beach that night specifically to avoid running into you in your usual spot. It's just as good a place as any to stew in the emotional turmoil that seems to follow him wherever he fucking goes. 

The sea is rough that night, slapping against the shore with a force that feels violent. He wonders how long he could withstand the surf before it would swallow him whole. Probably a minute at most. Before his injury, he's certain he could have braved the strongest of tides. Now, he feels old and weak. So fucking weak he can't even join his girlfriend for a leisurely snorkel, something even the five year olds in the shallows seemed to be able to handle. 

Jack's is a weakness that cuts deeper than severed bone. It is a weakness born of a fear so virulent it sometimes seems to take on a physical form, carving through his flesh, curling tendrils around his mind. But over the years, Jack's relationship to his fear has become somewhat symbiotic. It propels him in his work, it has, in some instances, kept him from harm - just as his therapist described all those years ago. 

It has also held him back. Hit him with a force capable of buckling knees, made him feel more powerless than the barrel of a gun pointed at his head. Held him immobile, kept him from moving forward, moving on from the things he knows he should be over by now. 

On paper, he has made tremendous progress this past year. It doesn't fucking feel like it. 

A seagull shrieks in the distance, dipping suddenly before arcing over his head. His eyes track it as it travels inland, heading for the cliffs. 

There is a speck of color on the ledge. A person, he realizes. A woman wearing a long sun dress, standing at the edge, staring out at the sea. 

The distance is too great to make out her face, but he knows without a doubt that it's you that he's staring at. 

He wonders if you've noticed him. Probably not, judging by your focus on the horizon. 

He stays a few minutes longer, watching you. It isn't until you've disappeared into the tree line that he finally allows himself to return to his room. 

DAY THREE

The next morning, you wake at dawn, figuring if you get your workout in early, you'll have an excuse ready in case April wants to go later. For once, you're grateful for the island's humidity because it means that there is just the right amount of warmth lingering in the thick air to allow you to exercise comfortably at six a.m. without needing a hoodie. You slip out of your suite in just your socks to avoid waking your family and lace up once you're out on the green outside your building. 

And discover that you're not alone.

"Oh, hi."

Jack looks up, gently rising from the downward dog pose you'd caught him in. There's a thin yoga mat beneath his sneakers, marked by the hotel's logo in the corners. For once, he's not in his usual jeans, instead sporting a pair of baggy, camo-printed sweatpants. His hair is damp, and already beginning to curl at the tips in the humid air.

He looks well rested - he looks well in general. You haven't had the opportunity to examine him without worrying you'll alert April to your attentiveness, but now you do, taking a second to admire the new tan peeking out from the sleeves of his tight shirt. 

"Morning," he offers with a grunt as he straightens. 

"Did I forget that you did this?"

Jack gives you a small, crooked smile. "I don't think I can remember a time I saw you before nine a.m."

"That's fair."

You consider asking him to join you on your run, but the memory of his words the night before replays in your mind, bringing with it a residual ache. 

"I'll let you get back to it."

You are beginning to jog away, mentally giving yourself a massive pat on the back for your ability to remain a mature adult even while it feels like your heart is being pummeled by a prize fighter, when the sound of your name makes you freeze.

Jack crosses the green to you, and there's a slight drag in his footsteps that makes you wonder if his prosthetic is bothering him. You wish you could figure out how to stop worrying about him when he seemed to have no concern for your own wellbeing. 

You fold your arms over your chest, preparing for yet another stunning revelation that will no doubt ruin your mental health even more. Maybe April's pregnant, and he's moving across the world to raise their child in the Swiss Alps in a town with no cell service, and you will never see him again. 

What Jack actually says surprises you even more than that. 

"I'm sorry."

For the first time all week, he's actually looking at you. Eyes soft and pleading, and perfectly contrite. It is precisely what you've been waiting for, but it doesn't make you feel any better. Something about the way that he says sorry somehow always manages to make you feel as if you are the one who's done something wrong. 

"It's fine."

It's not. You know it, and you're certain Jack knows it, too, judging by the way he's looking at you. 

"You're probably right," you add. "Although, I do happen to have plenty of friends my own age. You're definitely a statistical outlier, age wise, if that makes you feel better."

Jack nods slowly, your attempt at humor ricocheting right off of him.

"I could have...communicated it better."

You laugh a little. "Yeah, well, you have had many more years to work on your communication skills, so I won't argue with you there."

His brow wrinkles. "Smart ass."

God, how you've missed hearing him say that. 

"Would you want to join me?" you offer.

You catch his weight shift slightly.

"I'd probably slow you down." His voice is strained. 

"I don't mind."

He shakes his head firmly, and you know better than to press the subject any further.

"I'll see you at breakfast," he says before returning to his mat. 

You return from your run at just after seven and quickly shower and change for breakfast, hoping that you will have the opportunity to gloat when you are the first one there. However, when you head out to the patio of the hotel's restaurant to snatch a table, you spot Koa and Nani already sitting at the edge of the space with a boy you don't recognize.

A cute boy. 

Jack was not the first of your crushes to fall on the older side, but you are not immune from the charms of men your own age. This one is certainly no exception. As you get closer, the stranger's features sharpen, allowing your attraction to solidify into something more real. 

He looks like Koa in many ways, tan skin, shaggy black hair falling in waves to the edge of his jaw, but with a youthfulness that seems to radiate out of him with every movement, the relaxed toss of his head, his easy laughs. 

When you approach the table, he grins at you like you're old friends. 

Nani introduces you to the stranger before identifying him as Max, Koa's nephew. AKA the one she'd not so subtly mentioned wanting to set you up with the night before. 

You hold out your hand on reflex. Max cocks his head curiously, then shakes it with both hands. 

His hands are warm, and soft, and not at all like Jack's.

You can practically hear Malcolm's voice. 

The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new. 

Maybe it's time you tried that.

Max is, you discover, not your usual type. Type B, talkative, easygoing. A fairly well adjusted, good guy. Despite his stunning beauty, he probably would not have been your first choice for a rebound.

Then, Jack arrives. And spends the entirety of the meal staring at you. 

The trend continues into the afternoon, when the group heads over to the beach. Max floats the idea of a good old fashioned game of pick-up football, and while hand eye coordination has never been your strong suit, your competitive nature and need to expel the pent up energy you've been absorbing from Jack's not-so-subtle stares for the past few hours have you all in on the idea. 

Lucy - the little traitor - decides to abandon your family for the Abbots' team. This does, however, leave a spot open for Max. 

Whom you are quick to ask to help you with your sunscreen.

It is so petty - so unbelievably immature - but the look on Jack's face as Max's hands smooth the lotion over your hips has you struggling to keep yourself from smirking. 

"Has anyone ever told you've got an old energy? Not like, in a bad way," Max is quick to add. "Like, mature. Old soul type shit."

"No, uh, they haven't."

Now this is why you typically stay away from younger guys. Max is sweet though, so you hear out the myriad of other semi-offensive observations he rattles off like they're compliments without turning to your usual defensiveness. 

Your eyes stray behind him to where Jack's got his team in a huddle. You can't make out what he's saying until the end, when he gives a strange battle cry - hoo-ah - which is echoed by the others before they spread out across the sand. 

"Keep an eye on trouble over there," your father calls, pointing at Jack.

"I've got him." 

You jog over to where he's standing, bent at the waist with his hands braced on his knees in anticipation.

"You're going to have to promise to go easy on us. When you lose," he clarifies. "I get the sense you're a sore loser and I'm not sure the hotel's insurance covers rampages."

"That's a little overconfident, don't you think?" A little lower, for just him to hear, you add, "I know all your weaknesses, old man."

The smirk vanishes from his lips.

Game fucking on.

Jack wasn't lying when he told you that he's never been good at sharing. Maybe it was a side effect of growing up with three sisters, or just one of the many fatal flaws he was assigned at birth. Jealousy makes him feel small, and spiteful, and apparently, under some circumstances, a bit dangerous.

He tells himself that he didn't mean it. That it was an accident. That he underestimated the force of the shove, too focused on intercepting the pass that you'd just thrown to think about what he was doing. 

The kid's wrist wasn't broken - he'd made sure to rule that out. Just a tiny little sprain from landing on it wrong when Jack elbowed him to the ground like a fucking maniac. 

After Max's injury, the game is essentially abandoned. Jack mutters something to April about needing a shower and retreats back to his room, where he stands under the freezing cold stream of water until his blood pressure finally drops to a normal level. By the time he steps out, his fingers are wrinkled and April is waiting for him at the door, purse at her side, tapping her foot impatiently. 

"I promised the girls I'd take them to this shaved ice place they saw online."

Jack nods evenly. He can see that a fight is brewing, but he knows from experience that being forced to vent her frustrations in public mellows her a bit.

"Let me grab my shoes."

Everyone ends up tagging along, including, of fucking course, Max. Who has done, he is aware, nothing to personally injure him aside from spending time with you. 

April orders for him - a habit he's come to accept since their first date, when she ordered sashimi and he was surprised to find he didn't mind it. The woman working the stand plops a paper bowl in front of him, piled high with brown tinted ice that's covered in a creamy liquid. 

"It's coffee flavored," April explains. "It's supposed to be one of their best."

It is good, but Jack can't focus on it, just mindlessly shovels bites into his mouth. Behind him, you're somewhere laughing. 

April watches him, her shaved ice beginning to melt a little in her hands. A bit of liquid drips onto her lap.

"I didn't realize you were so competitive," she says.

He shrugs. "Just in a weird mood."

"Anything I can help with?"

Her eyes are wide, full of a silent plea. Open up to me. He's seen it in her gaze several times over the course of their relationship. But now is not the time for honesty.

"Oh my god," you moan at a volume that probably is in violation of local zoning regulations. "This tastes just like a pina colada, you have to try it."

He hears Max humming as you pop the spoon into his mouth. 

DAY FOUR

Max is excellent at being a distraction. So much so, in fact, that you no longer feel the pressing need to spend every moment making plays for Jack's attention. 

You eat musubi from a cart on the side of the road for breakfast. Go shopping downtown, briefly consider getting a tattoo (but fortunately you have the good sense to ultimately decide against it). He even talks you into cliff jumping, and you are pleasantly surprised to find after the sheer terror of the first few seconds of the drop, the experience is wondrously invigorating, giving you a boost of adrenaline induced energy that propels you through your day.

The others are thrilled by your closeness, aside from your father - who seems to only tolerate Max due to his shared genes with Koa - and, of course, Jack. 

It's funny, you think to yourself, how your old distraction has turned into the person that you need a distraction from. But after going through hell at the hands of Jack Abbot this week, it is so nice for your mind to finally feel a bit at peace again. 

Even if that peace is shattered every time his eyes meet yours. 

Jack considers leaving. Feigning some excuse about being needed back at the PTMC, a super-flu claiming enough attendings to prompt an 'all hands on deck' situation. April might buy it. Florence definitely wouldn't. 

So, he stays. Watches you laugh at jokes that he didn't make, putting your hand on an arm that isn't his. 

You don't return to the cliffside that night. He stays on the beach a few hours anyway, watching for your silhouette for reasons he can't quite make sense of.

When he finally comes to bed, April is awake, reading. She stares at him a moment as if waiting for him to say something, explain where the hell he's been. Then, she flicks off the light and turns away. 

DAY FIVE

At lunch the next day, things take a turn. You are sharing a few horror stories from work over appetizers when April cuts in.

"Sounds intense."

There's something about the way that she says the word that makes your skin prickle. 

"It is," you agree, chewing a piece of calamari. "But in a good way."

"And you plan to stick with it long term?"

"My career?" You laugh a little, unsure where exactly this conversation is going. "Yeah, I do."

"I'm sure your career is very important to you." You don't miss where she places the emphasis. "It just doesn't sound very rewarding. At the end of your life, you're not going to be thinking about how many hours you billed. You're going to be thinking about your family, your kids."

Ah. So that's it then. You're not entirely surprised. Being a woman in a field like law means you've had this conversation plenty of times before. Loads of people have even assumed that the only reason you'd want to go to law school in the first place would be to find a high caliber hubby. Personally, you think $180k in student loans is a little too much to pay for the mere opportunity to find a spouse.

"Yeah, because my life's accomplishments should be measured in the number of times I forget to use a condom," you snort.

It's a joke Malcolm (bless him) would have appreciated or even made himself. It is, however, the wrong thing to say now.

Your mother hisses your name.

"What?" you snap, suddenly defensive. "It's all everybody's thinking about whenever they see a pregnancy announcement. Congratulations, you had sex like every other human being on the planet, only now you have this walking talking reminder of it that you have no idea what to do with."

You are aware that the point you are making is, quite frankly, terrible. At best, it makes you sound like you hate children, at worst, it makes you sound like a total pervert. Unfortunately for everyone at the table, you are stubborn to a fault, and it's too late to back down now. 

April purses her lips. "I think that's a very simplistic idea of motherhood."

"Well, I think it's very simplistic to think that every woman wants to be a mother."

So this is Jack's type. What he wants in a woman, a life partner. You guess you shouldn't be totally surprised. Marisol was lovely, but now that you think about it, she was distinctively...domestic. Worked at an elementary school for a few years - a guidance counselor, you think - but quit before having Florence. And there's nothing wrong with that. You have watched a few of your childhood friends get married to perfectly average men, already witnessed your conversations start to become ever more focused on talk of their husbands and potential baby names, and you're supportive of all of them. At least, you try to be.

But it's just so not you. 

Maybe, some day, you will have a family. But if you do, you don't want to disappear into motherhood. You would want to still be able to work, and have amazing sex, and generally behave like a normal human being. And, most importantly, you don't want to even start thinking about any of this for many, many years. 

It is yet another reason why the age gap - which you'd once thought you were mature enough to overcome - is a perfectly sensible reason why you and Jack are not meant to be together.

You mumble an excuse about needing to use the restroom before you can humiliate yourself further. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, patting your hands dry on your shorts due to a towel shortage, you find Max leaning against the opposite wall. 

"Hey."

"Hey." He scratches the back of his neck. "That was pretty intense."

"Yeah. I guess I come across like a pretty intense person."

Your cheeks are starting to get hot. God and the fact that Jack saw all of that - no wonder he doesn't want to spend time with you anymore. 

"Not intense, just...passionate." 

"You think so?"

Max nods. "For sure."

It makes you feel slightly less mortified, although you're sure he's just trying to be nice. 

"Me and some friends were going to hit up this backyard concert our buddy's hosting. Would you be down to come with?"

Outside the glass doors that lead out to the patio, you can just make out the back of Jack's head, turned towards April, who is talking animatedly. Your stomach twists.

"Sounds fun. Want to head out now?"

Jack knows that April wants kids. She's a few years shy of forty, young enough that she can still have them with help from the right fertility specialist. But lately, she's been dropping hints that she would like that to happen sooner rather than later. 

With him. 

After Marisol, Jack had never even considered the possibility of having more children. Florence, as easy a personality as she had always been, had been hard enough to raise on his own. 

It would be easier this time around, he thinks. He's making more money, and has enough power in his position to not have to worry quite so much about taking time off for paternity leave. Florence would even be able to help out, babysit for petty cash. 

But as April talks to Darby about the merits of home births, he feels as if he is being swept into the sea. 

Historically, you don't love going out. The experience was only ever bearable for you when you weren't sober, and you would always immediately make a beeline for the bars in the West Hollywood clubs your friends used to frequent in college. While the atmosphere of the house party you're at isn't quite so overstimulating, you wind up about four feet away from the stage, and the bass is so powerful you can feel it in your teeth which quickly puts you on edge. You focus on Max, dancing in front of you, so close your chests are practically touching.

Max, who has spent the entire evening looking at you in a way you've spent two years wishing Jack would. 

It would be so easy to lean into him, let him slide his hands into your hair, tilt your chin up to his mouth. But when you catch him starting to close the gap between you, you press a hand to his chest. 

"I'm sorry. I thought I wanted this but I just...I can't."

Max nods, the light in his eyes dimming somewhat. "Can I ask why?"

You bite your lip. "I'm trying to get over someone, but I'm just not ready yet," you confess.

"Say no more." He gives you a playful salute, and you laugh. 

The song changes. You make a show of clapping loudly since the band has a clear shot of you from the stage and you aren't entirely sure of the etiquette of this kind of intimate event. 

Max pops something into his mouth and gives a low hum. 

"Want one?" he offers, flashing a plastic bag of gummies at you. 

You frown down at it. The rules of sobriety as an alcoholic who has never dabbled in substances stronger than nicotine are not as clear cut as you'd like them to be. Malcolm smokes weed occasionally, and you have heard people say that it's not addictive. Theoretically, it would probably be a much healthier way for you to relax than the solo cups of jungle juice being passed around the yard. 

"Sure," you finally say.

The gummies are only slightly bigger than normal gummy bears, and you take an experimental bite before popping the entire thing into your mouth. 

Maybe it's a placebo effect, but by the time the next song starts, you feel much lighter than you have all trip. 

Jack isn't sure what he expects to find when he wakes to the sound of banging on the door of his suite, but it's certainly not Max. Panting, covered in sweat as he braces himself against the doorframe. 

"You're a doctor, right?"

Never a good question to hear at four in the fucking morning. 

In lieu of an explanation, the kid turns around and beckons for him to follow. 

There's a truck idling in the roundabout in front of the lobby. As Jack nears the vehicle, he catches sight of a figure slumped inside. 

His heart plummets into his stomach. 

The door is already open, and he quickly slides his fingers beneath your chin, pressing them into your neck. Your pulse jumps beneath his fingers, strong but faster than he'd like. 

"Sweetheart?" he murmurs.

Your lashes lift a little, and the corners of your mouth tilt up in a loopy smile. 

"What did you take?"

You sigh, and your head falls against his hand. 

"It's molly. I got 'em from a friend," Max explains, with a pathetic wet sniff. "I thought - shit I thought they'd be good." 

Jack's seen enough drug cases pass through the ED to understand that the situation is not serious, you're just very high. At least once a shift he'll see a patient who is brought in by their friends, convinced that they're on death's door when in reality they're just greening out. There's little he can do in those situations other than administer fluids and monitor for changes.

While MDMA is a much different beast than marijuana, he doesn't spot any of the telltale signs of an overdose. Your temperature is only slightly elevated, not enough to qualify as a fever and certainly not enough to do the long term damage he's concerned about. The difference in your response is likely due to a difference in dosage, something that happens all too often with homemade edibles. 

"Come on, sweetheart."

He slides his arms beneath you and gingerly lifts you out of the passenger seat. You barely stir, blinking up at him sleepily before settling into his chest with a sigh. 

He ignores Max and his mumbled apologies and questions as he carries you back to your family's suite. Thankfully, he finds the key card in the pocket of your jeans and unlocks the door. The interior is completely dark - thank god Florence and Lucy have gone to bed before dawn for once - but he's still careful not to make a sound as he takes you to your room. 

The bed is made, sheets tucked into the mattress even though he saw the sign refusing maid service dangling from the front door. He sets you atop the comforter instead of disturbing it and opens the windows, hoping that the breeze will help your body to regulate its temperature a little better. There's already a glass of water on your bedside table, but he pours it out and refills it.

By the time he returns, he knows that he's done all that he can. You're medically fine, just a little gone. But Jack doesn't think twice before sinking onto the bed beside you. And when you curl against him, tucking your chin against his chest with a pleased sigh, he sweeps your sweat slicked hair back from your face and strokes your back. 

"Jack?" you mumble sleepily, eyes still shut.

"I'm here, sweetheart."

You hum contentedly.

"I love you."

Jack is certain that he's misheard you, that his shirt, which you've pressed your face against, is a sonic barrier capable of changing the shape of your words. Or that you are just very, very high, drunk on serotonin and dopamine, and the declaration doesn't mean much more directed at him than if it had been directed at a plate of fries.

You cannot actually be in love with him.

He has tried so, so hard to prevent that very thing from happening. Kept his hand from reaching for the phone when he missed you, his eyes from searching every room for your shape; gritted his teeth and borne it when you flirted with Max in front of him. There is no way, after the past few days, you can be in love with him. 

When the sun begins to rise, he eases you onto your pillow and slips out of the suite before you wake. 

DAY SIX

It feels as if all the moisture has been leeched from your body. Like lame little H2O oriented vampires snuck into your room and spent the night feasting on what little hydration you provided yourself yesterday, a strange bit of imagery you blame on the lingering effects of the psychedelics. At breakfast, you empty the water pitcher that's meant for the entire table before the waiter even comes to take your order. 

You can remember bits and pieces of the night before. Max helping you back to his truck, carrying you back to your room after you fell asleep. Apparently, those gummies had not been full of pot after all - although you find it hard to be mad at him. You're a goddamn lawyer, you should have done your due diligence before deciding to experiment with unlabeled, unregulated edibles that had been warming in some guy's back pocket all night. 

It feels like the sobriety gods are punishing you for your weakness when you lower the napkin you've been using to dab sweat from your forehead to find April breezing onto the patio, looking like a Neoclassical portrait of a Greek goddess. Jack follows a few steps behind, looking just about as worn thin as you feel, which comforts you somewhat. 

Lucy and Florence are bickering (at least, as close as they can come to bickering) over where to go for a hike. 

"Makaleha Falls is on my bucket list," April cuts in with an eager grin.

"Do we really need to do another fuckin' hike?" Jack grumbles.

Her smile dies. 

"I thought it could be nice," she says quietly. "A last hurrah."

Jack presses his lips together in a thin line.

"Makaleha should be nice on a day like today," Nani jumps in, keeping her tone artificially light. 

Koa agrees, and then your mother is suggesting you bring the canned wine she bought from the market and it's all but decided. 

It's a short drive to the trailhead, but you still manage to nod off before you're jolted awake by the car coming to a stop. 

When the others arrive, April leads the group down the trail, although Lucy apparently has a lot to say about her navigational skills. Jack lags behind at the back of the group, as if trying to get as much distance from his girlfriend as possible.

You allow yourself to fall back, decreasing your pace bit by bit so that Max doesn't notice you've abandoned him, until you and Jack are practically alone.

"Trouble in paradise?"

It takes him a minute to respond, and he blinks at you groggily as if you've startled him out of a daze.

"What?"

"You and April. I think this is the first time she's let you out of her sight all trip."

He flexes his jaw. "She's pissed, and rightfully so."

"About what?"

Another pause. This one feels a bit more deliberate. 

"She wants to know where I was last night," he finally answers gruffly.

"Well, where were you?"

He comes to a dead stop. Stares at you.

"What?"

He shakes his head. "Un-fucking believable."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like nothing."

He doesn't reply, just works his jaw like he can't quite manage to force it all the way open.

"So much for working on your communication skills," you scoff.

"I apologized for that."

"Yeah, well, forgive me for wondering if you meant it given the fact you've still barely managed to say a word to me."

Now he scoffs.

"I thought you'd found someone new to give you attention."

You whirl on him. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"God, will you quit fucking saying that?!"

Jack stares back at you, chest heaving, and you suddenly realize how quiet it's gotten. You can't hear Lucy anymore, or any of your family. The trail is gone, replaced by nothing but muddy soil beneath your feet with no end, no markers in sight.  

"Shit," he mutters. 

You begin to wander deeper into the rainforest to see if you can catch a glimpse of them when Jack's voice calls you back.

"Number one rule of wilderness survival - you get lost, you stay put."

"Fine," you snap.

So, you wait. Stewing in silence, arms folded over your chest, determined not to be the one to make eye contact first. What is his fucking problem? He was the one who had spent this trip acting like a fucking sociopath, and now he was mad at you - for what? Upsetting April at dinner last night? Not being able to read his mind? 

Something cold pricks your shoulder. Then the top of your head. It's sprinkling, you realize. A nice bit of Hawaii rain. For the first few minutes, it's pleasant, helping to cool your skin which has started to feel white hot from the exertion. Unfortunately, it's not long before it escalates to a full fucking downpour, the droplets so thick you can barely make out Jack's face. 

"Still want to stay put?"

He mutters something you can't make out due to the volume of the rain, although you're pretty positive it includes the words smart and ass.

You cup a hand over your eyes, trying to restore some of your visibility as you scan your surroundings. Through the trees, you spot the rocky curve of a hill in the distance. Maybe there's a nice cave you can claim opposite ends of while you wait this out. 

You wave your arm, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the hill. Jack nods, and begins to lead the way. 

Unfortunately, there is no cave, just a small alcove carved into the rock, barely large enough to shield the two of you from the elements. You have to press together to fit under it, your elbow digging into Jack's ribs, his shoulder millimeters from your nose. 

"Does the weather mean you can excuse this instance of inter-generational interaction, or will you have to recover from this by pretending that I don't exist for the next four years?" you joke, trying - failing - to lighten the mood.

Jack sighs. "Can't we just not talk?"

"No, I don't think we can. I've hit my quota on not-talking, actually. Now it's all I want to do."

He turns, shifting so that instead of facing his back you are pressed against his chest and have to tilt your head back to look him in the eye. 

"What do you want to say?"

You dig your nails into your palms.

"It's April, isn't it? The reason you stopped talking to me."

"April had nothing-"

"Oh I know April had nothing to do with it - she didn't even know I existed." Something shifts in his expression. "Yeah, apparently exercise makes us girls very chatty. Who knew?"

You are teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something you can't take back. But unlike at the start of the summer, you're not terrified of telling Jack Abbot how you feel anymore. Your relationship with him has decayed so much over the past week, you no longer have anything to lose. 

"Can you just admit it?" you plead. "There was something between us last summer."

Jack's eyes darken. 

"There was nothing."

He's breathing heavily, as if the words took something out of him. Backed against the edge of the alcove, bits of rain beginning to drip into his hair. Like he's scared to touch you. 

Experimentally, you inch a bit closer. Press against him, your abdomen meeting his waist. Tilt your chin up so that your lips are inches from his jaw, and your breath sends the water droplets that have collected there trickling down his throat. His eyes are pinched, almost shut. He looks as if he's barely holding himself together, as if one touch from you could unravel him completely.

"This isn't nothing."

Your lips graze his jaw, and it's as if that small bit of contact is enough to shatter what's left of his waning resolve. He presses you away until you make contact with the rock at your back. For a moment, he keeps you pinned there. One hand on your waist, one pressing into your clavicle. Chest heaving, your breath mingling with his in the air between you. He lowers his forehead against yours, resting against you like he no longer has the energy to keep himself upright. 

And then he kisses you. 

It shouldn't take you by surprise, but you still gasp a little when his lips make contact with yours. He grunts in response, and you take advantage of the opening by sliding your tongue into his mouth, just enough to tease the tip of his own. He tastes like coffee. Warm, strong. Slightly bitter. It fits with the Jack you know, the memory you've struggled to keep alive all these years. You can feel him start to harden against you, not a single inch of his length able to hide from you given the press of your bodies in the cramped space.

His movements are still somewhat restrained at first, hands slipping beneath your shirt, creeping slowly from your hips, to your ribs, to the skin just beneath your breasts. They stay there for a long moment as he continues to kiss you chastely. Then, his teeth gently nip at your lower lip.

You arch against him reflexively, grinding against his hardening cock. 

"Fuck," he mutters against your mouth.

A switch flips. His kiss deepens, hands curve around the underside of your breasts.

Now you know what makes him tick. He just needs a little encouragement. 

You roll your hips against him, falling into a fluid rhythm. 

He groans, and his head falls into the crook of your shoulder. You're not wearing a bra, and you are particularly grateful for that as his fingertips graze your nipple. He hums into your skin at the contact.

You can't help it. After all of the torture you've endured, you want to rub it in.

"Still think this is nothing?"

He lifts his head just enough to look you in the eye. 

"You really want to do that?"

Before you can answer, his hands are shifting to your ass and he's hoisting you against the rock. It's as if your taunt has flipped a switch and the gloves are fully off. He sucks at your neck, alternating tongue and teeth to keep you writhing beneath him. There's a sharp pain as he presses you back further, the rock digging into the exposed skin where your T-shirt has slid up. It somehow only adds to your arousal.

You start to fumble with Jack's pants, but after taking a few seconds too long to undo the button, he gives a slightly peeved sigh and releases one hand's grip on your ass to take his cock out himself. There's no room for you to admire it before you become intimately acquainted, feeling it slot in the small amount of space allotted between your legs. Your shorts, thank God, are the drawstring type, and within seconds you've shimmied them off. 

His head teases your entrance, stretching it for a few seconds before pulling away. 

"Ja-" The word dissolves on your tongue as he sinks deeper inside you, oblivating all thoughts.

"Not so talkative now."

You attempt to lift your head to glare at him (emphasis on attempt). It becomes impossible when he shifts the angle, hoisting you higher, and begins to thrust. His head presses against your G-spot, and any and all witty retorts dissolve into a soul deep moan.

"That's it, sweetheart. Use your words."

"Fuck you."

He chuckles. "That's the idea."

He slides into you effortlessly, your arousal aided by the fact that your pants were already soaked through from the rain before he got you wet. You arch into him, chasing that perfect contact with your core. 

"Fuck, you feel so good."

The muttered praise sends a chill down your spine, and you whine a little. Jack eyes you, assessing the change. 

"That's it," he says the next time you thrust your hips to meet him. "Good girl. Doing so good."

He continues to mutter praise as he lifts one of your legs higher, spreading you open even more. The next time he slides into you, you can feel him bottom out, the head of his cock jutting against your cervix. The fullness is unlike anything you've experienced before, and you can feel yourself stretching, struggling to accommodate him. But as Jack murmurs encouragement into your ear, you ride out the initial wave of discomfort until it becomes manageable and he begins to thrust again. 

Your orgasm catches you by surprise, the wave of pleasure you've been surfing suddenly reaching a brilliant peak that leaves you unable to move, unable to do anything but lie limply in his arms. Jack thrusts a few more times as you throb around him, then gives a low moan. You feel a slight burst of pressure, then warmth flooding your core. 

For a blissful few seconds, you stay there with your head against his chest. His hands stroke your back, and there's something oddly familiar about it.

Then reality hits. 

Jack just came inside of you. 

Jack came inside you. A girl who has not been on birth control in two years. 

Holy fucking shit. 

Jack Abbot is not a cheater. Has never even been tempted to consider being unfaithful to anyone he's so much as casually dated until...well, until you.

And so, when he kisses you, he knows. 

Knows that he has to end it with April. Knows he will find a way to tell Allan about you, knows he'll be able to withstand the inevitable beating that will follow when he does. 

Because when Jack is in, he's all fuckin' in. And he's been fighting his feelings for you for so long that it's a relief to finally lay down his arms. 

And then you open your eyes. 

And you don't look relieved. 

You look fucking terrified.

Of him. 

His rule against wandering off is abandoned immediately once the rain lets up. The two of you spend what feels like eons searching the rainforest until you finally manage to find your way back to the trail. When you return to the narrow road where the cars were parked, all but one is gone. 

Jack's phone buzzes with a flood of incoming texts once he finally drives you both closer to civilization. Though he's certain everyone (including Florence) is currently fearing the worst, he knows he cannot speak to anyone right now. Not after what he's just done.

"Can we stop at a pharmacy?" 

Your voice is hoarse, and you cringe a little as if speaking hurts. Jack's so concerned by that brief flash of pain in your eyes that he needs an extra moment to process your words.

Pharmacy. Because - shit. 

"You're not-"

You shake your head. 

Shit shit shit. 

There is one CVS, a twenty minute drive away. You are silent the entire time, staring straight ahead, barely blinking. Shell shocked. Like he's broken you. It makes him feel like he's being eaten alive. 

Inside the store, you follow a few steps behind him, zombie-like, as he locates the Plan B and brings it to the cashier.

The woman working the register looks past him at you.

"It's good that you're doing this for her. Not many would."

He squints at her, confusion scrawled in his brow. 

"You're a good dad," the woman adds, as if that clarifies anything.

And then it does.

And he feels like the biggest piece of shit to ever walk this fucked up planet. 

Of course a stranger would assume that he's your father. He's practically the same age as the man. 

He sets a gatorade and a packet of M&M's on the counter and doesn't reciprocate the woman's other attempts at conversation as she adds them to his total.  

You swallow the pill without so much as glancing at the instructions and set the gatorade in the cup holder.

"Drink," Jack instructs, pressing it back into your hand. "You're dehydrated."

For once, you obey without protest. He's able to coax you to eat a few M&M's, though you wrinkle your nose as you chew on them. 

"I hate chocolate," you mumble through a mouthful. 

He should have known that. Has it been so long since the two of you have had a real conversation that he's already began to forget things? He thinks he can still remember your favorite movie, Scream. Or was it Silence of the Lambs? 

Does he even know you anymore?

"What - what phase of your cycle are you in?"

It's such a clinical, sterile question that he winces at himself. You swallow, staring at your feet a long moment before answering.

"I don't know. My last period ended before we got here but it usually only lasts a couple days."

Jack nods. "That's good. It should work, then."

"Here's hoping."

You sound bitter, jaded. You have good reason to be. Jack can remember the last time he came inside someone - his wife, back when that was the intention. Even back when he was a shithead teenager, he'd always been careful. 

You make him reckless. 

You always have. From that very first trip, pushing him out of his comfort zone, convincing him to do things he never would have thought to do on his own. At one point, it was a good thing. Now he can see it for what it is. 

A bad fucking pattern. Bad for you both. Certainly bad for you, a girl whose staunch distaste for motherhood he was well aware of, now forced to pray away a potential pregnancy at his hands. 

There's a few stray napkins sitting on the center console, and he has to swallow to keep the bile down as passes them to you.

You cannot see your family. Not in this state. Not with Jack's cum drying between your legs. You send them a quick text to let them know that you're alive once Jack parks, then book it to your room to shower before they return from the park ranger's station, where they've probably spent the last two hours thinking you were dead. 

Jack doesn't follow. You kind of wish that he would.

The shower is cold, and won't heat up no matter how long you wait. It feels a bit like penance when you finally step beneath the stream, the frozen water hitting you like an electric shock. 

You scrub yourself thoroughly, scooping your fingers inside yourself to clean out as much of the cum as you can, although you're not sure if it would do much to prevent a pregnancy if the Plan B ends up failing. In the mirror, you can spot bruises beginning to form along your back.  

The sex was good, you tell yourself. Jack took care of you, made sure you came. There's no reason for you to cry. 

But you do. Because even if it was good, it wasn't what you wanted.

DAY SEVEN

You bought the ticket before your family had even returned. It was the only thing that got you through the hugs, the tears, the subsequent guilt. Not just at seeing your family so profoundly relieved to see that you are safe when you'd spent the past hour perfectly safe in the parking lot of a pharmacy, praying to a God you're not quite sure you believe in not to let you get pregnant. No, the worst, most bone crushing guilt hit you when you witness that same reaction from April as she threw her arms around Jack's neck. And kissed him.

April, who is, you know, not a bad person. Just a different one. One that you've done irreparable damage to, even though you hope that she never learns of it.

You don't fall asleep that night, are wide awake when your alarm goes off at four a.m. Pack your things in the dark in total silence. You have an excuse ready, a text about a sudden work emergency already cued up in the text thread for your family group chat, but you wait until you're on the road to send it.

The drive to the airport is so different than the one that kicked off your trip. 

Seven days ago, the world was full of possibility. 

Now, every bend of the winding road feels like an ending. 

Jack did not call last night. Didn't text. You debated heading to the cliffside, just in case. But you couldn't find the energy to wait for him. 

Not anymore.

Because you saw the way that he changed after he pulled out of you, how quickly he realized that it had all been a mistake. Just as he'd said your last hookup was. 

You've been trying so goddamn hard for years to unravel him, to convince him to lower his walls and let you in. To tell you what he's thinking. You feel no closer to understanding him now than you did four years ago. 

Now, there is only one thing you know for certain.

Jack Abbot will never be yours.  

taglist: @mayorsof @lik3s0whatever @bellesofia99 @delic8pov

Darren fell in step with Katerina, bumping her shoulder with his own. His lack of a school bag made her roll her eyes as they walked to class, she knew that he never brought back any homework or supplies so she had gotten into the habit of keeping doubles of everything. Darren has been going to their shared classes a lot more now that him and Kat were hanging out, so Kat took it upon herself to care for his education, so she kept his notebook for him.

"Hey." He greeted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and attempting to steer her in another direction.

"Hi," She gave him sideways glace. "What are you doing?"

"Let's go to the beach, Adrian said he could meet us there." Kat stopped abruptly, looking up at him with a knowing look. "What?"

"You know me and the girls have dance on Wednesdays; I don't want to wear myself out and you know the Gayles only let us go once a week, I know you get bored, but you don't have to wait for us. Go hang with Adrian, you know I don't mind." Ballet was the only thing she had outside of her friendship with Darren Cody that made her feel... normal and happy.

The idea of leaving Kat to walk home with her sisters alone made Darren chew the inside of his cheek and a wash of anxiety rush through him, it felt weird skipping out on Adrian and the beach, but Darren would much rather sit through an hour and a half of watching Kat and her sisters dance around to classical music than leave them alone. What if Ben Gayle decided to pick his foster daughters up? Without Darren there to glare, to remind Mr.Gayle of Pope's vailed threat, who knows what could set the cruel man off.

Besides, Darren was still gathering information from Kat about the church's booster club and charity donations which go straight back into the church's palms. Kat sometimes helps count the money, and she has told him with a frown that that money is locked away and never used for those in need. She had laughed and told him that one year they renovated the male entrance to the church, while one family was excommunicated when the husband left his wife for a younger woman, leaving her and the children with no money for food or clothes. Instead of helping them, the church turned away from that woman and her babies.

"No, It's chill, It's... cool seeing you guys dance." He said hesitently.

"Real convincing." She laughed at him. "If you insist on coming, I would love that. But," She stopped walking again and patted his chest. "Invite Adrian too, you never have to pick me over him... you know that right?" She looked into his eyes deeply, willing him to understand the deeper meaning. She knew him better then he gave her credit for.

His eyebrows rose slightly.

"Okay."

You bought a toy, a not too big but average to smaller sized dildo, online as going in store was too much to handle. And one night when your college roommates were out, you tried using it but it hurt just the same, you even tired just using your fingers but that wasn’t much better. From then on for years, you avoided sex as much as you could. All subsequent boyfriends who managed to persuade you into it just told you it'd be “Much better with me trust me baby” and it never really was. 

When you bring it up to one of your friends again, they point something out that you had been trying to avoid thinking of. “Hey, isn't one of your dads friends a doctor or something? Why haven’t you asked him about it?” oh that guy. Yeah the one you are kinda a little too attracted to who’s not just your fathers friend but his best friend, who makes your brain short circuit each time he calls you sweetheart? That one. Yeah you’d rather not talk about how sex is painful to the older man, who is the closest person to your father. You just might have to though if you ever wanna actually enjoy sex in your life. 

When you see Jack a few days later for your dads weekly dinner night he hosts, you manage to pull him away telling your dad it’s private girly medical related questions, he shuts up shortly after that. 

“What's up kid you okay?” Jack asks, concern evident in his voice. You rarely asked him anything medical and he was a bit worried you’re about to ask him how long is it normal for a woman to go without getting her period. “How…” you squeak out. Oh god here it comes. Before you start again you clear your throat. “How um common is, you know pain during sex…” the word sex leaves your lips in a meek and quiet tone, Jack tries his best not to chuckle as to not embarrass you further, but he’s happy it's not the question he was expecting. “Pretty common kid, at least the first time” he explains calmly, his casual demeanor easing your anxiety only a bit. “And how about every time?”

The idea of you having sex multiple times shouldn't be making Jack's chest ache the way it is, you’re a young beautiful girl after all, he tries telling himself it’s only cause it’s apparently painful and he cares for you. This time he straightens up a bit, “if the guys aren’t being rough, it's less common, it shouldn’t be every time” he watches as your eyes go a little wide and shake your head no in response to the first half of his statement. “Have you had an exam lately kid?” This is a purely professional question so it shouldn’t feel as dirty as it does coming out of his mouth.

“I um normally cancel them” Jack can only sigh out in a bit of frustration. “You should really get them regularly sweetheart” he misses the way your thighs lightly squeeze together at the use of the nickname. “I’m scared s’ all, anything going um inside hurts and doctors offices only make me more nervous” you explain. He smooths a hand over your hair, sympathy lacing his voice. “it’s okay i don’t mean to make you feel bad about it kid i swear” “How-” he stops himself, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was debating something in his head. “What?” you prompt, trying your hardest to not buckle at the knees from the way he’s practically petting your head. Physical touch is a quite rare thing between you too minus a few hugs on birthdays or pats on the back. “How about I give you one?’ oh sweet jesus that sounds wrong. He clears his throat, his face a little flush now at his own words but he doesn’t backtrack. “I’m a doctor, that you know, so it’s less scary” “No appointment needed if that makes you more comfortable” as you are processing his words he continues on. “I could do it at your apartment, where ever you feel most comfortable”

Your throat shouldn't feel as dry as it does, but the idea of Jack examining your pussy makes your head spin and slick settle between your legs a little. Maybe you should just see a regular random doctor, not one you have a wildly inappropriate crush on. You leave him with a small “Thank you, I'll think about it” and run off with the excuse of using the bathroom. You leave before Jack that night without much of any goodbye to him, he tries not to dwell on it, he really hopes he didn’t upset you.

You however dwell for days on Jack’s suggestion. Without the underlying nerves you feel because of being attracted to him, it is a good idea. You’d feel far more comfortable, maybe too comfortable being examined by him rather than a doctor you hardly know. You don’t bring it up to anyone as you’re too embarrassed but you think about it for days. When you get a reminder for the last gyno appointment you were brave enough to make, you cancel it without another thought and text Jack. 

All he does is thumbs up your message but for the next few hours you are anxious as all hell while waiting for him to knock on your door. You had given yourself the time both to calm down but also clean your apartment. Even though he was literally coming over to give you a vaginal exam and wouldn't care what your place looked like, you wanted it to be neat. Even if this was going to be probably the weirdest event in your life to date.

You are startled out of your train of thought by a knock at the door, you glance at the clock — 3pm exactly. Damn older men and their punctuality or was it a doctor thing? Shaking your head you nervously make your way to open the door, greeting Jack with a little awkward wave. He chuckles softly, the sound calming you as you step back from the open door to invite him in. “It’ll be alright, i’ll be gentle kid” his voice runs over your skin leaving behind goosebumps. You don’t know what you’re more nervous over, the expected pain of the actual examination or, the idea of Jack's hands on you, his fingers in you. 

Without wasting much time Jack settled into a semi professional but still comforting balance as he puts down the small bag of stuff he needs on the floor of your living room. You appreciate his effectiveness, as he tells you to sit on your couch facing him. You listen and watch as he sits on top of your coffee table. “This will be a little awkward because we are here and not a hospital, so I don't have a few things sweetheart” he starts to explain. “The no gown won’t be too hard, you have a skirt on so if you could just take off your underwear i can have access without-” he paused a moment as if thinking “leaving you too indisposed” the way he snaps a pair of blue latex gloves on shouldn’t be making as wet as it is, fuck. 

“Can-” you stutter out, your face hot but he seems to pick up on what you’re asking, nodding softly he turns his head away to give you some semblance of privacy. Bunching up your skirt you hook your fingers into the waistband of your slightly soaked panties and pull them down your legs. You kick them under the coffee table so they’re out of sight and tap Jack on the shoulder, he shakes his head softly at your shyness before turning to face you again. 

“Put your feet up either side of me on the table, won’t be the same as stirrups but close enough” tugging at the end of your skirt to cover yourself a bit more you do as he says and place your feet up flat on the low table. He adjusts them slightly, grabbing your foot one at a time and slides them a bit so they are more half off not so far back. “Scooh more to the edge of the couch kid, lean back ‘n tilt your hips up a lil more f’ me” the way you listen so well to Jack has him smiling softly at you and muttering out a small “Atta girl” 

He pressed lightly around on your abdomen through your shirt and skirt, eyes glued to your face gauging your reactions. “No pain or tenderness when I do this, right?” when you shake your head no he stops. “My hand is gonna go under your skirt for a second okay?” your face grows hotter and you nod, your voice has yet to find you again but so far nods are an effective enough communication with him. He reaches down between your legs but only presses around again, this time he is much closer to your pussy but he remains on the outside, pressing over the mound of it and on your pubic bone. “No pain?” Once again your head shakes side to side. His hand pulls away, your eyes follow his movements as he reaches down to grab a small bottle out of his bag.

He holds it but doesn’t do anything with it yet, his eyes find yours again “This next part i have to put my fingers inside, that okay sweetheart?” you gulp softly, nodding yes slowly as your nervousness grows again. “That’s the part that us- usually hurts” you explain in a small voice. It’s Jack's turn to nod now, "Penetration?” you let out a ‘mhm’ in agreeance as he squeezes the clear substance onto his pointer finger. “This is lube to make it easier and I’ll go slow, only one finger” his other hand reaches around your leg to touch the back of your calf, rubbing soothing lines up and down the muscle. “If you’re relaxed it might not be as painful” he explains, waiting on your go ahead before reaching down under your skirt once again. 

Pushing his lube coated index finger through your folds the tip of it finds your entrance, he gauges your face, when you nod again he proceeds by pushing it inside. 

Your sharp intake of air makes him stop once only the first bend of his finger is inside. “Come on, relax f’ me sweetheart” his low honey dipped voice makes your body go a bit lax, he inches his finger forward again and when you show no sign of pain he goes all the way til it's completely inside. “How’s that kid?” he sounds as breathless as you feel but you try to ignore it. “A little pain” you squeak out. “Give it a second, relax and it might go away”

“Don’t know how to relax more” you whine out, the sound going straight down Jack’s spine and up again, he shivers a bit and wills it away before it travels further south. “I’m gonna try something…do you trust me sweetheart?” you’re already nodding again in response before he fully finishes his question. 

Bringing his thumb up he parts the lips of your pussy til it finds your clit. You gasp out and slightly scare him, “That hurt?” “No no m’ sorry surprised me is all” you mumble out, biting your lip to hold in any more noises from getting free, like an accidental moan. Jesus christ why did you think this was a good idea again? If you had to bet you’d say you were soaking his gloved finger, even with the sting you felt from it inside, it felt good at the same time. You never even reached this type of feeling with your own fingers.

His thumb on your clit presses down lightly and starts rubbing in circles, you let out a small little sigh that makes Jack smirk a bit. “There you go honey, come on” “Un-tense your shoulders” your body listens almost instantaneously “Good girl” you can’t help the whimper that comes out at his words, he doesn’t say anything in response. “Feel any better?” he prompts, his eyes remain on your face, no matter how bad he wants to peek under your skirt to watch the way your little bud twitches under his touch. “Mhmm a bit” you answer softly, trying to push away the odd feeling bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. 

“Can I put in another finger, we’ll see how that feels?” he whispers, he definitely has enough information that he thinks he knows what’s wrong already but you don’t need to know that. “Yeah” you pant out, shaking your head a little too eagerly, if Jack notices he doesn’t say a word. With ease his middle slips in alongside his pointer, his thumb still circling your clit. “No pain honey?” the motion of your head once again answers his question. “Wanna try something else…can I move my fingers sweetheart?” 

“Please” you plead, head to fuzzy to care how desperate you sound. Slowly pulling his fingers back he watches your face as he pistons them back in, repeating the motion. “That feel good?” “Mhm no pain, fuck! feels really good” you whine out, your hips now bucking up against his fingers. He speeds up, still waiting to see if it hurts or if you stop him. “Jack” you moan out, his cock throbs in response. 

“Yeah kid?” “Need- Mm” you cut yourself off, pinching your lips in a line and tilting your head back. “Nuh-uh come on honey, tell me what ya’ need” he prompts, curling his fingers up to hit a different spot inside you that has you letting out a pornographic noise you didn’t know you were even capable of. “Need-” you huff out, before he stops you “Look at me when you say it, come on kid” “Use your words”

Lifting your head you look into Jack’s eyes, his breath hitches at the sight of your glazed over lust filled eyes, batting your eyelashes you start again. “Need more” you sob. His stomach just about hurts now from how hard he is in his jeans that feels all too tight. “Yeah? What more honey? Another finger or something else?” he asks, consciences be damned he’s not gonna leave you hanging even if your old man would fucking kill him if he ever found out about this. “Somethin’ else please” you whine, not even knowing what more you want. Jack however seems to when he takes his free hand off your calf and lifts your skirt, his head ducking under it. His fingers don’t stop positioning in and out of your slick cunt even if you squeal a bit at his motion. The noise morphs into a moan, your body melting into the couch when his warm tongue pokes out and makes contact with your pussy, licking at your pussy. “Still feel good kid?” he mumbles out, before his thumb leaves your bundle of nerves only to be replaced by his mouth as he sucks at it. 

“Yeah- Yeah feels s’ good” you breathe out, letting go of your skirt, he grabs at your one leg, lifting your foot off the table placing it over his shoulder, prompting you to do the same with your other before his fingers slip out of your pussy. 

You whine at the loss, “Jackkk” making him chuckle softly against you. “Hang on sweetheart” he coos as he uses both hands to grab at your hips, pulling you up and half way off the couch to get you closer to his mouth, lapping at you hard splitting your folds with his pointed tongue before sucking at your clit. “Ah- Ahhh ooh fuck” you wail out, your hands frantic to steady yourself. One finding purchase on his shoulder before sliding down his back under his shirt where your nails scratch at his skin. The other holding on for dear life to the edge of your couch cushion, your legs tighten a bit around his head. 

“Holy shit” you whisper out in breathless disbelief, the odd feeling from before coming back to quickly build in the pit of your stomach. Jack's large hands cupping your waist squeeze at your flesh, as he shakes his head side to side a little, flattening his tongue against you. Your thighs burn a bit at the friction of his stubbly face rubbing against them. He moves back to harshly sucking at your clit, your pussy and his mouth coated in his spit as he practically slurps at your juices.

“Huu- shit” “Wait wait! Jack- mhm feels like m’ gonna pee” you try pushing at his head to stop him, even if you desperately didn’t want his mouth off you. That feeling in your stomach was teetering on the edge. “Ya’ don’t have to pee sweetheart, that’s a orgasm you feel” he grumbles out, the explain making your hand ease up from pushing instead it rakes through his curls “S’ okay cum for me kid” 

“Promse s’ okay” you whine out, staring down at his head between your legs. “Yeah, you can do it” “cum f’ me it’s okay honey” "Promise it’ll feel good, no pain” his reassure is all you need to let your high wash over you, legs shaking on his shoulders, “There we go, fuck” he moans out. Your back arching as you cum on his tongue with a loud wanton moan filling your apartment coupled with his praise, “Atta girl, sweetheart” “Such a good girl f’ me” he laps at your cum. “Taste so fucking sweet, like i knew ya’ would” he mumbles out, that one you think was meant more for himself.  

Managing to reluctantly pull his head from between your soft thighs, Jack used his hold on your hips to place your body back onto the couch. You stare at him wide eyed when you notice his face all wet, covered in you. “Got somethin’ on my face kid?” you nod meekly. He chuckles and pinches at the collar of his shirt to bring it up and wipe at his mouth. “No pain after?” he asks. “No, never done that before” you whisper out, flicking your head down to where your skirt now covered your puffy but satisfied pussy. 

“Just needed an older man huh sweetheart, help ya’ relax a little and the pain melts away” he states, reaching down to rub at your knee. “Fucking little boys” he tsks but your eyes are glued to the large bulge in between his thick thighs. You’d have to be extra relaxed to take that monster on…